Crushed, p.14
Crushed, page 14
“I know he was drunk.” She falls back on her pillow. I lie down beside her on my side. “It hurt. Because you and I both know that what’s said while drunk is what’s thought while sober.”
“Granddad loves you. I don’t believe he really thinks any of that.”
“Yeah, right. He says all that stuff when he’s sober, just kinder.”
“He’s old-fashioned. He wants us to be married, and he’s frustrated he can’t just force us to do what he wants.”
“You always take his side.”
“I am not taking sides. Or actually, I am. I think he was way out of line. But I also think—”
“See? Sides.”
“No. I also think what we are seeing is an old man who is scared. What he said to you and Max had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. Chloe’s mom kind of went through this with her grandmother. It’s hard. He slipped on a tractor, Celeste. He’s been getting on that tractor for decades. Like, what, seventy years? Didn’t he start driving that thing when he was ten? Chloe’s grandmother freaked out when they tried to take the keys to her car. And I remember Chloe talking about how hard it must be to give up independence. Do you remember how happy we all were when we got our keys? When we could finally go out on our own?”
“I really don’t need to hear about what he’s going through right now. If you could have seen him — he was a bastard. Mean.” Her lips contort.
“He thinks he needs to lose weight.”
“He does,” she’s quick to point out.
“And he feels like he’s not working enough.”
“He can’t work as much as he used to.”
“Yeah, but weren’t those both things he attacked you and Max for?”
“Are you trying to tell me he secretly wants to get married?” I laugh, more at her incredulous expression than anything else.
“No. That part might have been him homing in on an Achilles heel.”
“I’m not looking for a husband.” Venom accompanies her retort.
We lie there in silence for several minutes.
“You’re probably right.” She reaches for the remote. “Want to watch something?”
I agree, and she flips through channels. We stack pillows against the headboard and get under the covers, just like we used to do as teens. I’m hoping she picks something from our youth, something heartwarming like The Gilmore Girls, but she picks a grotesque vampire show. I don’t really care, but I’m also not into the show, so I pull out my phone and click over to the Zeitgeist app.
* * *
Firefly: Well, I’ve got one for the record books.
* * *
I scroll through our prior correspondence. Something I just do. Probably a habit I created because this little channel we have is a slow communication zone. It’s surprising when a response comes through. I think we’ve been on at the same time, maybe a handful of times since we quit playing the game.
* * *
Phoenix: Do tell.
* * *
Firefly: My granddad got fall down drunk. Nice, right?
* * *
Phoenix: All okay now?
* * *
Firefly: Yes. He said horrible things to my siblings.
* * *
Phoenix: And you?
* * *
Firefly: No. I wasn’t home. I feel guilty. Like I should have been.
* * *
Phoenix: You can’t always be there. You think tomorrow will be a better day?
* * *
Firefly: Not for him. I know what a hangover is like at my age. I wouldn’t want to have that at 79.
* * *
Phoenix: lol. Everything else okay in your universe?
* * *
Firefly: I’m seeing someone.
* * *
I hold my breath after hitting send. We never, ever talk about our dating lives. On the television screen, the character turns into a werewolf and eats through a whole crowd of people on the streets. It’s like the 1800s or something. Celeste is captivated. The scene is gross.
* * *
Phoenix: Do you like him?
* * *
Firefly: I do. It’s new.
* * *
Phoenix: Potential?
* * *
Firefly: Yes.
* * *
“Who are you texting?” There’s a commercial running. Celeste is leaning over to read my screen.
“An old friend.”
“Have you gone out on a date with that guy?” she asks. I have no desire to tell her about Erik. There’s no reason to give her one more thing to hound me about. I shake my head, implying no, and return my attention to the conversation in my hand. He hasn’t said more. Short, swift conversations are the cornerstone of our decade-long online friendship, but I’ve been curious for so long. He could be married by now. We just don’t talk about it.
* * *
Firefly: Are you seeing anyone?
* * *
My gaze flits between a dark, haunted house-like mansion with torches as the characters hunt down special creatures that can hide in walls and the text dialogue on the screen in my hand. Each time the screensaver interrupts my view, I swipe and angle it to my face.
* * *
Phoenix: I am.
* * *
Well, there it is. He’s dating someone. If he was married, he’d probably say that. So, he’s dating someone. He could live with her. In all these years, we’ve never asked about each other’s love lives. It’s bizarre. He’s a good friend. But he’s a virtual friend. There are lines that don’t need to be crossed. Information neither of us needs. It’s all good.
My phone rings and Erik’s name lights up on the screen. The call breaks Celeste’s fixation on the Penny Dreadful episode, and I tell Erik to hold on and quickly exit the bedroom.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” He rarely calls me. He’s a texter.
“Just calling to check-in. Are you back home?”
“No, I’m staying out here with my sister. I’ll be back in the morning. José isn’t opening, so I need to.”
“Did you lock everything up when you left? Do you want me to double-check?”
“That’s sweet of you to offer. But no, I’m pretty sure…” I pause. Did I lock the back door? I’m attempting to visualize it, and now I’m not one hundred percent. If he hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t wonder.
“I’ll check for you.”
“You don’t need to. I’m pretty sure I did. If I left a door open, it would be the back door, and no one will break in there.”
“I’m close by. I’m walking through the square. You all locked up and safe in your family home? You guys lock the doors, right?”
“Yes, we do.” We actually hardly ever do, but Erik seems like the type who would worry. He’s never seen my family home. We’re off the beaten path, and there’s a big-ass iron gate that closes after the tasting room closes. Seattle must not be that safe of a city, or he grew up in a bad neighborhood because he cares a lot about locked doors. “So, you’re just out and about walking? Is it completely dead?”
“It’s peaceful.” There’s a lull in the conversation. I enter my bedroom and open drawers, searching for a nightgown. “I’m glad things are okay with your family. I understand what it’s like to worry about your sister.”
“You worry about your sister?”
“All the time.”
“Why?” He takes a long time to answer, and I sit on the edge of the bed, expecting I’m about to unlock a piece of Erik rising.
“I don’t get to see her often.” I process his words, and before I can formulate a counter question, he says, “Get a good night’s sleep. See you tomorrow.”
THE BEST OF ALL WORLDS (AKA OPTIMUM OUTCOME)
Erik
* * *
The sign on The Bookery flips open as I approach. I check the time. She’s punctual. Most of the parallel parking spaces along the street are vacant. By lunch, free parking will be scarce.
The bell jingles as I enter, scanning the store for a mass of white hair and those blue eyes I see even when I close my eyelids. She’s gotten under my skin in a way I can’t explain. I’m not one to believe in supernatural crap, but I swear I sense her. She’s in the room, and I step forward as kinetic energy pulls me into her vortex. The soles of my shoes thud across the weathered wooden floor.
She rises from behind the counter, and the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. She’s wearing a white tank top that fits snugly against all her curves. At her waist, a colorful floral skirt hangs loose, and the fabric drifts around her. I can’t see her feet, but I expect she’s in her Birkenstocks.
“Morning,” she says.
I stand before her as a mix of relief and, dare I say it, happiness purges my chest. It’s been less than twelve hours since I saw her last, but I didn’t like seeing her unsettled last night. I didn’t like having to let her go to deal with whatever was brewing all on her own. Last night, she sounded better on the phone, but her smile has a leveling effect. My breathing normalizes and tension eases.
“I’ll have my normal.” That had to have been the worst possible greeting. I’ve never had a girlfriend. In high school, I didn’t see the need. In college, I dated here and there. More group dates and hook-ups. In Europe and Asia, I discovered clubs where like-minded individuals could meet each other and have sex. Minimal conversation was the expectation. Repetitive occurrence was rare.
This is new to me. I don’t know how to act. Did she expect me to greet her with a kiss? Would that be normal? She shows no visible signs of annoyance as she brings me my coffee and water without ice.
“I’m glad everything’s okay.” I told her that last night, but I need to say something to fill the space between us and let her know I’m not a total ass. Texting is easier. You can read it and think about it before you hit send. The door chimes and we both check the entrance. Two older men enter, and one of them immediately heads to the table with a large sign that reads “Area Maps.”
She’s wearing a thick, shiny lip gloss, and when a polite smile forms, those light blue eyes shimmer. My breathing cinches and I can’t look away. In my peripheral vision, the cursor blinks, awaiting my completed commands for my morning systems report. I watch her skirt swish as she returns to the counter. She’s wrapped up her thick hair and looped it into a low-lying bun with loose strands curving out from the sides. With her hair captive, the lines of her shoulders are exposed. I’d like to kiss her along those lines, to feel her shudder as I blow on the sensitive skin below her ear.
My phone vibrates. Wolf’s number shows.
“Hey,” I answer.
Her eyes find mine from across the room. The skin on her chest, just above her tank, flushes. It is unfortunate that I’m so taken by this woman, but I like that I’m not alone in this whirl of chemicals. Yes, I am intelligent enough to know this little crush is nothing more than pheromones that will settle down with time.
“Did you see my text?” Wolf’s urgent tone takes me to task.
“No. I’m setting up now.”
“You responded to those Santa Barbara emails earlier this morning.” Is he questioning me? I responded to those group emails about office space from my phone this morning before running through my jiu-jitsu routine.
“What’s up?” I’m clicking around on my laptop, getting to the messaging app, but he has me on the phone. Reading his text would be inane.
“Ascension Media’s CEO received a ransomware notice. They want five hundred thousand.”
“The ransom amounts seem to be rising, don’t they?” Sometimes it feels like these blackmailers pull amounts out of the sky. Ransomware has become a multi-billion-dollar industry. “What’ve they got?”
“They claim they’ll leak credit card numbers.”
“Do they have a lot of them?” Consumers in the United States have credit cards exposed all the time.
“They own a slew of cable companies across the country, so yes. But they claim to also have memos and contracts.”
“Let me guess. Those contracts show varying deal terms?”
“That’s what I’m guessing. The CEO wants me to meet with him in person, so there might be more to it.”
“Oh. Like something personal?”
“Maybe.” Wolf didn’t sound impressed. We didn’t care what it was they held over his head. From our corner of the world, the FBI aimed to weaken the burgeoning ransomware market. The US government—hell, all governments—urge businesses to refuse to pay. Each time a company pays a ransom, it encourages more incidents. But, at the same time, the government is slow to help. Often companies can’t afford to take the risk that data will be released before the FBI can shut down the threat.
Sony Corporation stands out as a warning to all corporations weighing threats. They ignored threats from North Korean hackers, and the emails shared ended up costing business relationships millions of dollars, generated bad publicity, and cost the president her job.
“Is the CEO coming to us, or is this one the FBI has asked us to manage?”
“CEO wants to hire us. FBI hasn’t mentioned this case.”
This is where we find ourselves in murky waters. The way we are structured, the US government is one client. We are allowed to take additional clients. But the FBI, Homeland Security, and other groups see us as a team member.
“You want to take it?” I ask. Wolf called me. A phone call constitutes noticeable interest.
“Maybe. It’s the pathway into their server that’s interesting to me. I could swear I’ve seen these breadcrumbs before. Can you take a look?”
Hours later, I call Wolf back. A chicken salad croissant and pickled carrots and onions are sitting beyond my laptop. Starved, I pick up the sandwich and take a giant bite. Behind the counter, José bends over his laptop. I don’t see sky blue eyes anywhere.
Wolf answers my call with a direct, to the point, “Did you see what I’m talking about?”
“Yep. It’s a similar style used by the Russian group Black Plague. We can check in with NSA and see if they’ve got any leads. They’ll want to be updated.”
“I’m flying out to Arizona in the morning. We’re meeting in the desert. He’s paranoid.”
“The guy’s company has been hacked and is being held hostage, and you think he’s paranoid? I’d say he’s received one hell of a wake-up call, and now he’s going to heed his IT team’s request for upgrades.”
“I guarantee you he’s going to pay. They always do. I think that’s why he wants me to meet him. I think he wants me to hold his hand and walk him through how to pay with cryptocurrency.”
“If that’s what he wants to do. He’d hardly be the first executive who paid up.”
“He wants us to handle his security moving forward.”
“Did you tell him we based the company out of Santa Barbara?”
“I’m trying to find an office manager. And HR to help with logistics.”
Jingles capture my attention. Sunlight through the glass in the front door highlights her white-blonde strands, and she smiles, speaking to José. The cash register drawer is open, and stacks of pennies stretch along the marble countertop.
“What’re your thoughts on moving?” he asks as light blue eyes find mine and a light pink spreads across her pale skin. She doesn’t clink when she moves, but with all those bracelets, one would expect a tingling sound. She returns her attention to José. He waves as he heads out for the day. “Erik. You still there?”
“Yeah. I’ll stay here for now. That was always the plan, right? Physical security with you, cybersecurity operations up here with us.”
“Is that what Kairi and Trevor want?” Frustration stirs. The guy was probably sitting a stone’s throw away from them, and he’s asking me.
“I believe so. We can do our work anywhere. If they want to move, they can.”
“Might be good for us to all be in the same place.”
“You’re sounding prototypical 2019.” He chuckles, and I take it as my cue to end the call.
“Did you finally eat?” Her skirts sway as she approaches, as do her hips. The light above glimmers on her lip gloss. She smiles.
“You look happy.” She lifts the plate with my half-eaten sandwich. “Is your Granddad okay?”
“He is. He said some things he shouldn’t have to Celeste, but he’s full of remorse today.”
“And Max?” She told Phoenix, not me, he’d been drunk. But they both lived with him. It wasn’t a stretch to suspect he’d been awful to both of them. It was a good thing Vivi hadn’t been around to take his verbal lashing.
“He left first thing this morning, way before Granddad made it out of bed. But I’ve talked to him. Max is tough. A few beers, and he’s fine. What were you working on this afternoon? You were in your blackout zone.”
“My what?”
“Your focus. I’ve never seen anything like it. I left a sandwich and drink for you, and it’s like you didn’t even see me.”
“I probably didn’t.” From a security perspective, not the best trait to have. It’s one reason I need to work in a secure zone. “Thanks for bringing me food. Can I return the favor? Get you dinner?”
“It’s chilly outside.” Her gaze falls to the front door. The sign on the door still announces the store as open, and she moves to flip it. The limbs on the skinny trees planted in squares along the sidewalk twist in the wind.
