I wonder what Chaim will say to an invitation to talk, which card he’s going to play, and then I feel nauseous with the guilt
I blink at the screen and blink again. I know that number.
But it doesn’t make sense that Henny’s cell number would be here, on this email from some unknown address, so I take my cell phone out to double check.
Of course I know Henny’s number — it’s one digit off from my own, and it’s always been a bit of a joke — if you don’t get the older Mrs. Steinmetz, you’ll get the younger one.
“Three-four-seven,” I mumble, “yes, yes, zero-five….”
It’s her number.
This is what I get for taking over my friend’s job. Just for two days, just organize the emails so the other secretary can get things moving. I was happy to do it. A mental health referral organization can’t take any days off, and Baila knows I’m discreet enough to keep my nose out of anonymous strangers’ business.
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