Chương 6
Dad looking bored in a way that meant he was probably enjoying himself.
Spencer appeared in three of the pictures.
In one, he had his arm around Megan.
That answered a question I had not cared enough to ask.
Owen leaned toward my screen.
“So that’s cabin thief?”
“Apparently.”
“He looks expensive.”
“What does expensive look like?”
“White sneakers on a boat.”
I put the phone facedown.
“Mom hasn’t said anything.”
“She thinks you’re dogsitting.”
“She knows I’m angry.”
“That has never been an obstacle to your family ignoring things.”
I peeled the label from my water bottle.
It came off in one piece.
That should not have felt satisfying, but it did.
“What if this is childish?”
Owen chewed.
“It is.”
I looked at him.
“You’re supposed to say no.”
“You called the wrong friend.”
“Great.”
“Childish and wrong aren’t always the same thing.”
“That sounds like something you made up.”
“I did.”
He folded his sandwich wrapper into a square.
“You didn’t smash their furniture.”
“No.”
“You didn’t post their business online.”
“No.”
“You didn’t call the cruise line pretending there was an emergency.”
“I considered that for approximately four seconds.”
“Good restraint.”
“I’m just making them look at something.”
“And making yourself look at it too.”
I hated when Owen accidentally said something useful.
We finished eating in silence.
Outside, the sky had gone from bright blue to the washed-out evening color Seattle got before sunset.
Cars passed occasionally.
Somebody nearby was grilling.
The smell slipped through the open kitchen window and made Buddy pace hopefully between us.
At seven, Marcus arrived.
He had said he wanted photographs, but apparently photographs were insufficient.
He walked through the front door carrying a small black equipment case and stopped so abruptly Buddy nearly ran into his legs.
“Oh, wow.”
“That good?”
“That bad.”
Owen pointed at me.
“I said the same thing.”
Marcus walked around the room with both hands on his hips.
He was forty-six, broad-shouldered, shaved head, permanently skeptical expression.
At work he could identify a damaged refrigeration compressor by sound and an inflated contractor invoice by instinct.
Now he examined my parents’ living room like a crime scene.
“You taped the cables.”
“Yes.”
“You put floor protection under the panels.”
“Yes.”
“You capped the exposed bracket holes.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“You’re terrifying when you’re emotional.”
“I’m being responsible.”
“That is what makes it terrifying.”
He checked the training display.
“Where’d you get this layout?”
“You sent it.”
“I sent you the approved template.”
“You sound surprised I used it.”
“I assumed revenge would make you stupid.”
“Disappointing.”
“Very.”
Marcus turned toward Owen.
“You helping him?”
“Against my better judgment.”
“Mine clocked out at lunch.”
Marcus opened his equipment case and removed a small tester.
“I’m checking the electrical load.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re off work.”
“So were you.”
That ended the argument.
While Marcus checked the display, Owen and I carried the remaining empty packaging into the garage.
Dad kept the garage organized with labels so precise they bordered on hostile.
WINTER AUTO.
GARDEN HAND TOOLS.
BATTERY CHARGERS.
PAINT—INTERIOR.
Kyle’s belongings occupied an unlabeled mountain along the far wall.
Boxes leaned against golf clubs, a snowboard, three plastic bins of clothes, and what looked like part of a drum kit.
“You know what’s funny?” Owen said.
“What?”
“They let him store half a failed civilization in here, but your job embarrasses them.”
I nudged a box away from the walkway with my shoe.
Kyle had changed careers so many times that even he had stopped naming them.
He had been a photographer, reseller, app founder, social-media strategist, event promoter, and for three months a man who talked constantly about getting a real-estate license without ever taking the exam.
Every new idea received family enthusiasm.
Mom shared his projects.
Dad loaned him money.
Megan called him brave.
I had once asked Dad why he never pressured Kyle to stick with anything.
Dad had looked genuinely confused.
“He’s finding himself.”
Apparently I had found myself too quickly.
When we returned inside, Marcus had unplugged the dead display entirely.
“Don’t use that one.”
“Fine.”
“It has an internal short.”
“Can it stay mounted if it’s unplugged?”
“It’s not mounted.”
“Displayed.”
He looked at the metal frame resting safely against its support.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“You really planned this.”
“I plan things for a living.”
Marcus lowered the tester.
“Your mother actually calls it flipping burgers?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does she call it?”
I leaned against one of the counter panels.
“She says I work in fast food.”
“You do.”
“The way she says it is different.”
Marcus nodded.
He understood.
People always claimed tone could not be evidence, but sometimes tone was the whole crime.
He packed away the tester.
“Does she know how many people report through you?”
“No.”
“Does she know your region’s numbers?”
“No.”
“Your bonus structure?”
“No.”
“I’m guessing she thinks you stand behind a register.”
“She knows I’m a manager.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I did not answer.
Marcus glanced around the room again.
Then he walked toward the training display and tapped the blank menu template.
“You should add something.”
“No branding.”
“Not branding.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Your actual work.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Numbers.”
“I’m not putting confidential performance data on my parents’ wall.”
“Obviously.”
“Then what?”
“Public, generic stuff.”
Owen joined us.
“Like what?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Eight locations.”
“That’s not confidential.”
“Employees supported.”
I hesitated.
“That fluctuates.”
“Approximate.”
“Why?”
“Because right now this room says you moved restaurant furniture into somebody’s house.”
“That is exactly what happened.”
Marcus ignored me.
“It doesn’t say why it matters to you.”
I folded my arms.
“This isn’t supposed to be a presentation.”
“No.”
“It’s a prank.”
“Is it?”
That irritated me enough that I walked into the kitchen.
Buddy followed.
May you like
I opened the refrigerator, closed it without taking anything, then stood there looking at Mom’s feeding note.
The yellow paper suddenly seemed less funny than it had an hour earlier.
