“Things aren’t so dire that we have to eat ruined food, are they?”
I licked the crumbs from my lips. She was waiting for me to say something, to explain why I was acting odd, but I would have to lie and I didn’t want to do that. I couldn’t tell her about the messages until I had more time to think about the situation. If I mentioned it to Sana it would become a brouhaha, and I couldn’t deal with that. I needed to keep a lid on this and Julia’s book and my suspicions about her. The lid on the pot was already rattling, about to blow off. Everything I worried about was linked to Julia.
“I’m still concerned about you,” Sana said. “I’m just putting that out there, into the universe.”
I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her tight, hoping this would convey how much I appreciated her. She squeezed me back. I rested my cheek against her shoulder, the yellow of her blouse and the citrus scent of her soap transporting me away from this kitchen and away from thoughts of Jennifer, to somewhere simpler, like the lemon trees in my mother’s yard. I was reluctant to let go of Sana and this reverie. We continued to embrace, no line between us. “I’m sorry I haven’t been myself lately,” I said, but this wasn’t entirely true—I didn’t know what it meant to be myself anymore.
When the hug ended, she didn’t push me to say anything more, even though I knew that’s what she wanted. She left the kitchen and returned to her desk, leaving me alone, my laptop on the table, unavoidable. I would have to open it again.
From: PlumK
To: JuliaCole
Subject: SOS
Julia,
I need to speak with you urgently. DO NOT IGNORE THIS MESSAGE!
—PK
Within minutes, I received a reply—an indication that something was wrong.
From: JuliaCole
To: PlumK
Subject: Re: SOS
Let’s meet tonight at Café Rose. 10:00. I need another favor.
J.
Of course.
When I arrived at Café Rose, Julia was sitting at a table in a back corner, drinking espresso despite the late hour. She was the Austen version of herself, with flawless makeup and straight hair, pale skin, boots with heels. I couldn’t see what she was wearing underneath the trench coat, but I assumed it was her Austen uniform. I thought of her chest under that fabric, covered in roses and thorns.
“What’s with the eye makeup?” she said when I sat down. “Taking beauty tips from our favorite fugitive, are we? That would make a great article for Daisy Chain. ‘Get the Jennifer look!’”
I was conscious of the server hovering nearby. “The T-shirt already exists, so why not?” I said quietly.
“Jennifer as fashion statement, stripped of all the violence and bloodshed, available at Neiman Marcus.”
“Camo will be in style soon.”
“No doubt.”
This banter seemed to be a relief for both of us. The server requested my order and when she was out of earshot, Julia and I both leaned in. “Someone is emailing Daisy Chain readers, telling them to revolt and rise up,” I whispered.
“It’s not a problem,” she whispered back. When the server appeared with my wine, Julia and I straightened up, smiling at her pleasantly. I took a drink slowly, peeking at Julia over the rim of my glass.
When we were alone at the back of the café again, Julia continued, explaining that the Austen network had been under sustained attack for weeks. “Email accounts have been hacked, subscriber information downloaded, everything. This works to our advantage. They will never connect those email addresses back to you and me. Don’t worry.”
I relaxed a bit, taking another sip. “But I’ve been emailing the same girls on my own. It might seem like an unbelievable coincidence.”
“There’s nothing criminal about that. You worked at Austen for years. You developed a connection with the girls, blah blah blah. Trust me, this is the least of our worries.” That phrase—our worries—was loaded with meaning. I didn’t know why I was included in it.
“What about this favor you want?” There was no reason to lounge by the pool—I dived right in.
“Not yet.” She tapped her fingers on the table, surveying the café over my shoulders. I’d always laughed at Julia’s paranoia, but now if she was scooped up in a net, I’d be scooped up too.
“Relax,” I said, glancing around.
“I can’t relax. The heat has been turned up.”
“What heat?” She didn’t answer but fanned herself with a menu. “What did you think when you heard the news about Jennifer?” I wanted to gauge her reaction.
“It’s shocking,” she said, still peering around, not appearing shocked.