“Let me just drop this off with Paul and I’ll be right down.”
Brenda looked at the box of sadness in her hand. “Yeah, okay. I’ve only got about forty minutes left, though.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Paul’s door was half-closed when I rapped on the door frame. At the muffled noise, I pushed it all the way open. He sat at his desk, staring at his computer monitor. The screen had dissolved into a rapidly changing pattern of expanding pipe-work, his screen saver, and I wondered how long he’d been sitting there.
“Paul?”
“Paige. Come in.” He gestured and swiveled in his chair.
Careful not to spill or drip anything, I pulled his lunch from the bag one item at a time. It felt like a ritual, passing lunch instead of a torch. Paul settled each item onto his blotter. Sandwich at six, potato salad at nine, plastic fork and napkin at three. His drink went to noon, and he looked up at me.
“Thank you, Paige.”
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