Page 4 of The Wild Card
Today feels like a barely survive kind of day.
* * *
The knock comes around eight. Three deliberate raps.
A glance through the peephole confirms it’s Foster.
I open the door to find him holding a six-pack. “Heard about Alaska.”
“News travels fast.”
“News travels instantly when it involves you abandoning me for the tundra.” He holds up the beer. “Brought supplies.”
I step aside to let him in even though I don’t drink. I keep exactly six beers in the fridge for moments like this, because Foster shows up unannounced often enough that it seemed practical.
He drops onto my couch and cracks one open while I take the chair across from him. Murphy immediately jumps into his lap.
Traitor.
“So.” Foster scratches behind Murphy’s ear. “Anchorage.”
“Anchorage.”
“Daniels thinks it’s an honor.”
“It is an honor. Objectively speaking.”
He takes a long sip of his beer. “But you don’t want it.”
“No.”
Foster nods slowly. He doesn’t ask why. Doesn’t make me explain. He already knows about my anxiety and OCD. He’s one of maybe three people in the world who does.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d think about it.” I stare at the ceiling. “He asked if I had compelling reasons to stay.”
“And?”
“And I don’t. Not the kind that matter to the Bureau.” I gesture at the apartment—pristine, organized, lifeless. “Overpriced mortgage. A cat who tolerates me. A track record of driving away every roommate in under sixty days.”
“Seven roommates,” Foster says. “Eighteen months.”
“Thanks for keeping count.”
“What happened to the last one? The accountant?”
“He used my coffee mug.”
Foster stares at me.
“My designated coffee mug. It was labeled.”
“Crew.”
“It’s not about the mug.” The words come out sharper than I intend. “It’s about… when someone moves my things, when someone disrupts the order I’ve built, my brain goes straight to worst-case scenarios. One moved mug becomes what else did they touch becomes they don’t respect my space becomes everyone leaves eventually, so why bother.”
I stop. I don’t usually say this much. I don’t usually let anyone see behind the curtain.
