The third-quarter marketing layout sat between us on the edge of my desk. Jack leaned in close enough for me to smell his peppermint gum, his fingers lingering on the corner of the blue folder.
“We are going to find that place in the suburbs before the frost hits,” he said, keeping his voice below the hum of the department copier. “I have the agent looking at three townhouses on Tuesday.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway, his fingers moving to his wrist to adjust the heavy gold band of his watch. It was a twelve-hundred-dollar watch he bought himself when he landed the medical accounts last spring.
“The real estate market is moving fast,” I said, twisting my silver grandmother ring around my left ring finger. “The baby is coming in April, Jack.”
“I know the timeline, Rebecca,” he said, his smile quick and practiced. “I just need a few more weeks to sort out my assets, I swear.”
He was already backing out of my cubicle before I could ask him about the credit check forms. His eyes darted toward the elevators, then back to his phone.
At four o’clock, Thomas stood by the break room sink, rinsing a ceramic mug with hot water. He did not turn around when I walked in, but his shoulders tightened under his gray flannel shirt.
“He was not at the clinic on Thursday,” Thomas said, setting the mug upside down on the paper towel.
“There was an accident on the outer belt,” I said, reaching for a paper cup. “The traffic was backed up for miles.”
Thomas rubbed his temples with both thumbs, a gesture he only did when he was trying to keep his voice flat. “A man who wants to see his child’s first ultrasound does not get stuck on the highway three miles from the hospital, Rebecca.”
“You do not know his schedule,” I said.
“I know his type,” Thomas said, looking directly at me. “The firm has six regional reps, and none of them spend their afternoons hiding their corporate mileage.”
The wall clock ticked once, a heavy plastic click that seemed too loud for the small room. Thomas picked up his keys from the counter.
