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Chapter Six
Ian
* * *
Just because I don’t like to leave the house, doesn’t mean I don’t like to drive. Quite the opposite, in fact. The rare occasion when I leave, I absolutely love to lose myself behind the wheel of a car. I just don’t do it very often.
After meeting Savannah for the first time, I try to resume my morning routine. I row on my erg machine for ten minutes instead of my normal twenty. I take a cold shower, but can’t seem to get the water cold enough. It seems like nothing I do can scrub away the image of Savannah in my kitchen.
I go to my office and log into my computer. I sit staring at the screen for what feels like hours. I roll out my yoga mat and meditate for what feels like hours. Eventually, I get up and I pace. More hours pass. Except when I look at my watch, it’s been less than thirty minutes since I got out the shower.
Fuck.
That’s when I decide to go for a drive.
I don’t bother changing clothes before heading out to the detached garage that’s not quite visible from the house. I grab the key fob for the Tesla model X off the wall and head out. I immediately use the voice to text to send a message to Martin.
Clear your calendar for lunch. I’m heading into town.
* * *
I glance down at the navigation center and see that I will arrive at Martin’s office in less than an hour. I sent another text.
Make that coffee. I’ll be there before ten.
* * *
A few minutes later, my phone lets me know that I have a text from Martin. I never changed my settings, so my phone reads the text aloud in the default, feminine Siri voice.
What the hell, dude?
A little heads up would be nice. I do have other clients, you know.
I send a message back.
None of them pay you as much as I do.
All of them pay me as much as you do.
OK, none of them have made you as much money as I have. Do you have an hour for me or not?
Fine. I’ll shuffle things around.
I’ve almost reached Highway 71 when another message comes through. I’m so used to the back-and-forth with Martin in my car, That I’m surprised that this message isn’t from him.
It’s from Savannah.
For a second, I’m tempted to pull over and read the message on my phone myself instead of having my phone read it for me. I resist the temptation.
I just noticed your car leave the driveway. Will you be back in time for lunch?
I’m only asking so I know whether or not to prepare food for you.
Not for any other reason.
Obviously, your time is your own.
By the time several moments pass without another text from her, I’m wishing I had pulled over to read them. I can’t get any sense of her tone from the Siri voice and somehow it’s jarring hearing a message from her read with the same flat delivery that Martin’s messages are read in.
