Chapter 42

Or should I just call in sick? Will one more day really make much difference? I mean, I really do feel sick.

It doesn’t take much to convince me. My limbs feel as if they’re weighted down as I get up to grab my cell and tap my boss’s direct line on its screen. I picture her: a black woman in her thirties with three kids, a mortgage, and no sense of humor. Great for someone who’s in charge of copy for a big ad agency. After I hear her crisp, no-nonsense message, I mumble wearily into the phone, “Hi, this is Rufus. I’m not feeling well. I won’t be in today. Call me at home if you need anything.” I feel like adding, but I don’t, “I’ll be awake watching movies until about one. After one I’ll be in a restless sleep on the couch, that cat curled up in the crook of my bent knees.”