Anarchy by James Treadwell Read Free Book Online Page A

story. Still, it made no difference to her either way. It was just a tiny thing she’d latched onto, something about Jennifer that might not have been a complete blank, the faint suggestion that there might be something going on behind those hard dark eyes of hers, but it was nothing. No help at all.
    She pushed the papers and disks back in the folder and dumped it on the floor. She’d get them back in the right order later. She smoothed back her hair and adjusted the Anglepoise lamp, bending its light against the wall, making the room dimmer and warmer.
    The laptop chimed at her. Skype. For a happy second she imagined Annie deciding to check in on her before she went to bed. Then she saw that the call was from her father.
    She sighed. It was another thing she’d been putting off for a few days. She pulled the T-shirt down so she was sitting on its hem and tilted the head of the lamp away from the wall to brighten the room. It made her pasty and weary-looking in the laptop’s camera, but she didn’t mind that. It might even help her keep the conversation short.
    â€œHey, Dad.”
    â€œSéverine! Hold on . . .” Moving jerkily, even more badly lit than she was, her father’s head and shoulders wobbled and jerked around a corner of her screen, his eyes directed out of shot. She heard a mouse clicking. “How are you, angel? I talked with Thérèse earlier, thought I’d give you a try . . .” More clicking. His image had the peculiar gormless, distracted, washed-out quality she thought of as Skypeface. She inspected the picture her own camera was projecting, trying not to fall into the same wide-eyed and slack-jawed look, practicing for later. “Okay, what do I need to . . .” Her father leaned forward, making the dome of his head loom. He frowned, mouth half open. She could see the nicotine stains on his teeth. “I’m not seeing you. Is your camera working?”
    She waved. The mini-Goose in the white T-shirt waved back at her from her screen, microseconds later. “Uh-huh. Go to the menu, click on—”
    â€œI did all that. Look.” He stabbed a finger at the space below the camera, as if she was standing over his shoulder. “It says your name on the window, it’s just there’s no . . . All I can see is grey.”
    â€œMaybe the line here can’t handle it. So how’s Tess?”
    â€œHmm?” He was still trying to make it work.
    â€œTess. You said you were talking to her.”
    â€œOh. She’s still with that guy.”
    â€œGet used to it, Dad.”
    â€œI’m trying. This is pissing me off. I hate these machines. Maybe if you call me?”
    â€œJust leave it, okay, Dad? I can see you fine.”
    â€œYou’re not hiding something, are you?”
    â€œNo, I’m not hiding something. So everything’s okay there?”
    â€œI guess. Not as busy as we ought to be, but I still got work. How’s up-­island?” He blinked at the screen and tapped keys, only half listening to her.
    â€œGood. We had a bear chase a couple of moose through town today.”
    â€œOh yeah?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Dad, can you leave the computer alone and talk?”
    â€œSorry, angel. It’s . . .” He leaned forward, squinting at whatever he was or wasn’t seeing on his screen.
    â€œJust close the window, okay?”
    â€œIt’s weird. It’s not like static. It’s ripples. Looks like water.”
    â€œClose it, Dad.”
    â€œYeah.” A click, and his attention settled on the camera. “Sorry. So, you’re good? Settling in?”
    She told him about the weather, the apartment.
    â€œMaybe I’ll come visit. There’s supposed to be lots of fishing up there.”
    â€œSo they tell me.”
    â€œYou got room for a guest in the apartment?”
    â€œNo. There’s places to stay in Hardy.