Meridian Pointe

Drove into Meridian Pointe with that same tight ache in my chest, the one that hadn’t let up since DeVoor let me go. The sun bounced off the windshield in an accusatory brightness, catching every dusty speck on the dash like evidence of my unraveling. I should’ve been at work—should’ve been anywhere but drifting through town at nine on a Thursday morning—but the thought of going home and telling my wife, Kenzie, made my stomach clench. I rolled the window down for air. Asphalt and sagebrush swept inside, and I let myself pretend I still had somewhere to be.

Then I saw her walking along the shoulder, pink hair lit by the morning sun. Something in me paused, like I recognized her before I placed her face.

Crystal Henderson.

She’d been a temp in the mailroom at DeVoor & Associates before they cut half the I.T. staff. No explanation, but we all knew—A.I. was doing the work now.

I slowed, pulling closer. She hesitated at first, then stepped toward the passenger side.

“Crystal? It’s me—Attley. Attley Kellerman.”

She squinted. “Attley… yeah. I remember. How are you?”

“I’m all right. You heading into town? Need a lift?”

“Yeah. Bus station, if you don’t mind.”

I leaned over and opened the door. Up close, her face was flushed from the heat. A small nose ring caught the light. A thin tattoo curled along her neck.

Before getting in, she dragged a finger across the hood.

“Nice Lexus,” she said. “Needs washed.”

“You hitchhiking?”

“No. Got dropped at the truck stop. Guy had to keep moving.” She tossed her duffel in. “Said it was about a mile.”

She bent to retie her boots. “These damn laces won’t stay tied. So, how’s DeVoor?”

I kept my eyes on the road. “Not there anymore. They let me go.”

“No shit? That sucks.”

“Yeah.” I paused. “Haven’t told my wife. What time’s your bus leave?”

“I need to get a ticket.”

“There’s a diner up ahead. I’ll buy you breakfast.”

She shrugged. “I’m hungry. You know, you should probably tell your wife.”

“I will.”

She turned on the radio. “You’re cooler than I thought, Adam.”

“Attley.”

“Right.”

She talked as we drove—Grand Junction, living with her dad, a friend in Denver. Something about a job: dancing, plus using her likeness for an A.I. site.

“They do all the work,” she said. “It will look like me. Easy money.”

At a red light, a few geese skimmed across the pond. A song played low on the radio.

“My dad likes this music,” she said. “Old stuff.”

“Most people do.”

“Dad wanted me out of the house anyway. His girlfriend’s moving in.”

I nodded. “That’s rough.”

She tightened her laces again. “You and your wife have kids?”

“No.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

We pulled into Claire’s Diner and took a booth by the window. The server gave us a minute.

“I’ll have the skillet,” I said. “Black coffee.”

“Same,” Crystal said. “Hold the Bailey’s.”

She grinned at her own joke.

“I’ve been pretending to go to work,” I said. “Sitting at places like this, sending out resumes.”

“That’s not work if you’re not getting paid.”

“Feels like it.”

She pulled out a small card and slid it across the table. “Call them. A.I. stuff. People make serious money.”

“I’m not getting into that.”

She shrugged, unfazed.

The server, Linda, brought our food.

“You ever think,” she said, “everything’s just getting louder? Like the world’s too much?”

“All the time.”

“Technology, people shooting each other… it’s nonstop.”

I nodded. “Kenzie was near a shooting last year. Colorado Springs. A block away.”

“Jesus.”

She picked at her food and then said, “My mom died five years ago. Heart condition. No warning.”

“Damn.”

She shrugged again, like it didn’t matter.

Linda meandered by. “You guys good?”

We both nodded.

After a moment, I said, “Kenzie has Huntington’s in her family. Risk of passing it down. That’s why we never had kids.”

Crystal stopped eating. “That’s heavy.”

“Yeah.”

She leaned back, studying me. “Life’s messed up either way, huh?”

“Seems that way.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s why I carry this.”

She pulled out a knife, quick, casual.

“Relax,” she said. “Just in case.”

I watched her slide it away.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m not crazy.”

I wasn’t sure.

For a second, I imagined the headlines: Missing persons. Surveillance footage. My car on CTV. I took a sip of coffee and let the thought pass.

We finished eating. I paid and handed her some cash.

“For your ticket.”

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“Least that I can do.”

She hugged me. “Thanks.”

Outside, the sky was clear and sharp. A hawk circled overhead.

“Look at that thing,” she said. “Waiting for something to die.”

She pulled out a pack of firecrackers. “Come on. Let’s light a few.”

“What?”

“Live a little, Attlee.”

I hesitated, followed her over to the grassy area. We lit them one by one, tossing them into the air. Small explosions cracked into smoke clouds. For a moment, my unemployment and telling Kenzie, slipped out of my mind.

“Do another!” she said.

We finished the pack, laughing. It brought back memories as a twelve year old when my friends had light of bricks of firecrackers at the park.

“Better go to catch my bus,” said Crystal.

I gave her my number. “Text me when you get to Denver.”

“Sure, Daddy-o.”

“Not like that.”

She smiled. “Relax.”

Then, more serious: “Tell your wife. Secrets make things worse.”

“I will.”

She hugged me again and walked off toward the station.

I watched her go, then got in my car and drove home.

Sammy, our Yorkie, waited by the back door. I let him out and stood there, looking at the gray soot on my fingers. When Kenzie pulled into the driveway, I took a deep breath and knew it was time. She walked in, her face flushed, eyes heavy. We said hello at the same time.

Before I could speak, she took a exhaled and said, “I got laid off today.”

I stared at her. “Really?”

“A.I., I think. How was your day?”

I glanced at my hands, the soot dark against my fingertips.

“It was an interesting day,” I said. “We’re going to be fine, honey.”