“I’ll see you,” Chris said, walking back to his booth and dropping a few dollars on the table. “We’re playing Sokol next week, you should say hey if you’re there.”
Lincoln watched Chris walk away and felt himself hoping—really and truly hoping, with the best parts of his heart—that the other man was going home to her.
THERE WAS LESS work than ever in the IT office. The International Strike Force was long gone. Nothing left of them but a stack of blank CDs and a few cigarette burns on the table. “When the fuck did that happen?” Greg asked. Lincoln shrugged. Greg wanted Lincoln to change all the system passwords and shore up the firewalls; he was even issuing new security badges to the whole department.
“Those guys always creeped me out,” Greg said. “Especially the Millard South kid …There’s such a thing as knowing too much about computers.”
Lincoln’s shifts felt decades long.
There was nothing from Beth in the WebFence folder Monday night. Nothing about the wedding.
Nothing at all. It was empty Tuesday night, too. And Wednesday.
Lincoln watched for her in the hallways and took long dinner breaks. He saw her byline in the paper, so he knew she was coming to work. He checked the WebFence folder every night, every few hours.
Thursday, empty. Friday, empty. Monday, nothing.
On Monday night, Lincoln walked by Beth’s desk at six o’clock and then again at eight. He brought chicken-leek pie to share with Doris and sat in the break room with her for two hours, talking.
Waiting. Doris told him she was going to teach him how to play pinochle. She said she and Paul used to play, and it was a real kick. “I’ve always wanted to learn,” Lincoln said.
On Tuesday, when Beth and Jennifer still hadn’t turned up, he checked the e-discipline file to see if somebody else in IT had sent them a warning. He wondered for a moment if one of the Y2K kids might be responsible. But there wasn’t any sign of it. There were fresh coffee cups on Beth’s desk— she hadn’t disappeared completely.
On Wednesday, when the WebFence folder was empty again, Lincoln felt strangely light. Maybe this was how it was going to end. Not with a humiliating, painful confrontation. Not with self-control and discipline. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make himself stop reading her e-mail. Maybe it would just stop itself.
COULD YOUR BRAIN actually reject information? Like a foreign organ? Doris was trying to teach Lincoln to play pinochle, and the rules were bouncing off his brain. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, that didn’t discourage her. He’d thought about eating at his desk. If he wasn’t trying to run into Beth, he may as well. But that didn’t seem fair to Doris, especially now that his mother sent treats specifically for the other woman. Now that Doris was the one sharing her cake with him. “Some people just have trouble with games,” she said. “I’ll deal this time.” She did tricks when she shuffled. “Say, do you have big plans this weekend?”
“No,” Lincoln said. He might play D&D. He might play golf with Chuck. One of the other copy editors was having a “Happy New-ish Year” party that Lincoln was invited to. (“We always celebrate holidays a few weeks late,” Chuck had explained. “Those dayside bastards won’t cover for us on holidays.”)
“’Cause I’ve still got that curio cabinet at my old apartment … ,” Doris said. “I told the super I’d have everything out by the thirty-first.”
“Oh, right,” Lincoln said, “sorry. I can come by Saturday afternoon if you want.”
“How about Sunday? I’ve got a date on Saturday.”
Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?
“Sure,” he said. “Sunday.”
WHILE THEY PLAYED golf, Chuck tried to talk Lincoln into coming to the copy desk party.
“I don’t really like parties,” Lincoln said.
“It won’t be much of a party anyway. Copy editors throw terrible parties.”
“You’re really selling it.”
“Emilie will be there …”
“I thought I heard she was dating somebody.”
“They broke up. Why you don’t like Emilie? She’s adorable.”
“Yeah,” Lincoln said, “she’s cute.”
“She’s adorable,” Chuck said, “and she can recite the complete list of prepositions. And she’s bringing pumpkin bread and Electronic Catch Phrase.”
“It sounds like you like Emilie.”
“Not me. I’m trying to reconcile with my wife. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m sort of …coming off a bad relationship.”