Escape (2 page)

Hey
,
Emily
, wrote Ryan Mcfee. Ryan worked one cubicle down, two over.
Won’t be in today. Have the flu. Don’t want to spread it around
.

This should have been important. It meant one man-day of lost work. But what was one more or less in a huge cubicle room?

Logged in now, I set to gathering Walter’s information. It was 7:50. By 8:25 I had a tally of the calls we’d received from last weekend’s newspaper ads—and I could understand why our client was worried. The number of claimants was mounting fast. Each had been rated on a ten-point scale by the lawyer taking the call, with tens being the most severely affected and ones being the least. There were also zeros; these were the easiest to handle. When callers tried to cash in on a settlement with proof neither of harm nor of having ever purchased the product, they stood out.

The others were the ones over which I agonized.

But statistics were impersonal and, in that, relatively painless. I updated the figures on how many follow-ups we had done since Monday, with a numerical breakdown and brief summaries of the claims. At 8:55 I e-mailed the spreadsheet to Walter, logged in the time I’d spent making it, shot a look at my watch, and dashed downstairs for breakfast. Though I passed colleagues in the elevator, being competitors in the game of billable hours, we did little more than nod.

Going from the thirty-fifth floor to the ground and up again took time, so it wasn’t until 9:10 that I was back at my desk with a donut and coffee. By then the cubicles were filled, the tap of computer keys louder, and the drone of voices more dense. I had barely washed down a bite of donut when the phone began to blink. Hooking the earpiece over my head, I logged in on my time sheet, pulled up a clear screen on my computer, and clicked into the call.

“Lane Lavash,” I answered, as was protocol with calls coming in on the toll-free lines listed in our ads. “May I help you?”

There was silence, then a timid “I don’t know. I got this number from the paper.”

Frauds were confident. This woman sounded young and unsure. “Which paper?” I asked gently.

“The, uh, the
Telegram
. In Portland. Maine.”

“Do you live in Portland?” I readied my fingers to enter this information.

“No. I was there with my brother last weekend and saw the ad. I live in Massachusetts.”

I dropped my hands. Massachusetts was prime Eagle River distribution area. We’d received calls from as far away as Oregon, from people who had been vacationing in New England during the time the tainted water was on sale. Strict documentation of travel was required for these claims, well before we looked at documentation of physical harm.

I cupped my hands in my lap. “Do you have cause for a claim against Eagle River?”

Her voice remained hesitant. “My husband says no. He says that these things just happen.”

“What things?”

“Miscarriages.”

I hung my head. This was not what I wanted to hear, but the din of voices around me said that if not this woman, someone else would be getting pieces of the Eagle River settlement. Miscarriage was definitely one of the “harms” on our list.

“Have you had one?” I asked.

“Two.”

I entered that in the form on my screen, and when the words didn’t appear, retyped them, but the form remained blank. Knowing that I wouldn’t forget this, and not wanting to lose the momentum of the call, I asked, “Recently?”

“The first one was a year and a half ago.”

My heart sank. “Had you been drinking Eagle River water?” Of course she had.

“Yes.”

“Can you document that?” I asked in a kind voice, though I felt cold and mean.

“Y’mean, like, do I have a receipt? See, that’s one of the reasons my husband didn’t want me to call. I pay cash, and I don’t
have
receipts. My husband says I should’ve made a connection between the water and the miscarriage back then, but, like, bottled water is always safe, right? Besides, we were just married and there was other stuff going on, and I figured I was miscarrying because it wasn’t the right time for me to be pregnant.” Her voice shrank. “Now it is, only they say there’s something wrong with the baby.”

My mind filled with static. I tried to remember the company line. “The Eagle River recall was eighteen months ago. The water has been clean since then. It wouldn’t harm your baby.”

I heard a meek half-cry. “The thing is, we try to buy in bulk because it’s cheaper that way. So we had a couple of twenty-fours in the basement and kind of forgot about them. Then I got pregnant, and my husband lost his job, and money was really tight, so I saw the water and thought I was doing good by using what we had instead of buying fresh. I didn’t know about the recall.”

“It was in all the newspapers.”

I don’t read newspapers
, the ensuing silence said. “Newspapers cost money.”

“So does bottled water.”

“But the water from the tap tastes so
bad
. We thought of putting a filter on, but that costs more than the bottled water, and it’s not like we own this place.”

“Maybe your tap water is tainted,” I said, playing to script. “Have you asked your landlord to test it?”

“No, because my husband drinks it, and he’s healthy. I’m the only one with the problem, and I only drink bottled water. I noticed your newspaper ad because I always drink Eagle River.” Her voice was a whispered wail. “They say the baby won’t be right, and my husband wants to get rid of it, and I have to make a decision, and I don’t know what to do. This
sucks.
”

It did suck.
All
of it.

“I don’t know what to do,” she repeated, and I realized she wanted my advice, but how could I give that? I was the enemy, an agent for the company whose product had caused a deformity in her child. She should have been yelling at me, calling me the most coldhearted person in the world. Some of them did. There had been the man whose seamstress wife had developed tremors in her hands and was permanently disabled. Or the woman whose husband had died—and yes, he had a pre-existing medical condition, but he would have lived longer if he hadn’t drunk tainted water.

The names they called me weren’t pretty, and though I told myself not to take it personally, I did. Thinking that this job
definitely
sucked, I swiveled sideways and lowered my eyes. “I’m Emily. What’s your name?”

“Layla,” she said.

I didn’t try to enter it on my form. Nor did I ask for a last name. This had become a personal discussion. “Have you talked with your doctor about options?”

“There are only two,” she said, sounding frightened. I guessed her to be in her early twenties. “My mother says I shouldn’t kill my baby. She says God chose me to protect an imperfect child, but she isn’t the one who’ll be paying medical bills or maybe losing a husband because of it.”
Losing a husband
 … Not on the formal list of “harms” but a plausible side effect, one that had to resonate with any married woman in this room.

Or maybe not. We didn’t talk about this—didn’t talk about much of anything, because we were being paid by the hour to do our work, and time sheets would only allow for a lapse or two. What I was doing now was against the rules. I was supposed to stick to business and limit the time of each call. But Layla was talking quickly, going on about the bills that were piling up, and I couldn’t cut her off. Somewhere in the middle of it, she said, “You’re a good person, I can tell by your voice, so my husband was wrong when he said I’d be talking to a robot. He also said we’d have to sign away our lives if we got money for this. Would we?”

I was stuck on
good person
, echoing so loudly through my fraudulent soul that I had to consciously refocus at the end. “No, Layla. You’d have to sign a release saying that you won’t further sue Eagle River, its parent company, or distributors, but that’s it.”

She was silent for a beat. “Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“With kids?”

“Someday.” I was on the clock, but I couldn’t return to the claim form.

“I’m desperate for them,” Layla said in her very young voice. “I mean, you work for a law firm. I work in a hardware store. Kids would give my life meaning, y’know?”

“Absolutely,” I replied just as a sharp voice broke in.

“What’s happening here, Emily?” Walter asked. “No one’s working.”

I swiveled toward him, then rose from my chair enough to see over the cubicle tops. Sure enough, our team stood in scattered clusters, most looking now at Walter and me.

“Computers are down,” called one. “Forms are frozen.”

Walter eyed me. “Did you report this?”

I pushed my mouthpiece away. “I hadn’t realized there was a problem. I’m working with a claimant.” Adjusting the mouthpiece, I returned to Layla. “There’s a technical glitch here. Can I call you back in a few?”

“You won’t,” she said defeatedly. “And anyway, I don’t know if I should do this.”

“You should,” I advised, confident that Walter wouldn’t know what I was saying.

She gave me her number. I wrote it on a Post-it and ended the call.

“He should what?” Walter asked.

“Wait half an hour before going out, so that I can call her back.” I buzzed our technology department.

“Are you
encouraging
people to file claims?” Walter asked.

“No. I’m listening. She’s in pain. She needs someone to hear what she’s saying.”

“Your job is to document everyone who calls and tell them what medical forms we’ll need if they want a piece of the pie. That’s it, Emily. You’re not being paid to be a shrink.”

“I’m trying to sort through claims so that we know which are legit and which aren’t. This is one way to do it.” When I heard a familiar voice in my headset, I said, “Hey, Todd, it’s Emily. We’re having trouble up here.”

“Already on it.” He clicked off.

I relayed the message to Walter, who wasn’t mollified. “How long ’til we’re running again?”

It was 9:40. I figured we’d lost twenty minutes, thirty max. “Todd is fast.”

Walter leaned closer. A natty dresser, he never looked ruffled. The only things that ever gave him away were his gray eyes and his voice. Those eyes were rocky now, the voice low and taut. “I’m under pressure, Emily. We were named to manage this settlement only after I personally assured the judge that we could do it quickly and economically. I can’t afford to have my lawyers wasting time holding hands. I’m counting on you to set an example; this is important for your career. Get the facts. That’s it.” With a warning look, he left.

I should have felt chastised, but all I could think was that if anyone was wasting time, it was the people who called us hoping for help. They wouldn’t get what they deserved; the system was designed to minimize reward. Besides, how did you price out a damaged baby, a ruined life?

I was telling myself not to be discouraged—to keep avoiding wine and caffeine and always wash my prenatal vitamins down with
good
water—when a crescendoing hum came, spreading from cubicle to cubicle as the computers returned to life. I should have been relieved, but to my horror, my eyes filled with tears. Needing a distraction, even something as frivolous as Vegas talk from Colly’s
friends, I turned when my BlackBerry dinged. It was James. Maybe coming tonight? I wondered with a quick burst of hope.

Just got a brilliant idea
, he wrote, and for a final minute, still, I believed.
The dinner Sunday night?
That was
his
firm’s dinner.
I want you to do it up big—new dress
,
hair
,
nails
,
the works. I have to work tomorrow anyway
. That would be Saturday, the one day we usually managed a few hours together.
A couple of favors? Pick up my navy suit and my shirts. And my prescription. And get cash for the week. Thanks
,
babe. You’re the best
.

I scrolled on, thinking there had to be more, because if that was all, I would be livid.

But that was it.
Thanks
,
babe. You’re the best
.

Keyboards clicked, voices hummed, electronics dinged, jangled, and chimed, and still, as I stared at the words, I heard James’s voice.
I want you to do it up big—new dress
,
hair
,
nails
,
the works
. Like I needed his permission for this?

Suddenly it all backed up in my throat like too much bad food—bad marriage, bad work, bad family, friends, feelings—and I couldn’t swallow. Needing air, I grabbed my purse and, as an afterthought, the Post-it with Layla’s name and number.

Tessa Reid was as close as I came to having a friend in the firm, which was as sad a statement as any. We never socialized outside of work. I did know that she had two kids and two school loans, and that she shared my revulsion for what we did. I saw it in her eyes when she arrived at work, the same look of dread reflected in my own mirror each day.

She lived three cubicles to the right of mine. Ducking in there now, I touched her shoulder. Her earpiece was active, her hands typing. One look at my face and she put her caller on hold.

“Do me a huge favor, Tessa?” I whispered, not for privacy, because, Lord knew, my voice wouldn’t carry over the background din, but because that was all the air I could find. I pressed the Post-it to her desk. “Call this claimant for me? We were talking when the system went down. She’s valid.” I was banking on that, perhaps with a last
gasp of idealism. For sure, though, Tessa was the only one in the room whom I could trust to find out.

She was studying me with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I need air. Do this for me?”

“Of course. Where are you going?”

“Out,” I whispered, and left.

A gaggle of clicks, dings, and murmurs followed me, lingering like smog even when the elevator closed. I made the descent in a back corner, eyes downcast, arms hugging my waist. Given the noise in my head, if anyone had spoken, I mightn’t have heard, which was just as well. What could I have said if, say, Walter Burbridge had stepped in?
Where are you going?
I don’t know.
When’ll you be back?
I don’t know.
What’s wrong with you?
I don’t know.