“For weeks, we’ve been phoning the police and hospitals,” he continued.
Oh dear.
“Why didn’t you phone my folks?” I asked stupidly because I should be thankful he didn’t. “They’re my emergency contacts.”
“I couldn’t phone Dara and Forrest and worry them if something wasn’t right with you,” he said, sounding aghast and I was grateful that my Mom and Dad knew my boss and they had formed a bond over multiple games of Apples to Apples. “Especially when Phoebe went back, saw some big guy walking out of your apartment, she says he looked like he was living there and when she tried her key, it didn’t work. She thought you’d moved out or something really bad had happened, like you got hooked up with this dude and he was bad news. God, I’m so f**king glad you phoned and sound all right.”
What?
“Dave, don’t you think you’d get a call if something bad went down with me?” I asked stupid, stupid, stupidly.
He paused. Then he asked, “Yeah, I would. So where have you been?”
Stupid!
“Well, I’m calling to say…” Shit! “Something bad went down with me.”
“Oh my God! What? Are you okay?”
Seriously, this was why The Arthur Broderick Agency weren’t doing all that great. Dave was awesome, he was a creative mastermind when it came to advertising and he could charm a snake but he was mostly a flake and Boyd Broderick wasn’t much better. They were college roommates and they still wore beer bong hats and got toasted in their offices frequently.
“I…” I started, my mind searching then I came up with it, “got in an accident.”
“Holy shit! Were you hurt?”
“No, I mean, yes. I had a head injury.”
“Oh, Cora, I can’t believe it! That sucks! I can’t believe Dara and Forrest didn’t phone. They went it alone. That’s awful. We could have, I don’t know, sent a fruit basket or something. Are you okay?”
“Um, well, I had amnesia for awhile so obviously, uh… forgot where I worked…” Pure soap opera, was he going to buy this shit? “And so, no… I’m still recovering and…” Was I going to do this? Damn, I was. “I need a bit more time.”
“Whatever you need. We’ll activate the extended sick leave policy for you. We had to, you know, stop your pay. HR made us do it, swear. But we’ll reinstate it and get you reimbursed for…”
“No,” I cut in, feeling like a cheat, “you don’t have to do that.”
“Of course we do. You’ve been with us frickin’ forever.”
God, that was nice.
“No, really, I have special insurance for, you know, that kind of thing,” I lied and kept lying. “I’m good. Totally okay. I just need another week. Maybe two. And then, um… can I come back?”
“Yeah, sure, totally,” Dave told me. “We have an ad in the paper but we’ve been getting temps and they, like, totally suck so, abso-freaking-lutely. Can’t wait to have you back but you get healthy first, hear?”
My boss rocked.
“Thanks, Dave.”
“Good to hear your voice, Cora. Sucks you had an accident but glad you’re gonna be okay.”
“Thanks.”
“Later, Cora.”
“Bye, Dave.”
I hit the off button.
Then I stared at the phone.