“It’s not our problem,” he said. “The contact-list entry is my problem. You. Sold. Terry.”
The way Curtis enunciated every word made the joints of Marc’s jaw ache, but he didn’t give in to his irritation. Curtis had something Marc wanted. Namely, Curtis still had access to the app they’d developed and Marc didn’t.
“Technically,” he said, struggling to keep his voice jolly, “we both sold the company. You simply chose to stay on after all the checks were written.”
Marc slowed his SUV as he approached the next hairpin turn. He should be appreciating the scenery of the Idaho mountains in the early winter. After all, he had cancelled the lease on his Seattle apartment and driven off with the intent of seeing the country and skiing at all the best resorts. But pine trees and snowy mountaintops were competition for the way his mind had rolled over the contact-list problem since he’d driven out of town in search of . . .
Maybe that was the issue. He didn’t know what he was looking for other than something else to occupy his mind. Some intricate, interesting problem to solve. Something with a minor detail out of place where the solution would hit him over the head and a small edit in the code would make an audience of investors open their checkbooks.
A life of leisure had turned out to be really fucking boring. And it had only been a week.
“And you were given the chance to stay on when we sold Terry, too. You refused.”
Marc took the next turn as Curtis was silent again. They’d been friends long enough for Marc to imagine what his friend was doing. Curtis was probably sitting at his desk—before they’d sold Terry, they’d both been at their desk 95 percent of their waking hours—rolling his eyes at the wall. Curtis always rolled his eyes when he thought he was right but the other person was still arguing.
“Satellite lost,” the GPS woman said in her tinny voice. For the past two hours, it was all she’d been able to say. Occasionally she’d say, “Satellite found,” but mostly lost.
“Come on, Betty.” He’d started calling her that yesterday, the second time he’d made a hairpin turn in the middle of nowhere in Idaho, centermost middle of nowhere state. He and Curtis had this joke that if you named technology, it would behave better. ’Cause it felt loved, ’cause you were furthering its ability to take over the world Matrix-style, ’cause it made swearing at it more satisfying. The two of them had had different ideas about why you had to name technology.
Marc named technology because he loved it. Curtis wanted to take over the world. They both liked swearing.
“Look,” he said to the screen as he pulled his brand-new Land Rover over to the side of the road. “I’m sorry it took me a day to give you a name. I get it. You’re still mad. But I’ve named you. I’ve apologized. Now just tell me where the fuck I’m supposed to go.”
That request wasn’t a complete joke. When he’d started out this morning, he hadn’t put a destination into the GPS. His grand plan for the past week had been to drive around, pull over at every overlook and random historical site, and reconcile his whirring mind to his new situation as he drove from ski resort to ski resort. So far, all he’d done was solve Terry’s biggest hitch and call Curtis.
Once safely as far over to the side of the road as he dared, he reached for one of the phones sitting in the passenger seat. Veronica, his Verizon Samsung had no bars. He tossed it back, grabbing for Megan, his AT&T Motorola phone. He huffed. No bars. His favorite phone was failing him now, too. He set it on the seat next to the Samsung and snatched up the last phone, Holly, his Sprint HTC. She didn’t have bars, either. When he pitched Holly back to the seat, she bounced once, then slid off onto the floor.
By now, Curtis had to have realized that the call had been dropped. Marc sighed. Well, at least his friend would have extra time to consider that Marc had a solution to their problem and would come to his senses. Because Marc needed something to do in empty hotel rooms after driving around all day.
“I owe you another apology, Betty,” he said to the GPS. Having lost his call with Curtis, he only had the machines to talk to. “It’s not your fault we’re lost. Clearly an asteroid has hit Earth somewhere, wiping out all possible technology, leaving me to fend for myself in the wilderness.”