Page 21 of Omega’s Fold

She looks at me one more time. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Matthew climbs into the back. Caleb drops into the passenger seat. Donna starts the engine and then they are gone.

I watch them go, thinking.

Shy. He’s a good kid.

He’s not a ‘kid’. Wyatt Briggs is a grown man. Yes, he’s young but he’s also an adult who can’t do much more than grunt at me. Clearly, Donna intended to make excuses to make me see the man in a better light but instead, I just feel irritation pooling low and hot in my belly.

I’m the one who came all the way out here because Wyatt couldn’t even be bothered to meet me half way at the regional office. I am spending a fortune on installing an internet connection into his house. I have walked away from my job for two weeks at a pivotal time in my career because he won’t make any effort whatsoever. I have been polite, cooked for him, done my best to keep out of his way, but apparently I’m the one who needs to be told to be understanding.

Because poor Wyatt Briggs, the grown man running a whole damn ranch is shy. He’s a pain in my ass, is what he is.

The installer comes down off the roof at nine, then he goes into the house with his drill and toolbox. Another half hour later, he comes to find me where I am sitting on the porch with my laptop, eagerly awaiting his news.

“You’re live,” he says, handing me a clipboard. “Signal strength is good. Router’s under the kitchen table, I stuck the credentials on the bottom of it. Sign here.”

I sign. He takes the clipboard back. He nods, slings his bag, and drives off.

I set up at the kitchen table.

The router winks at me from underneath. I pull the credentials sticker off and type them in.

Finally.

Oh shit. I have four hundred and seventy-three unread emails. Teams and Slack and Outlook all trying to make themselves known at once.

I put my head down and work.

I clear the worst of the inbox in forty minutes. Most of it is noise I can archive.

The rest is two flagged messages from Richard, one of them from yesterday afternoon, one from this morning. The afternoon one says, Call me when you’re settled. The morning one says, Are you settled?

I send a reply. Settled. Internet just went up. Will call this evening your time. — J.

Then I open Teams and spend the next twenty minutes replying to messages.

I’m about to open the project tracking software for the waterfront project when curiosity bites at me. I don’t get involved much any more in the Parish Ridge project. I designed the buildings and then I stepped back. Occasionally, someone will ask me for my opinion on some minor thing, but I’ve not looked at it in any real way for over two years.

I’m still in the project channel for Parish Ridge, although I muted it years ago.

I open it up and read through. Most of the chatter is mundane. People apologizing for dropping out of meetings or asking for sign off on various parts of the build.

But there’s also chatter about the town hall that was just held.

Another three hours of town-meeting last night, kill me

Feels like they think if they drag it out long enough the project goes away.

Welcome to working with the locals lads

Honestly at this point I’d just like someone to explain the word “progress” using small words

Last night a woman asked if we’d be “paving over the aquifer.” I nearly lost it.

She didn’t even know what an aquifer is