died of cancer. Working on the crime stories for the Herald , following Archie around, she had seen more.
But Jeff Heil’s death haunted her the most. Maybe because they had been together, and she knew that it could have been her.
It had not been easy. She’d had nightmares for two months after the flood: dark waters, creatures she couldn’t see, Heil’s limp corpse sinking beneath the surface. Bliss had
fed her ginger tea, played Deepak Chopra audiobooks day and night, and convinced Susan to float in a sensory deprivation tank for three hours a week. Now, even with the anxiety gone, Susan still
avoided that stretch of Division Street. She still kept her eyes on the bridge when she crossed the river, careful not to let her eyes wander down to the water below.
Archie didn’t talk about it. She hadn’t heard him mention Heil’s name since the funeral. She wondered if it bothered him, living in that apartment, with all those windows
looking out over the river that had almost killed them.
She was relieved when they got to Archie’s office and he closed the door. Susan could take a lecture, but she never liked the bit leading up to one. She sat right down in one of the chairs
facing his desk and braced herself.
Archie took his time walking around and taking a seat in his desk chair. He leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. He looked at her. “So you saw Gretchen,” he said with a
slow smile. “How did she look?”
There was something about the pleasure he took in the question that made Susan think he knew exactly how she looked.
“She’s looked better,” Susan said.
Archie’s hands lifted and fell as he breathed. He’d taken the bandage off from the night before. She could barely see the scabs. He was watching her. He looked like he wanted to hear
more, but Susan didn’t offer. And Archie didn’t ask.
After a moment he extended one hand across the desk, palm up. The smile was gone. “The tape?” he said.
“There is no tape,” Susan said, rummaging in her purse for the recorder. “It’s a digital file.” She found the recorder and held it up for Archie. “Welcome to
the twenty-first century,” she said. She looked away then, her eyes shifting back to her purse, suddenly sure that she’d given away something more than she’d intended. She tried
to make her question sound casual. It was reasonable enough. “Do you have a flash drive?”
“No,” Archie said.
Susan glanced back at the closed door. “Perhaps one of your minions?”
Archie looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Okay.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. He said, “I can get one.” He walked around the desk,
behind Susan, and left the office, presumably to commune with some sort of office supply cabinet.
He’d left the door ajar. The venetian blinds on the office’s interior window were angled three-quarters open. Susan was already rehearsing excuses in case she was caught: I just
got my period and I was looking for a tissue to stuff in my underpants . Men didn’t question menstruation stories. Ever. You probably could get into the White House if you said you needed
a tampon ASAP.
Susan scurried around to the other side of the desk and pulled open the desk drawer. It was full of crap. Pens. Papers. Rubber bands. Files. Wite-Out. (Who even used Wite-Out anymore?) There
were loose staples and thumbtacks. That was so like Archie, orderly at first glance, but a mess just under the surface. It had been three months since Susan had accidentally come across the sleek
silver flash drive hidden under a photograph of Gretchen, under some papers in Archie’s desk. Now Susan shoved her fingers underneath the clutter until she touched something hard and smooth,
the size of a pack of gum. She pulled it out.
The flash drive was still there.
Susan checked the door and then palmed the flash drive and put it in her purse. She was back in her seat a moment later when Archie
But Jeff Heil’s death haunted her the most. Maybe because they had been together, and she knew that it could have been her.
It had not been easy. She’d had nightmares for two months after the flood: dark waters, creatures she couldn’t see, Heil’s limp corpse sinking beneath the surface. Bliss had
fed her ginger tea, played Deepak Chopra audiobooks day and night, and convinced Susan to float in a sensory deprivation tank for three hours a week. Now, even with the anxiety gone, Susan still
avoided that stretch of Division Street. She still kept her eyes on the bridge when she crossed the river, careful not to let her eyes wander down to the water below.
Archie didn’t talk about it. She hadn’t heard him mention Heil’s name since the funeral. She wondered if it bothered him, living in that apartment, with all those windows
looking out over the river that had almost killed them.
She was relieved when they got to Archie’s office and he closed the door. Susan could take a lecture, but she never liked the bit leading up to one. She sat right down in one of the chairs
facing his desk and braced herself.
Archie took his time walking around and taking a seat in his desk chair. He leaned back and folded his hands across his chest. He looked at her. “So you saw Gretchen,” he said with a
slow smile. “How did she look?”
There was something about the pleasure he took in the question that made Susan think he knew exactly how she looked.
“She’s looked better,” Susan said.
Archie’s hands lifted and fell as he breathed. He’d taken the bandage off from the night before. She could barely see the scabs. He was watching her. He looked like he wanted to hear
more, but Susan didn’t offer. And Archie didn’t ask.
After a moment he extended one hand across the desk, palm up. The smile was gone. “The tape?” he said.
“There is no tape,” Susan said, rummaging in her purse for the recorder. “It’s a digital file.” She found the recorder and held it up for Archie. “Welcome to
the twenty-first century,” she said. She looked away then, her eyes shifting back to her purse, suddenly sure that she’d given away something more than she’d intended. She tried
to make her question sound casual. It was reasonable enough. “Do you have a flash drive?”
“No,” Archie said.
Susan glanced back at the closed door. “Perhaps one of your minions?”
Archie looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “Okay.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. He said, “I can get one.” He walked around the desk,
behind Susan, and left the office, presumably to commune with some sort of office supply cabinet.
He’d left the door ajar. The venetian blinds on the office’s interior window were angled three-quarters open. Susan was already rehearsing excuses in case she was caught: I just
got my period and I was looking for a tissue to stuff in my underpants . Men didn’t question menstruation stories. Ever. You probably could get into the White House if you said you needed
a tampon ASAP.
Susan scurried around to the other side of the desk and pulled open the desk drawer. It was full of crap. Pens. Papers. Rubber bands. Files. Wite-Out. (Who even used Wite-Out anymore?) There
were loose staples and thumbtacks. That was so like Archie, orderly at first glance, but a mess just under the surface. It had been three months since Susan had accidentally come across the sleek
silver flash drive hidden under a photograph of Gretchen, under some papers in Archie’s desk. Now Susan shoved her fingers underneath the clutter until she touched something hard and smooth,
the size of a pack of gum. She pulled it out.
The flash drive was still there.
Susan checked the door and then palmed the flash drive and put it in her purse. She was back in her seat a moment later when Archie
Similar Books
