“Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe this was some big game to him.”
“You know that’s not true,” she scoffs. “I saw that man’s face the other night. He was as fucked up as you about this whole thing.”
“He should be. I hope he’s miserable.”
Presley grins and stands, surveying the state of my existence. “Okay, you get a shower. I’ll order food and we can sit around and watch movies tonight and not think about all of this. Deal?”
“Shower. Ice Cream. And Netflix. That’s a deal.”
“I’ll take it,” she laughs, throwing her hands up. “Get in the shower and I’ll go get some Rocky Road.”
“I never thought I’d say I’m tired of eating ice cream,” Presley says, dropping a spoon into a container, “but the day has come.” She sits the box down and rubs her stomach. “I think I might be sick.”
“You’re weak.” My lips wrap around another spoonful of Rocky Road. The chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness is probably the fourth quart I’ve put away in as many days. It’s comfort food at its finest, and comfort is what I need, although it’s not being entirely forthcoming.
The movie flips off, a throwback Julia Roberts flick about a best friend getting married. I’m not sure why Presley chose a movie where the heroine doesn’t get the guy, but I eye her suspiciously.
“What?” she asks.
“Just wondering why you picked this movie out of all the movies in the world.”
“I’ve always liked this one,” she declares. “It proves that sometimes not getting what you think you want is the best thing. That, you know, there are multiple good endings.”
I toss her a look that lets her know I think she’s full of crap and reach for my buzzing phone. My body is sore from lying on the couch for however many days and it takes more effort than normal to reach that far.
The number on the screen is not one I know, but I answer it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ms. Calloway?” A man’s voice, calm and collected, asks. It’s not a voice I’ve heard before and something about the way he addresses me makes me nervous.
“It is. Who is this?”
“My name is Duke Canon. I work for Fenton Abbott as the Director of Operations for Mandla.”
I slink back in the chair, letting my mind run away with me. The sound of Fenton’s name makes my heart flutter. “What can I do for you?”
Presley leans forward, not bothering to pretend that she’s not listening.
“Mr. Abbott wanted me to call you this evening for a few reasons. First of all, I’ve sent an envelope to you by courier. It should reach you at some point within the next hour if you haven’t received it already.”
“I haven’t,” I say, my throat dry. “What’s it about?”
“I’m not sure. He left it for me to forward. And also, I wanted to tell you that an entire, complete copy of your brother’s employment history can be obtained on Monday, if you wish.”
“What?” I choke out.
My mind spins, going through a million different reasons why I would want, or need, that.
“I can have it sent by courier as well, or you can pick it up. That is, if you want it.”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” I stammer, still working out what this means. “Monday? Why can’t I have it now?”
“Again, Ms. Calloway, I’m following orders. I will say that it’s highly unusual and potentially unlawful for us to give out this information. And between us, I would ask that you not turn this over to the authorities. Mr. Abbott could risk losing his company over this and Mandla is more of a family heirloom to my boss than anything.”
“I understand,” I say, touching the elephant around my neck. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. Can you please have it sent to me?” I ask, hearing the doorbell ring. Presley jumps up to get it and I watch her leave the room. “Mr. Canon, I have a question.”
“Sure.”
“I called Fenton tonight and he didn’t answer. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s unavailable, Ms. Calloway. That’s all I can say.”
Presley comes into the room, a large envelope in her hand. She places it next to me on the sofa and takes her seat across from me.
“I got your envelope,” I say, looking at Fenton’s handwriting across the package. It makes me smile. “Did you know my brother, Mr. Canon?”