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I was going to strangle someone.
Throwing my hands in the air, I proclaimed on a scream, “I’m quitting my job! Handing over my resignation! I’m done! Finito! No longer working for you!”
At this point, I’d happily communicate it to her via mail pigeons, smoke signals, and rock piles. Rita’s face sobered, and her smile vanished. Everyone around her went quiet. Normally, this was the point I’d be mortified for making a scene. Tonight, I couldn’t care less.
“Are you serious?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Unfortunately.” I sighed. “I have to go home. To England.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and I could tell by her tone she was already losing interest. After all, I’d only been employed at the channel for a few weeks. She wasn’t that invested in me. “Do you miss your family?”
I smiled dejectedly. “Yes, I miss my family. But I miss myself more. I can’t wait to find myself again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
RIGGS
The Sri Lankan job came and went. I’d spent most of it wondering why the fuck it felt like I was missing an entire limb from my body while taking pictures of mass protests, temples, and ancient ruins. I was preoccupied pretty much the entire time and managed to produce work only by chance. Surprisingly enough, Emmett wasn’t on my ass. Maybe he’d finally found interest in his own miserable existence.
I thought about Charlie often, but rarely with sadness. I preferred to remember him playing in Harlem with kids like he didn’t have a care in the world, even if he knew back then that his days were numbered.
I spent the flight from Bandaranaike Airport to JFK mentally counting all the reasons not to reach out to my wife:
She hasn’t reached out to me
She is busy with her new job (yes, I found her employee page online)
I’m not looking for a serious relationship
She hasn’t reached out to me
Just because she hasn’t touched my money doesn’t mean that she won’t once we get a divorce
She might be back with Cocksucker. In fact, he might be fucking my wife this very minute
