The Drafter

“My sweater?” She looked down at it, not believing what he’d just said, and his neck reddened.

“It’s, ah, not very practical,” he amended, and she slurped the last of the orange juice from the glass of ice in a sound of disbelief. “Phone, please?”

“I ditched it in Detroit,” she said sourly. I’m not supposed to cook and my sweater is a little tired? It’s Donna Karan. But, on second thought, he was right about the sweater.

“Really?” He took a glass phone out of the bag and pushed it to her, the purchase apps lighting up as it found the table’s ordering system. “Good thing I got you a new one, then.”

Suddenly feeling grungy, she reached for it, wishing he’d gotten a smartphone instead. This new glass technology was fun, but her learning curve was shallow. At least she knew how to turn it on. That Silas was with her brought a weird mix of guilt, gratitude, and discomfort. “Thanks,” she said as she took her SIM card from her wallet and flipped the phone over. “I’m still going to need your phone. If I tap my bank, they’ll know where I am.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, is that from your old phone?” She nodded, and he held out his hand, his expression both irate and relieved. “May I?”

She handed it over, shocked when he snapped it in two. “Hey!” she shouted, then lowered her voice, not liking that people had turned. “You can’t track SIM cards,” she said as he dropped the broken card into his empty cup. “That was my only link to my past three years!”

“Opti gave it to you?” he asked, voice as angry as hers.

Ticked, she slumped into her chair, her new resolve to stop snapping at Silas being tested. She didn’t have much left, and he’d thrown it away as if it had meant nothing.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Silas said as her peeved silence grew. “I know the names and numbers were important, but don’t you have a diary? Every drafter I’ve met does, hidden somewhere.”

Frustrated, she rubbed her fingers into her temples. Even if she found her diary, she wasn’t sure she’d trust it now, written in her own handwriting or not. “You can’t track a SIM card,” she said again, but he was dead serious, and a sliver of worry cooled her anger.

“Maybe.” His gaze went distant behind her. She’d accuse him of girl-watching, but she was doing the same thing as she scanned the floor for Allen or Bill—or anyone who looked too perfect. “It takes a while to zero in on a tracker. Even if you’re tagged, we probably have some time.” His eyes flicked to hers. “Seeing as you broke Allen’s kneecap and fingers.”

She winced at his accusing tone, remembering Allen’s face pale under his black curls when she snapped them. “Fingers, yes. Kneecap … I didn’t hit him that hard. Forgive me if I didn’t want to end up in the back of a white panel van.”

Silas held up a hand in acknowledgment, and she relaxed. “Yeah. I got that part. Here.”

Her emotions swirled as he reached for his wallet and took out a handful of bills, making her feel as if she was at the mall with her mom. Holy crap, my mom. Allen had said she’d called her last week. She didn’t remember it, and the need to hear her mother’s voice almost hurt.

“I’d rather you use cash,” Silas said as she punched in her mother’s number. It probably hadn’t changed. “Get yourself outfitted for light travel. And I mean light.” He did a double take, realizing the phone was to her ear. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling my mom.”

“Are you crazy?” he blurted, reaching for it.

He pulled it from her ear, but she refused to let go, and they both held the phone over the middle of the table, neither one giving in. Peri could hear a woman’s voice on the end of the connection, and her face warmed. “You like that hand?” Peri said tightly. “You want to keep it?”

There was no easy way for Opti to track them down through her mother, especially through a new phone, and knowing it, Silas let go. Mollified, Peri lifted her chin and brought it to her ear. “Hi, I’m Belle Marshal,” Peri said, using the name of one of her mother’s longtime friends. “Can I talk to Caroline Reed, please? I can hold.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice on the other end said. “Mrs. Reed doesn’t have phone privileges.”

Peri’s lips parted in surprise. “Yes she does. I talked to her last week,” she said, and across from her, Silas grimaced.

“No,” the woman said again. “She hasn’t had a phone for over a year now. Who is this?”

Breath shaking on her exhale, Peri hung up. “Allen said I talked to her on Friday.”

“He lied,” Silas said sourly. “Everyone lies to keep you content and happy.”

Her eyes flicked up. “Funny. It only makes me pissed.” She hadn’t talked to her mother in over a year? A feeling of having been remiss slithered over her as Silas set a small stack of hundreds on the table. That’s right. I need to go shopping. But her earlier enthusiasm was gone. “You want me to pick you up anything?” she said as she stood, wanting to get away from his pity.

Still subdued, he shrugged. “You first. If no one shows, I might get a new toothbrush. If your phone rings, leave and meet me at the car dealership. The big one with the tent.”

Taking the cash, she jammed it into her pants pocket. “What if I draft?” she said, still trying to wrap her head around her mother. “It’s not hard to lose ten minutes.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">