Chapter 12
Before Julian could answer, the sharp buzz of his cell phone vibrated violently against the faux-wood table. He flinched, looking down at the screen where Clara’s name flashed brightly beneath a studio photograph of her smiling at a vineyard. He let it buzz, watching the light bounce off the chrome trim of the salt shaker. It vibrated a second time, then a third, before finally going silent, replaced by the notification of a missed call and a text message preview. Julian reached out, his thumb swiping the screen open out of sheer morbid curiosity. Where did you go? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? People are asking questions. The words hung there, stark and devoid of any concern for Arthur or the humiliation he had endured in the service kitchen. Julian stared at the screen, feeling a cold numbness wash over him, quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of liberation. He didn't draft a long, angry reply. He didn't explain himself or demand an apology. Instead, he held down the power button until the screen flickered black, then dragged his thumb across the screen to block the number entirely. He laid the phone face down on the table, pushing it toward the center where it wouldn't bother them anymore.
