The Drafter

“No,” Sandy said cheerfully. “I wanted some time with you first. You know … girl talk. You want anything? We’re technically open.”

 

 

She shook her head, feeling a familiar pre-task tension in her gut. Avoiding the tables, she sat on the raised hearth, where she could see everyone. The logs stacked beside her looked old enough to crumble, and she picked at one, tossing the bark that flaked off into the unused cavern. “I’ll wait for Allen’s coffee,” she said, hands clasping around her knees. “How’s business?” she asked. Psych reviews sucked.

 

Sandy sat beside her, her thin but muscular ballerina legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “You know,” she said lightly. “Same old, same old. Pay bills, listen to the gamehogs bitch about the college kids coming in to use the vid lounge. The only excitement is when one of you comes back. Still having nightmares about drafting with no one there to catch you?”

 

Peri shrugged, hoping that Sandy would believe the coming lie. “No. I’ve been sleeping like a baby ever since getting that cat.”

 

Sandy wrinkled her nose and pulled her legs under her. “Cats are nasty animals. I can’t believe you took in a stray. He could have tapeworms and fleas.”

 

“He wasn’t a stray. He had a collar,” she protested. “I had him vetted the first day, and until someone claims him, he’s mine. He found me. Needed me.”

 

Sandy made an unconvincing snort, and Peri flexed her fingers nervously. “Ah, that’s actually something I wanted to ask you about.”

 

Eyebrows high, Sandy faced her squarely. “Talk.”

 

“Next time I go on task, I need a cat-sitter.”

 

Sandy’s eyes widened. “I thought you were going to spill. You want me to cat-sit?”

 

“Just … could you come over and feed him while Allen and I are out?” she asked, and Sandy made a face. “If we’re out longer than two days, I mean,” Peri pleaded.

 

Sighing, the small woman slumped in defeat. “Fine, okay,” she said. “But only because it’s you. I don’t have to pet it or anything, right? And I’m not cleaning the cat box.”

 

“Deal,” Peri said, and the man at the bar watched them through the big mirror, causing Peri to wonder if they were being too loud. Frank had gone into the back room, and it was just them. Is he an Opti psychologist? she wondered. If so, why wasn’t he being included? He certainly looked the part, well-dressed and professional, his short blond hair styled and a hint of stubble at his jaw. He felt familiar, but she’d been spending enough time with the “couch warriors” lately to be on a first-name basis with most of Opti’s psychologists. Maybe he was observing—which would explain why he was being ignored by everyone. She’d do the same.

 

“Peri, are you even listening to me?”

 

Embarrassed, she pulled her eyes from the man. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

Sandy’s thin eyebrows were furrowed. “I said, cats steal the breath from babies.”

 

Pitching her voice lower, Peri muttered, “Well, I’m not likely to have that problem, am I.” It sounded bitter, even to her, and she wished she could take it back when Sandy reached for her hand. Peri stifled the urge to pull away, not wanting Sandy to think she was pining for a baby. A family. She wasn’t. Not really. She’d made her choice a long time ago.

 

“It’s not too late,” Sandy said softly, and Peri refused to show any new emotion. “You have lots of time. Is that what’s bothering you?”

 

Peri exhaled, deciding to come out with it if only to speed this up. “No,” she said, meeting Sandy’s eyes. “It’s like half the people I know are gone, and the other half are treating me as if I’m going to break. As if they’re afraid of what I might do, and I don’t know why. Was I an ass-hat before I lost everything? Because that’s the impression I’m getting.”

 

“You were—are—not an ass-hat,” Sandy said frankly, and the man at the bar snorted.

 

“Then what is it?” she whispered. “I have no friends but Allen, and even he’s watching me as if I might suddenly—I don’t know … go off on a nut and break his face.”

 

“Allen has his own issues,” Sandy said. “You might have lost everything, but he hasn’t, and until he lets go of you in the past, he can’t appreciate you in the now, much less the future.”

 

Loss. It was a recurring theme in her nightmares. She had loved someone, and now love was gone. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you’ll be evaluating him.”

 

“Oh, we’ve been doing that already,” Sandy said drily. “I’ll talk to him.”

 

I bet you will, she thought sourly, looking up when Allen came in with a wash of light.

 

“Hello, ladies!” he called, the sun glinting on his dark curls as he hoisted a paper bag. “Frank!” he shouted, though the man was nowhere to be seen. “You want a doughnut?”