Part 39 (1/2)
I look over at her.
”Do you understand what you're risking by approaching me this way? If my father finds out I've been talking to you about any of this, you could be ruined. Permanently. Your husband, too.”
”Is he going to find out?”
”Not from me.”
I open my email client and type up a quick email to human resources. Quick and to the point.
”What was that?”
”I just tripled your salary.”
”Are you going to send Tiny Tim a goose now?”
I snort, and then break out laughing. Oh G.o.d, I haven't laughed in years. Alicia stares at me.
”Oh my G.o.d. I'm She-Scrooge.” My laughter quickly melts into sobs again. ”How did this happen to me? I don't want to be this way.”
”What way to you want to be?”
”What are you, my therapist now?”
”No, but I have three girls. The oldest is in college. I've seen worse than this.”
I blink at her a few times. ”Really?”
”A sixteen year old's boyfriend freakout is a force of nature.”
”I never had a boyfriend until I was... older than that.”
”Your stepbrother.”
”Yes.”
She s.h.i.+fts in her seat and shrugs. ”You want to tell me about it.”
”Stop saying questions like they're statements.”
”That was a statement,” she sighs. ”You do want to talk, you're just trying to find the words.”
”I haven't had a real conversation with another human being about anything but my work in five years.”
”I can tell,” Alicia says, dryly.
I give her a look.
”My daughter looks at me like that when I say something she knows is right.”
I look at the computer again. I have more emails.
An urge strikes me. I open the browser, navigate to Twitter and type my name in the search box.
I suck in a deep breath when I read what I see. There must be thousands of tweets. I glance at Alicia and bite my lip, and scroll through the screen.
There's a hashtag.
”I have a hashtag,” I blurt out.
#EveDestroyedMyLife Trembling, I click the link.
For the next twenty minutes, I sit in silence and read, my face a still mask. The tweets go on forever. This only started yesterday.
I had 19 years of seniority and a pension. #EveRuinedMyLife I snap the computer's screen down and stare at the door, trembling. Then I get up.
”I need to get out of here.”
”You're in your pajamas.”
I look down at myself.
”Go take a shower and change.”
I am not used to be ordered around, at least by anyone but my father, but I do as she says. My shower turns out to be half an hour standing under the hot water followed by brus.h.i.+ng my hair and dressing in the only casual clothes I have, an ancient sweatsuit at the bottom of my bottom drawer, which I don't remember even putting there. I don't have sneakers, either. I don't care; I put on a pair of slippers and make a mental note to buy some sneakers. When I step outside, Alicia is waiting for me.
”Should I have the car brought around?”
”Do you have a car?”
She nods.
”Let's take yours.”
I feel strange walking out of the house, down the path that winds around the back to where Alicia and the other staff park. Her car is a boxy minivan. The inside smells strongly of fabric softener for some reason. I sit in the front seat next to her, and she starts the engine and looks over at me.
”Where would we be going, then?”
I sigh. ”I want a cheeseburger.”
”What kind?”
”I don't know. Pick one.”
Some twenty minutes later, I find myself sitting in her minivan while she wheels it around the curving drive-through lane of a McDonalds. She stops before pulling up to the speaker.
”What did you want, hon?”