Two Weeks' Notice

“I’m taking my medicine on time,” she said. “Thanks, Mom. And I promise not to pet stray dogs or talk to strangers with candy, too.”

Liam sent her a quelling look for that particular snarkiness. “I mean it sincerely,” he said. “I sometimes worry you don’t take enough care of yourself.”

“I do nothing but take care of myself.” She sighed. “And if I ever forget, I’m sure you’ll call to remind me, Mother Hen.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he said, and smiled. “I’m only looking after the McCallister Trust’s investments.”

The McCallister Trust had bought the old Fairview Mortuary and repaired it after the fire, and in effect, she worked for him, as he was the trust’s administrator…which was a head-spinning turnabout, when she took the time to analyze it. The trust also paid for Manny’s research on Returné that kept her shots coming without relying on the government supplies, so in pretty much every sense, Liam held her life in his hands.

And made her breakfast. It was all very emotionally confusing.

“Liam,” she said, and licked a bit of jam off her fingers, “why do you do all…this? I mean, you’re the trust administrator. You’re not actually the butler here. If anything, Patrick works for you.”

“I enjoy routines,” he said. “My father worked in this house, and I’ve been on staff since I was fifteen years old. The fact that the late Mr. McCallister decided to entrust me with the family’s assets instead of his son does not require me to stop doing a job at which I’m actually quite expert.” He was quiet for a moment, then met her eyes squarely. “This is Patrick’s birthright. His father was cruel to him. It doesn’t mean that I need to continue that cycle.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said. “I do it because I wish to do it. And that’s all there is to say.”

It might have led to an awkward silence, but Liam, after a brief pause, asked Bryn what she thought about replanting the gardens, and she was grateful for a change of subject—so grateful, she even got enthusiastic about bromeliads. After her meal, Bryn walked Mr. French, then headed for work.

On the drive, she called ahead to the office. “Lucy? Hey, girl. I don’t have any appointments, do I?”

“Clear schedule this morning,” Lucy said. “You’ve got that afternoon thing at Pharmadene.”

“Then I’ll be in the office after lunch.”

“Please tell me you are off to some romantic rendezvous with hot Mr. Pat.”

“It’s not a romantic rendezvous,” Bryn said.

“Then tell me you’re not picking up a dead person, because it is way too early for that.”

Bryn laughed. “See you soon, Luce.”

“You know Joe’s gonna ask me where you are this morning.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know. Good luck with that.”

“Boss! Don’t you hang me out to dry!”

“Tell them I had to meet with a vendor off-site and I’ll be in after lunch.”

There was a short silence, and then Lucy said, all traces of humor gone, “And will I be lying to him?”

“You know, I think I’m having a bad influence on you,” Bryn said, and cut the connection. Lucy didn’t try to call back, thankfully, and Bryn felt only a little guilty. What Lucy didn’t know would ensure that Joe didn’t decide to helpfully drop in on her meeting this morning with Carl, who was probably nervous enough to bolt if he imagined he saw anyone watching him.

Coffee Jack’s was doing—as usual—brisk business. Doorman Dave saw her parking and got up from his table to swing the door open and hold it for her. “Top of the morning!” he told her with absolutely insane cheer, and gave her a sunny smile. Doorman Dave didn’t work for the shop; he was an elderly African-American man who was just here every morning with a giant cup of coffee and nothing to do. This was his hobby—meeting people, chatting, and…opening doors. He’d been doing it for years.

“Morning, Dave,” she said, and gave him as optimistic a smile as she could. “So, anybody new this morning?”

“Ah, you know, couple of dozen walk-in-and-outs.” He gave her a surprisingly sharp look. “Are you here to meet the nervous fella?”

“Dave. You know I come here all the time. I’m a regular.”

“Yeah, but you never asked if there’s anybody new.” He nodded inside. “Back table, in the corner. He’s drinking unleaded. That’s probably wise, since he’s jumpy as a cat in a dog factory.”

Bryn glanced at the coffee in Dave’s big hand. “You need a refill?”

“Could do with one,” he said, and his smile, if possible, got even brighter. “You spoil me, Bryn.” Dave greeted hundreds of people every day, but he remembered every single name. It was amazing, really.

“I’ll order you one up,” she said. “Thanks, Dave.”

He winked at her and let the door fall shut behind her. She ordered herself a cappuccino and Dave’s regular poison, and chatted for a second with the counter staff (necessary at Coffee Jack’s, which was the most chatty place she’d ever visited) before looking around for Carl.

Just as Dave had said, there was a pale, nervous man in a suit sitting at the back table in the corner, next to the notice board. He was watching her, and took a quick swig from his cup and stood as she came over. “Carl?” she asked. He nodded, and she slid into the seat opposite his. “Good to meet you.”

He nodded and sat down. He had the look; Bryn would have recognized it even if she hadn’t had the heads-up from Doorman Dave. There was a certain haunted expression in the eyes that she still saw traces of in her own mirror. If Dave still worked at Pharmadene, he was likely one of those lower-level employees who’d gotten his death-and-rebirth courtesy of a corporate memo. Bryn’s murder and Revival hadn’t been pleasant, but at least there had been a point…unlike with these poor bastards, who’d just worked in the wrong cubicle, for the wrong company. And now, like her, were saddled with an addiction that was as onerous as it was terrifying.

“I heard about you from Chandra in the research labs,” he said. “She said you’re…like us. But you don’t work for the company.”

“That’s right,” Bryn said. She tried the cappuccino, and as usual, it was amazing. “I was what you might call a lab rat. I got the shots before anyone at Pharmadene did.”

“So you understand.…” Carl hesitated, shifted his coffee around without drinking it, and finally burst out with it. “The government brought in counselors, you know. We’re supposed to talk to them. But I don’t…I don’t trust them. Any of them. I want to get out of this, and get my family out of it. Get free.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bryn said. “But it isn’t that simple. You can get free of Pharmadene, at least to a certain extent, and if you want, I can help you do that, but this isn’t a situation that gets any better. It’s maintenance. Scenery can change, but every day, the shots have to happen, forever. Once you reconcile yourself to that, you can start to deal with it.”

“But I don’t want to reconcile to it. I want it to stop. There has to be a way —”

“There isn’t,” she said flatly. “Look, I went through this, Carl, and I’m still dependent on the government program to some extent. I’ve consulted experts. I’ve done everything I can to make this go away, but it doesn’t. There isn’t a cure. There’s just…living, day to day. And I’m sorry, but you need to accept that before you get yourself into trouble. If there aren’t con artists preying on your desperation yet, it’s only a matter of time before one figures out there’s an opportunity. You need to be pragmatic about this if you want to survive.”

“I haven’t told my wife,” he said, and looked down. “I don’t know how to even start doing that. How did you…?”

“I’m not married,” she said. “And I can’t tell you what to do, Carl, but you can’t hide this from her. She needs to understand why you can’t go on vacation for a weekend, or miss a day at the office, or…whatever the situation might be. Not telling her is only going to get harder. The counselors at Pharmadene have training for this.…Take your wife in with you, sit down with them, and talk it all out. She’ll have to sign the government agreements and accept being monitored twenty-four/seven—not that she isn’t already. She’ll be shocked, and angry, and betrayed that you lied to her for this long, but it’s better if you do it in a situation where others can support what you’re saying.…” Her cell phone buzzed for attention, and Bryn pulled it from her pocket and checked it. “Sorry. Hang on a minute.” She recognized the caller ID.