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He smiles then and we go back to our seats. As if to taunt us and remind us that it caused an argument between us, Tyler’s cell phone goes off again. He picks it up and reads his message and types a quick reply, then he puts it back down. I notice he flips it on the way to his desk so that he can put it face down, something he has never done before.
I try to ignore it and I try to think of something to say that isn’t related to the stupid goddamned cell phone. I can’t think of anything, and I resort to talking about one of my designs for a client. Tyler listens and nods in all the right places, but I feel as though he’s distracted and not really hearing me. And through the conversation, his cell phone goes off twice more and twice more he replies to whatever messages he's getting and puts the cell phone back face down.
“Bloody clients,” he says, the third time his cell phone goes. “I can’t even have lunch in peace.”
I smile along with him, but I’m becoming increasingly suspicious that there is something going on here.
“Are you ok?” I say after a pause.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Tyler replies.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You just seem quiet today, like there’s something on your mind. You can talk to me if there is, you know.”
Tyler smiles and reaches up and strokes my cheek.
“Thank you,” he says. “But there’s really nothing for you to worry about. I’m fine.”
His cell phone goes off again and this time, he drops it into his pocket when he’s finished replying.
“Right,” he says. “Sorry to dash off but I’ve just noticed the time and I have to get out to a client’s site. Feel free to stay here and finish your coffee.”
He kisses the top of my head as he passes me and then he’s gone before I really have a chance to respond to him. I see his keys on his desk and sigh and grab them. I go to the office door with them. Tyler is still in sight, and I call his name. He glances back and I hold up his keys. He rolls his eyes and gives a half laugh.
“I’m so forgetful lately,” he says. “What would I do without you huh?”
He takes the keys and he’s off again and I still haven’t had a chance to ask him anything about where he’s going. I duck back into his office long enough to collect my cell phone off his desk and my coffee and then I go back to my own office. I may as well sit at my own desk to drink it as sit in Tyler’s office on my own.
I try to push my paranoia to one side, but I can’t. There is something going on with Tyler; something he is hiding from me. I have no idea what those messages were about or who they were from, but he most definitely didn’t want me to see them and that in and of itself rings alarm bells for me.
And then he tried to make out that they were from a client. If that had been the case, he wouldn’t have cared if I saw them. Hell, he probably would have read them out to me so we could both laugh at the client’s audacity if he or she was giving Tyler grief.
I wish I could let this go. I really do. I so badly want to just be able to trust Tyler to talk to me about whatever he has going on when he’s ready to. But I’m starting to think that time won’t ever come, and I need to know for my own peace of mind what exactly he’s up to. The strange behavior started on Saturday when he ducked out of Angela’s barbecue. He had a perfectly plausible reason for the call and even for the home visit, but that wouldn’t have taken almost four hours to sort out surely. I tried to ignore that fact at the time and just let it go but I can’t anymore. It’s eating away at me, and I have to know.
I turn to my computer and open up the client directory. I type the name Malcolm Croft into the search bar and his file pops up. I look at it quickly. He genuinely has had Tyler sourcing pebbles for his garden. What if the story Tyler told me is true? What if Malcolm is one of those unreasonable clients where it’s easier just to do things their way than argue with them (assuming they have plenty of spending money of course)? Maybe he insisted that Tyler stay at his place until all of the pebbles were removed. But no. Like I said at the time, Malcolm doesn’t seem like one of those asshole clients and when you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, you can smell the assholes from a mile off.
There’s one way to find out for sure if Tyler was with Malcolm during the barbecue or not. I really don’t want to do this, but I don’t see what other options I have if I truly want my mind to put this to rest. As much as I hate myself for doing this, I know I have to, or I’m going to drive myself insane with the wondering.
I lift the receiver of my desk phone and type Malcolm Croft’s number in. I listen to the phone ringing until it is answered with a rather gruff sounding hello.
“Hi Mr. Croft,” I say. “This is Summer Malone from Clark and Wilkinson, the architect firm that is designing your summer house?”
“Hi Summer,” he says, his voice sounding less gruff. It’s probably now he knows this isn’t a sales call.
“This is probably a long shot, but Tyler lost his keys on Saturday, and I was just wondering if he left them at your place?” I ask.
“My place?” Malcolm repeats. “Why would he have been at my place on a Saturday?”
I feel my heart sink, but I try one last time, hoping to jog a memory, even though I’m sure there isn’t a memory of Tyler’s visit because it didn’t happen.
“He came out to sort out a mix up with your pebble delivery?” I ask.
“No, no. My pebbles came last week and they’re fine,” Malcom says.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m so sorry Mr. Croft, I must have the wrong client. I think it’s just a connection I made in my mind now with you and pebbles.”
He laughs at that, and I’m glad. The last thing I want to do now is piss a client off. Especially one that isn’t mine and I have no legitimate work-related reason to be talking to.
“My apologies for wasting your time Mr. Croft,” I say. “Have a lovely day.”
