Chapter 16: Hands Off

The payment app wanted to know if I would like to accept or decline.

I looked at $3,102.00, the $3,126.00 bill less the floor's $24, for the length of one slow count.

Then I pressed Decline.

A box opened that said Reason for declining (optional).

I typed: Pay in person. Itemized. In front of witnesses.

The money went back where it came from, and my hands were shaking.

At 11:55 I came back from the printer and found my lunch bag on my desk.

It was the navy one with the laminated card, MY LUNCH. HANDS OFF., and the crown had been touched up in fresh marker.

It had been washed inside and out, and it was still damp at the seams.

I unzipped it.

The ham sandwich Killian had packed on Wednesday was in there, whole, in its bag.

Nobody had taken a bite.

On the zipper was a yellow note, and where the stars always went there was nothing at all.

It said: Couldn't.

I stood there holding it.

In two years, it was the first time she had given anything back unfinished.

At the far end of the floor, Cassidy was typing at her monitor with her back to me and her shoulders up around her ears.

I did not go over.

At 12:15 I set the sandwich on the corner of my desk with a ruler beside it and a price card in front.

I took the photograph from above and uploaded it to the wellness log, and I typed under it: Day one of eating my own lunch.