Attach ments(99)

“Beth,” he wrote, then started over. They weren’t exactly on a first-name basis.

Hello, We’ve never met, but I’m the guy whose job it is to enforce the company’s computer policy.

Your e-mail gets flagged. A lot. I should have sent you warnings the same way I do everyone else, but I didn’t—because reading your e-mail made me like you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were breaking the rules because I didn’t want to stop hearing from you and your friend, Jennifer.

This was an egregious invasion of your privacy and hers, and for that, I deeply apologize.

I won’t blame you if you turn me in, but I’m quitting anyway. I never should have taken this job, and I don’t like the person I’ve become here.

I’m writing this note because I owe you an apology—even a cowardly, anonymous one—and because I thought I should warn you to stop using your company computer to send personal e- mails.

I really am sorry.

He folded the note up and sealed the envelope before he could change his mind or think about rewriting it. She didn’t need to know that he was in love with her. There was no point making the note any weirder than it had to be.

Lincoln was giving Beth proof, written proof, that he’d read her e-mail, but he wasn’t sure what could come of that. Greg couldn’t fire him, even if he wanted to. He probably wouldn’t want to.

Reading e-mail was Lincoln’s job. Greg had pretty much given him permission to read whatever he wanted, even the stuff that didn’t get flagged. In Lincoln’s position, Greg probably would have done much worse.

Lincoln wanted to confess. He wanted to apologize. And he wanted to make it impossible for himself to turn back.

The newsroom was dark when he got there. He turned on the lights and walked to Beth’s desk. He set the envelope on her keyboard, then decided to tape it there so that it wouldn’t get knocked off. And then he left.

Enough is enough is enough.





THE PHONE WOKE Lincoln up at seven forty-five the next morning. It was Greg. He was pissed, but he also really wanted Lincoln to change his mind.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Lincoln said, not even opening his eyes.

Greg offered him more money, a lot more money, making Lincoln wish he would have tried to quit his job a few months before he was actually ready to leave.

“You didn’t even give me two weeks,” Greg said.

“That was crappy of me. I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Give me two weeks.”

“I can’t,” Lincoln said. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you already have another job?”

“No.”

Greg yelled at him for a few minutes, then apologized and said that Lincoln could use him as a reference if he ever wanted to.

“What are you going to say I’m good at,” Lincoln asked, “sitting around?”

“You weren’t just sitting around,” Greg said. “How many times do I have to tell you? You were keeping the home fires burning. Somebody has to answer the phone and say, ‘Help desk.’”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else who can handle it.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Greg sighed, “only whack jobs apply for the night shift.”

Lincoln wondered if Beth had read his note—probably not yet—and whether she would file some sort of complaint against him. That threat still didn’t seem substantial enough to worry about. He hoped his note hadn’t scared her; he hadn’t meant to scare her. Maybe he should have thought more about that.

ON SATURDAY MORNING , Lincoln drove to Eighty-fourth Street and West Dodge Road to watch a demolition crew tear down the Indian Hills theater. They’d stripped the place the day before. All that was left was the screen and the building. There was a good-size crowd gathered in the parking lot, but Lincoln didn’t get close enough to see any faces; he watched from the parking lot outside the doughnut shop across the street. After about an hour, he went inside and bought two crullers, a carton of milk, and a newspaper. He threw every section but the Classifieds away before he sat down.

Then he took out an old spiral notebook and opened it to the middle. To his list. He copied four entries in the margin of the Classifieds: “No. 19. Unfreezing computers/Untangling necklaces.

“No. 23. Being helpful.”

“No. 5. Not worrying about things he really shouldn’t worry about.”

And finally, “No. 36. Being GOOD.”

The ads were full of computer jobs. He crossed out any listings that seemed vague or sneaky and anything that said, “Great people skills a must.”

He circled one. “Senior computer technician needed. St. James University, Department of Nursing.