questions, that Rae herself was not responsible for questions. Then Luddock pointed at the inner wall.
âNot far at all. Right next door. Just sit still and ask. Sheâll hear you.â Luddock winked, and disappeared down the aisle.
Andy dropped all her things and opened the cupboard. âLots of Quark manuals.â
âDonât worry, we donât really use a lot of the weird features here.â
âWeird features? Iâve not worked with it at all really.â
âOh.â
Rae left her reading the first page of the manufacturerâs guide. Without Quark, the job pretty much didnât exist.
When she got to her desk, Rae had 19 emails. She didnât touch her voicemail.
12:55. Rae was re-ordering Mallickâs list of corrupted files, missing her good mouse. A rustle, then: âRae? Um, for lunch? Is there a caf?â
âA lunchroom.â
She could see the mouse, wedged between wall and desk. She just couldnât reach it. âDown in the basement.â
âOh, good.â
âNot really.â Rae kicked off her left shoe, stretched her foot up under the desk.
âI donât mind. I brought a sandwich.â
âItâs the . . . atmosphere.â
âI have a spot.â Hamidâs voice over the wall. âAnd I can spare fifteen. Then I gotta razor this frickinâ sailing spread.â
Rae felt her nylon snag under the desk. âAndy, this is Hamid. He does our more complex Photoshop stuff.â
âThatâs cool. I used Photoshop once, to make a collage of wedding cakes.â
Rae stuffed her foot into her shoe. âHave a good lunch, guys.â She touched her spacebar and the cosmos dispersed.
Andyâs voice: âCouldnât we just . . . all go together?â
Rae thought about the blaze-red voicemail light, Ameliaâs unsorted files. She also thought about the meals she ate alone â most of them now. Every weeknight she put everything from the pot or pan or takeout tub onto her own plate. Every weekday she ate all the toast that popped out of the toaster. When the children came on Saturday, she was weakened to the point of pizza out of the box, red Gatorade, ice cream, all in front of the TV. âGive me a few minutes. Iâll come.â
It was more than an hour before Rae could log out. She took a fork from her F folder, went to Hamidâs cube, and muttered, âLunch!â
âShe used Photoshop once ? You better show her some tutorials,â he whispered.
âI am not training her. Thatâs not my job.â
âJust today.â
âNo. They imprint, like baby geese. Scared new juniors, you show them how to do one thing, they think youâre their mother, follow you around. I donât have time.â
âThatâs a fascinating theory, Rae.â
Thatâs how it was with you was another thing she thought to say but didnât.
In Andyâs cube, all the Quark manuals were open, bathed in the glow of a fishbowl screensaver. Andy knelt on the desk tacking up photos of a blond boy on skis.
âHowâs it going?â
Andy twisted. Her hair was down now. âThis is my boyfriend? Topher?â
âTomorrow Ursula will be here. Sheâll give you . . . something to do.â
âIâm looking forward to it. Topher skis competitively? And he works in a bank?â
âRight. You want to go for lunch now?â
âSure.â Andy slid off the desk.
Rae turned towards the kitchen. She didnât check to see if Andy followed. She heard what was probably her own phone ringing. Her ring on its chain bounced hard off her sternum, catching the inside of her buttons.
Hamid came and led them to the fridge, then the stairs, the fire door. It was hot outside. They started across the parking lot.
âSo, wedding cakes,â Hamid said.
âI like wedding cakes.â
âDifficult to light molded sugar. Very matte, and then
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