Woke Up Lonely Read Free

who watched a lot of TV. Who tested poorly on the UCLA Loneliness Scale and, if asked, would sooner trade the invisible companionship of God for someone to share with in this life until such time as they had to meet God on the other side.
    “I might come,” she said, but she frowned saying it.
    He felt a trembling down his legs but hid it as best he could.
    “But listen,” she said. “Whatever you’re thinking about North Korea, it’s not too late to change your mind. To think if it’s worth it.” And she reached over and touched his sleeve. Then she zipped up her coat in a hurry.
    Thurlow didn’t say a word. He was faint with hope and fear, which countenanced each other, but warily. She was up and walking out the door.
    “Don’t leave,” he said, and he grabbed her arm.
    “I have to. Unlike some people, I actually have a job.”
    “Don’t leave! You can’t imagine the strain I’m under.”
    “Whose fault is that? Just think about what I said. And if that doesn’t work, then okay, think about Ida.”
    He squeezed her arm even tighter. “I think about her all day long. Promise you’ll come over later. Just to talk.”
    She freed herself. He tried to follow her out, but the Laundromat owner, who’d been leaning against a dryer and watching them the whole time, put out his hand, saying, “Hello, I recognize you. My name is Max Chen. I haven’t paid my taxes in three years. I have a wife who doesn’t love me and a girlfriend who doesn’t love me, either, now that I stopped paying for her English classes.” Thurlow nodded and called out for Esme, except a woman folding Incredible Hulk Underoos said, “Oh my God, Thurlow Dan in a Laundromat? You really are like the rest of us. Hey, see how big these Underoos are, my boy’s going on thirteen but he’s still got some issues since his father died and God knows I’m scared to raise a boy on my own and it’s not like I have anyone to confide in about it.” Again, he watched Esme trudge through the snow, away from him, only this time, he thought there was a chance she’d be back.
    “That’s good,” he said to the woman. “I feel like I’m closer to you already. No wait, I am closer to you”—and he smiled because sometimes for preaching the same thing over and over you forget you also believe what you’re preaching. He patted her shoulder. “There’s an event later, not far from here.”
    “Oh, I know,” she said, and pointed at the double helix tattoo inched across her wrist.
    By now the Laundromat was clotted with people. Taking photos, sharing their stories. He told them all to come to the event; he was headed there himself. At last, his SUV pulled up outside, and in came the driver with such purpose of stride, everyone got out of his way without being asked. He took Thurlow by the elbow and led him out.
    Dean was waiting for him in the backseat, with a coat across his knees. “Did something go wrong this morning?” he said, and sent the driver an angry look, which meant he’d chewed him out already.
    “Do you really have to carry that thing around?” Thurlow said, and he nodded at what appeared to be a rifle nosed out from under Dean’s coat. “It’s stuff like that that’s giving people the wrong idea about us.”
    “Sorry,” Dean said. “I can put it away, just stick with the Glock,” and he felt for the holster strapped under his arm. He unzipped a gear bag in the trunk and, from the sound of it, stashed the rifle among several of its kind.
    Dean was head of security. Part bodyguard, part bureaucrat, and, as of late, part freedom fighter. He’d come into the Helix after his wife died, and had ascended the ranks with the hooks of his faith. But now, in his fourth year, he’d gotten overzealous in the prosecution of his work. Sometimes, in a panic, Thurlow imagined him and the thousands like him just miles away from the Helix House in Cincinnati, closing in like zombies but still under his command.
    He gripped his