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Better not think in that direction. I made my choice, and it was the right one—even if I did make it at a time when big decisions like that should not be made.
To distract myself, I focus on a topic I wouldn’t have expected to think about in a million years: Grandpa’s treasure map.
Chapter Eleven
Brooklyn
My stupid phone is ringing in the far distance.
I glance at Octothorpe Glorp.
Wow. I clocked in a whooping twelve hours of sleep.
My dear Precious, watching your catatonic visage was a heavenly visual experience, but waking you up is transcendental for the olfactory senses.
The phone rings again. I pick it up and debate flinging it at the wall, but then I recall the three-hundred bucks I had to shell out to buy it, so I settle on giving the thing a glare.
Uncaring, the phone shows me why it’s woken me up—a video call from Jolene.
I pick up. “What time is it?”
“It’s eleven-thirty in the morning,” she says, taking in my sleepy state with a grin. “Though, an argument could be made that it’s not morning at all anymore, but early afternoon.”
“Well, it’s too early for arguments,” I say. “What do you want?”
Before she can reply, I see that I’m getting a voice call from Dorothy.
“Let me call you back in a sec,” I tell Jolene and switch to Dorothy’s call. “Hey, I’m on a video call with Jolene. Can I?—”
“I know,” Dorothy says. “I’m supposed to be on it too, but I can’t figure it out.”
I resist the urge to tease. Dorothy’s lack of skill with technology is legendary, and if she were calling me from a rotary phone—or a phone booth—I wouldn’t be that surprised.
“How about you have Jolene work as your tech support?” I suggest. “Meanwhile, I’ll brush my teeth.”
“TMI,” Dorothy says and hangs up.
I get up and rush through my morning routine, figuring I don’t have much time before the call back.
Nope. As usual, I’ve underestimated Dorothy’s lack of tech skills—or overestimated Jolene’s ability to assist her. All I know is, I’m completely changed and thoroughly sun-blocked by the time they call me back.
“Hi, guys,” I say to Jolene’s face and Dorothy’s forehead. “Check this out.”
I take the phone over to the pool and show them the lake view.
“Wow,” Jolene says. “It looks even better than in the pictures.”
“Please don’t do that again.” Dorothy’s forehead acquires a green hue. “That made me nauseated.”
Aww, poor thing. I plop into a lounge chair and turn the phone camera onto myself—which, hopefully, is a bit less nauseating. “Thank you again, guys,” I say earnestly. “This is the best gift ever.”
The fact that I haven’t had a chance to enjoy it yet isn’t their fault, of course.
“You look like you’ve taken care of your vitamin D deficiency,” Jolene says with narrowed eyes.
“I got sunburned,” I say, pretending to misunderstand. The day I tell either of them that I masturbated last night will be the day I give myself a poodle haircut.
“Sunburned?” Dorothy’s forehead wrinkles. “That can spike your chance of melanoma.”
