I have survived Day Three Post-Christian, and my first day at work. It has been a welcome distraction. The time has flown by in a haze of new faces,
work to do, and Mr. Jack Hyde.
Mr. Jack Hyde . . . he smiles down at me, his blue eyes twinkling, as he leans against my desk.“Excellent work, Ana. I think we’re going to make a
great team.” Somehow, Imanage to curl my lips upward in a semblance of a smile.
“I’ll be off, if that’s okay with you,” Imurmur.
“Of course, it’s five thirty. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Jack.”
“Goodnight, Ana.”
Collecting my bag, I shrug on my jacket and head for the door. Out in the early evening air of Seattle, I take a deep breath. It doesn’t begin to fill the
void in my chest, a void that’s been present since Saturday morning, a painful hollow reminder of my loss. I walk toward the bus stop with my head
down, staring at my feet and contemplating being without my beloved Wanda, my old Beetle . . . or the Audi.
I shut the door on that thought immediately. No. Don’t think about him. Of course, I can afford a car—a nice, new car. I suspect he has been
overgenerous in his payment, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I dismiss it and try to keep my mind as numb and as blank as
possible. I can’t think about him. I don’t want to start crying again—
not out on the street.
The apartment is empty. I miss Kate, and I imagine her lying on a beach in Barbados sipping a cool cocktail. I turn on the flat-screen television so