In case you hadn’t noticed, things happen slowly around here.
I realize as I step out into the grey morning that it’s been nearly two months since my head-clearing trip to the mountain and my meet-up with Earnest, the fly fisherman, who advised me to stick around Middle Valley, if only for just a bit longer.
I have decided to heed his advice, which means today is my last day on the job with Mercury.
Starting next week, I’ll be Wanda’s Director of Emergency Management, still working from the Courthouse but in an office down the hall – a much bigger office than Mercury and I have been in.
A much bigger office, but also a much bigger team. The police, fire, and EMS squads will all be under my purview – far more people than I’ve ever managed. My connections to Albany will be helpful here, as well.
The trouble is I have yet to share this information with Mercury.
Not the best move, I imagine, given how close we’ve become … at work, I mean. But, you know, she’s been busy – finding an apartment, extricating herself from Bitsy’s grasp.
She probably won’t think anything of it.
I walk up the Courthouse steps and into our closet of an office for the final time. There she is, coffee in hand, leaning on her desk and looking more than a little pissed.
“Was there something you were going to tell me?” Mercury asks. “Here,” she says, pointedly, handing me my cup.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, putting the hot beverage as far from her as possible. “I’m guessing you’ve heard?”
She nods. “What I’ve heard is that you’re moving across the building.”
“That is correct,” I tell her. “Got my own department and everything.”
“Well, isn’t that special?” she says, her words dripping with Church Lady sarcasm. “When did you plan to tell me?”
“I …” I stuttered. “I don’t know? Now?”
Mercury begins to laugh.
“Well, Wanda saved you the trouble. She just called and made me an offer, too. Seems after all this nonsense she’s secured a public / private partnership for Middle Valley to build its own forensics lab. We’ll be THE resource for departments around the center of the state … rather than having to go all the way to Albany, of course. I’m running it.”
“Are you serious?” I ask. I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Where?”
“The building is connected to Hilltop. Old Albert Nutwell’s place. That’s his contribution. Space.”
“He’s not that old,” I tell her.
“Whatever, I don’t care.”
She pulls herself up to sit on top of her desk and crosses her legs.
“So … we’ll still be working together?” I ask.
She nods again. “I’m afraid so.”
I laugh and catch her eye. I can tell she’s happy, too.
“So,” I say, pulling up a chair. “How’s life outside of Bitsy’s fishbowl?”
She smiles and nods. “My neighbor, whom you may remember – Marjorie? – is a hoot, I’ll certainly say that much …. But, you know, there’s a lot to tell. How about I treat you to dinner at the Golden Pillar?”
“Really? Your treat?” I ask.
“Yeah, I know the owner.”
“But won’t Bitsy be hanging around?” I ask. “Haven’t you had enough of her?”
Mercury nods. “No doubt. But I think it’ll be good for her to see I’m moving on.”
“Well,” I say, picking up an empty packing box and tossing it in her direction. “I suppose we all are in one way or another.”
If only the courts would let us be done with Paul and Armand and Mick and the lot of them … then, and only then.
Gunnar Olafsson