professor interviewed Rickie in class about his amnesia. That was interesting. But Rickie knew more of the neuroscience we were learning than most of the graduate students in the class. And then there's the whole speaking three languages thing. It does things for my competence fetish.”
“Karim, do you have a man crush on my friend Rickie?” And just listen to me! I'm teasing my new coworker like a normal, well-adjusted person.
"Oh, it's a full-on crush," he says. “Those eyes. Those tattoos.”
My surprised laugh comes out as an undignified snort. “Don't ever let him hear you saying these things. His ego is king-size. He does enjoy flattery, though. Just a tip.”
“Really?” Karim's eyes sparkle. “So you're saying there's a chance?”
He leads me into a conference room, where Jenn is already waiting. "Morning!" she says, hoisting a postal service tray out of a box and onto the table. And with one glance I know what we're going to be doing today. The envelopes stacked into that tray are identical to the ones causing all the trauma in my life.
I actually shiver.
"This is the—“
“Northeast Healthcare Workers survey. Vermont edition," I say, sounding like the worst kind of know-it-all. "Sorry. These envelopes haunt my dreams."
And I mean that literally.
"No problem! It's great that you've done this before. Once you get comfortable I'll just go over our procedure, because there could be differences?”
"Absolutely." I shed my heavy backpack and slide Audrey’s pastry box onto a corner of the table.
Then I listen like a champ as she explains the procedure. The surveys are separated from the envelopes, but the envelopes are retained by zip code.
We did the same thing, of course. But Reardon had disposed of the extra envelopes too. It was the first thing I’d checked.
It turns out they do things exactly the same way in Vermont. So we get to work. I'm already a pro at zipping the letter opener across the top of the envelope without slicing the papers inside, and the work goes quickly.
"I brought treats," I say after an hour. "Blueberry scones."
"Does that mean it's time for a coffee break?" Karim asks.
“Yes!" Jenn shouts. "Our coffee break ritual is an episode of Cold In Death."
"The true crime podcast?" I ask.
“That’s the one. Are you a fan?”
"Not yet. But first I need to duck into the library anyway and swap some journals."
They both stare at me. “You didn’t,” Karim clears his throat, "finish reading those already?”
“Well, sure. But I had a whole week. And I don't have a life, so...” I chuckle nervously.
They exchange a glance. "Wait until she finds out our other favorite pastimes,” Jenn says.
“They’re very intellectual,” Karim explains. “Darts at the bar. And karaoke."
"I can play darts," I insist. "My grandpa taught me. He's a shark. Karaoke and I don't mix. Like, at all.” I don’t like to be stared at.
“Eh, one out of two ain’t bad,” Karim says with a shrug. “Can I have a scone now?”
“You can have two.” I slide the box toward him on the table. I already like these people. I can’t help but feel a little whiff of hope.
Reardon seemed nice, too, my battered ego points out. You can never really tell.
New friends are too risky. I learned that the hard way.
Eleven
Rickie
“Hey,” Lenore says as I bounce into the chair across from her. “Thanks for pushing back a half hour. I know you were waiting around.”
“No problem.” She’d texted to say that she had a patient in crisis, asking me to meet her a little later than usual. “I did an errand and went to the coffee shop.”
“Is that why you look so jittery right now? How was your week?”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Another bear?”
“Nope. Everything I faced down was human. I did what you said. I told Daphne about my issues.”
“Oh!” She clutches her heart. “That’s so healthy of you, Rickie. You deserve a cookie.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Did you get a cookie?”
“Your use of the word cookie confuses me. It’s almost like you’re making it sound sexual.”
She snickers.
“Nothing happened. Yet. But it turns out that Daphne is dealing with some things, too. She has a crazy ex who’s threatening her. It’s a long, weird story. And get this—he transferred from USTSA. A senator’s son.”
“Okay?” Lenore plays with her earring. “Does that feel meaningful to you?”
“Of course it does. I can’t remember my own life, so every mention of that place feels like a sign. Like I’m living through the second act of a horror movie, waiting for the