A few blocks from home, I steer my car to the curb. I read Brenna's extremely brief email again. I take a deep breath. This could be bad. Really bad. I call.
Her phone rings. I'm about to end the call when I hear her voice.
"Phil?"
"Uh, yeah. It's me. Hi, Brenna."
No response.
"I wasn't sure if you meant to call you now or to call some other time."
"Now's fine," she says icily.
"Good. Okay."
I take another deep breath hoping she'll take the reins of the conversation. But she doesn't. I guess I should say something. Do I just blurt out the Trollamex Tiger's Teeth situation? She doesn't seem to be in the mood for chit-chat. I'm suffering caller's remorse. I'm grateful when she finally ends the silence, despite her cynical tone of voice.
"So, Phil. What advice do you need from me on a corporate matter? A little vague, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I wasn't sure how..."
"How's Jillian?"
"She's great. Really great."
I'm not expecting Brenna to inquire about her sister and I'm right. She doesn't.
"So about that corporate matter."
"Well, at Dunning and Brannigan, the PR firm where I used to work... I guess that's not really important. Anyway, we had this client that seemed unethical at first..."
"An unethical corporate client? I'm shocked!" Her sarcasm practically oozes through the phone.
"I know, right? But the deeper I got into their background and their business practices, the more disturbing stuff I uncovered."
"Stuff?"
"Information."
This is a mistake. I should have never sent the email and made the subsequent call.
"Well, my advice would be to quit," she says.
"I've already done that. But they know I have damaging information about them and I think, no, I know that they're coming after me to shut me down."
"Are you asking me about how to protect yourself?"
"No. I don't know what to do. Next. I mean with the information."
"You want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Let it go. Drop it. Go get yourself another nice cushy PR job and get on with your idyllic suburban life."
Geez. What part of that wasn't rude?
"I can't do that, Brenna."
"You asked for my advice. That's my advice."
"Listen. This is big. And important. I'm talking about a huge company that manufactured a dangerous product that hurt a lot of people. And even killed people."
No reaction? None. I'm not sure if she's still on the other end of the call.
"Brenna? I don't know what to do."
"Are you serious about doing this?"
"Of course I am."
"I mean are you willing to get down in the mud with these people? Pull hair, bite, gouge eyeballs?"
"Honestly, I'm probably not up for gouging eyeballs."
"Can you take a punch? A kick in the--"
"--Whatever it takes. I can't let Troll--"
She cuts me off hard.
"I don't want to know names. Or any particulars."
"Okay."
"I need to be in Harrisburg tomorrow for a hearing. You want to meet?"
"Absolutely. You mean in Harrisburg, right?"
"Yes, Phil. In Harrisburg. Have you told anyone else about this?"
"Other than the people at work, just Megan."
"And she's got your back?"
"Well, not exactly."
She lets out a long, dramatic sigh then says, "Well, there's another big shock."
#######
5:26. I shut off my alarm before it buzzes. I didn't get much sleep. Anxiety won't allow it. I'm not even fully awake and already thoughts are hurtling through my brain like berries in a blender. The shower stops running. A few minutes later, Megs pokes her towel-wrapped head out of the bathroom, cloaked in a thin veil of steam.
She smiles. "Oh, you're up."
I nod then rub my eyes.
5:57. I'm out of the shower standing at the sink. While shaving, I look in the mirror at a face that shows unmistakable signs of worry. I cup my hands under the faucet and rinse the remaining strips of shaving cream from my cheeks and chin. I dry my face then open a prescription bottle and swallow a mental health pill. Are these really helping?
6:12. I pull on sweat pants and a T-shirt.
6:41. I'm at the kitchen counter packing Jilly-bean's "roll-up," a turkey and cheese wrap.
My wife enters, ready for work. Dressed in a fitted navy blue pantsuit and crisp white shirt, she looks amazing. I'm not going to let this one slip by.
"You look amazing."
"Thanks," she grins. "Today is performance review day. Maybe I should open another button, right?" She chuckles.
Not funny, Megs. Her boss, Travis, is a horndog with overly-white bleached teeth and a perpetual tan. I've only met the guy a couple of times at company events and it was more than obvious that he's harboring sexual fantasies about my wife. Megan totally dismisses my observations but guys can tell. Travis is a heat-seeking missile who sees Megan's body as a target-rich environment.
She reaches into the fridge and adds, "Don't forget her yogurt."
I pack the yogurt. "Good luck. Not that you need it. That company would fold without you."
She kisses my cheek. "What's on your agenda today?"
The honest thing to do would be to say, "I'm going to Harrisburg to meet your sister. You know, the one who still harbors feelings of animosity toward you. We're going to discuss the Trollamex case that very likely has put me and possibly my entire family in danger." This doesn't seem like the best time for brutal honesty.
"I'm going to get a few estimates on repairing my hood."
"Good idea. You can't drive the car in that condition. And do something about that smell."
My stomach knots. Right after I drop off Jill-bean at school, I have a 4-hour drive on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Jillian darts into the kitchen. "Aren't kids supposed to have a nutritious breakfast to start their school day?"
"You know where the bowls are. You know where the cereal is. You know where we keep our milk and our spoons."
"Geez," she scowls. "That's not how Mom does it."
Megs hides her grin.
"Well, Dad has a different way of doing things."
"No comment," Jillian replies as she shuffles to the pantry to get her cereal.
#######
7:57. I return from chauffeuring my daughter to school. When I pull into the driveway, I'm annoyed to see the persistent, pesky squirrel sitting atop the blue birdhouse hanging from a branch of our cherry tree, devouring sunflower seeds. Piles of husks litter the base of the tree.
I bolt out of the car, waving my arms. "Get out of there!"
With a clattering of toenails, the squirrel escapes up into the tree.
My neighbor, Josh, waters his begonias with the fancy sprayer attached to the end of his super elastic, self-coiling hose.
You'd think seeing a crazed man shouting and waving his arms at a squirrel would elicit some reaction. Nope. Josh's singular focus is on hydrating his flower garden.
"Hey, Josh," I holler as I jog toward my garage.
He raises his hand without making eye contact. Click, click, click. Josh dials his sprayer so that the water now forms a double helix between the hose nozzle and the plants. There isn't a garden gadget on the market that this guy hasn't purchased. I've seen garden tools in his yard that I can't identify. How many ways are there to dig holes in the ground? He owns at least four different wheelbarrows, some with big bicycle tires, some plastic ones with adjustable legs, one that has a seat where Josh can ride along as he's transporting gardening supplies. He has a little garden robot that travels around his yard testing soil quality and identifying plants that require fertilizer or water.
I enter the garage to retrieve another bungee cord. After watching my crinkled hood hopping up and down with every bump in the road on the way to Jillian's school, I'm convinced that I need to better secure the hood with the double bungee method. Wait. What am I doing? It won't matter if I use ten bungee cords, I won't make it thirty miles out of Pittsburgh before I get pulled over by a state trooper.
Amtrak!
I check my phone. What luck! A train leaves for Harrisburg in 36 minutes! I can do this.
I rush into the house, change my clothes in record time, and bolt back out to my car, briefcase in hand. Josh is still watering.
While backing out of the driveway, I nearly hit an unfamiliar white van parked at the curb in front of Josh's house. Where did that guy come from?
I have 28 minutes to get to the train station. I dial Megan.
"Hello?"
"Hey, babe. How's the performance review?"
"It's not until after lunch."
"Is there any way you can pick up Jillian after school?"
No response.
"I need to go to Harrisburg."
"Today? You're coming back, right?"
"Of course I'm coming back. I'll be back by six or six-thirty."
"You're going to Harrisburg to get an estimate to repair your car?"
"No. No, I'm getting some documents."
"Documents?"
"Right. I need documentation."
"Hence the documents."
"Yeah, and I prefer to pick them up in person rather than have some unreliable bureaucrat mail them to me."
"Nothing worse than unreliable bureaucrats."
"I'm sorry to spring this on you at the last minute."
"You're not driving to Harrisburg in that car, are you?"
"Nope. Catching a train in about 15 minutes."
"Train, huh? Okay. Have a nice trip."
"Thanks. You want anything from Harrisburg while I'm there?"
"Can't think of a single thing."
"Okay. See you later."
"Bye."
"Love you."
As I drive into the Amtrak parking lot, I check my rearview mirror. Following the car behind me is the unfamiliar white van.