The Futures(67)

“Right. Good to see you, man.”

“You, too. You’re in the city these days?”

“Yup. Yeah, Julia and I live together.”

“Oh, no shit. You two stay in town for the holiday?”

“Just me. I couldn’t really get away from work.”

“So you wind up here on Thanksgiving night. Hey, things could be worse.” He laughed, showing teeth like white coins. There was something different about him. The few times I’d met Adam in college, he’d always looked past me. Always scanning the room for something else. But that night his eyes were fixed directly on mine.

“So where do you work?” he said.

“I’m in finance. Spire Management—a hedge fund, actually.”

“Wow. They’re huge. You liking it there?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Rough year to start a career in finance.”

“We’ve been lucky. No layoffs, knock wood.”

“Amen. What are you working on over there?”

The bartender swooped over. “Another martini, sir?” I shook my head and asked for the check. When I turned back, Adam was still staring. “Oh, the usual stuff,” I said.

“You know,” Adam said, lowering his voice, “I saw that Spire’s taking a big position on some lumber company up in Canada. Some really ballsy play. You work on that?”

Part of me wanted to take credit for it, just to shut Adam up. Yes, I did, and what the hell have you done lately? But I was skittish about saying too much. The deal was public news, but it was habit by then, keeping it close to the chest, need-to-know. “Not really,” I said lightly. “But what about you? I’ve seen your articles. They’re good.”

He stared for a beat longer. Then, suddenly, the old Adam was back. His gaze slackened and his eyes surfed across the room. “Thanks,” he said in an empty tone. “Glad you’re a fan. Hey, great running into you. I’d better go join my date.”

The woman in the black dress at the bar lit up with a smile at Adam. “See you around,” Adam said to me. He slid on the stool next to the woman and pulled her in for a long kiss. She had transformed from her nervous self and was suddenly playful as a kitten, kissing his neck and snuggling against him. Adam snapped his fingers at the bartender. I drained the last of my martini and stood up to leave, feeling slightly sick.





Chapter 12


Julia



The forecast called for snow—up to ten inches in the city, the first blizzard of the season. A few flakes were starting to fall when I went out for lunch that Friday afternoon in December, for a chicken-salad sandwich and a Diet Coke from the deli around the corner, where the cashier had finally started to greet me as a regular.

Laurie had spent most of the day with her door shut. Was there something unusually tense in her mood, in her heavier footsteps and louder sighs? I didn’t notice it at the time. I was daydreaming about the weekend. Abby was throwing a holiday party on Saturday. I had Christmas shopping to do. For Adam, in particular. I’d saved a few hundred dollars during the previous months, bits and pieces from my paychecks. It was a good feeling, having money I had earned and could spend any way I wanted. It was the first time I could say that. I wouldn’t be able to impress Adam monetarily, but maybe I could impress him with a gift that proved just how well I knew him. Something small and perfect. More evidence that we were, in fact, meant to be together.

“Julia,” Laurie said, startling me from a consideration of whether I could afford one of the first-edition Updikes I’d seen in the window at Argosy. “Come in and talk to me.”

She shut the door and lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. This was bound to be something annoying. We weren’t just going to chitchat, that was for sure. I’d long since given up hope on that. Laurie only called me in to give dull, impersonal, demanding instructions. A new workflow procedure that needed enacting, a problem that needed fixing. I had forgotten to bring a pen and paper. Pay attention, I thought.

“So Julia,” she said, sweeping the papers on her desk into a neat stack, squaring the edges. “We have to let you go.”

I waited. I wasn’t even sure I’d heard her right.

Laurie cleared her throat, her eyes still fixed on her desk. “The donation promised to us by the Fletchers has fallen through at the last minute. It’s been a difficult year, you obviously know that, and with market circumstances changing so rapidly, the Fletchers didn’t feel they could follow through on their initial commitment. And so without that, we have to cut costs. We’re letting others go, too. I’m afraid today will be your last day.”

I blinked like a dumb animal. Say something, I thought. Don’t just sit here. But I couldn’t. My mouth was dry and hot and cottony. The room was too warm, the radiator groaning and clanking with steam. Laurie should open a window.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Laurie said. “Do you have any questions?”

I tried to think of something, anything, to say. This might be my only chance. “How many others?” I managed.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that. You’re the first person we’ve told.”

She finally met my gaze. Didn’t she feel an ounce of pity for me, the person who had sat right outside her office for the past five months, answering her phone and making her coffee every goddamn morning? Didn’t she feel anything? I wanted her to explain it, to apologize, to lessen the blow somehow. To say something, anything. It’s not personal. We’re so sorry to do this. Why me? Why not somebody else? Questions? There were a hundred questions swirling through my mind, but I didn’t know how to articulate them. So when Laurie said, “Is that it? Do you have any other questions?” I just shook my head.