by John Herrick
Taking a seat near the computer, where Meghan had started to update invoice records, Taryn had lost interest in her construction paper. “So you stayed attached?”
Meghan shrugged. “Yeah, but it was tough. He’s an overachiever. Work beckoned him constantly, so he would make dates with me, then postpone them, and I wasn’t used to that.” A hollow feeling settled into Meghan’s gut. Or maybe it was flatness. Whatever it was, it felt eerie to her. It possessed a hint of familiarity, a long-present taunt, which she had never paused long enough to notice.
“So what kept you holding on to Brian?” Taryn asked.
Meghan thought for a moment. “I felt alone. He stood by me.”
At the word alone, Taryn stopped asking questions. And Meghan didn’t want to elaborate. For that matter, Meghan didn’t know why she had chosen that particular word, but it had seemed suitable in an odd way.
Now in a daze, Meghan tried to refocus on her work. But reality had become cold pewter to her, hard and factual, like the account numbers in front of her eyes.
The Landing
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