The spill and the window

The tea went through my blouse like someone had planned it. Hot, everywhere, and Luis sliding that card back toward me at the same moment a server decided my table was in her way. Coincidence. I do not believe in coincidences anymore. I sat there with tea soaking into cotton and I smiled like it was nothing because that is what you do, you smile, you absorb it, you do not make a scene over a ruined blouse when there is a memory card on the table and a man who wants cash and Tasha Reed standing on the other side of the glass like a ghost she will not stop haunting me.

I said no to the money. That is the part I keep replaying. He offered me a way out and I said no. That is either brave or stupid and I genuinely do not know which. The tea dried on my skin on the subway and I sat there ranking every person in this situation by how much they know and how much they are lying. Luis knows something. Tasha knows something. I know almost nothing except that someone used my appointment to plant something and I am still the only one who does not know what.

I called Denise and said work was complicated. She said oh no what happened and I said nothing I cannot handle. The lie sat in my mouth like ash. I am building a map on my laptop. A real map with lines and boxes and the fundraiser photo and I screenshot it tonight and I thought now I have proof and it does not feel like victory. It feels like standing at the edge of something I cannot see the bottom of.

Jolene will look at the card with me. I trust her more than anyone and that terrifies me.