“Take your lunch break.

You’ve been at your table since seven fifteen.”

“I will,” I said.

David walked down the carpeted hallway toward the conference room.

I looked down at the brass plaque on the dark wood desk.

For seven years, every achievement at work had come with an inner pull to call Portland, to report the numbers to my father, or to send my mother a photo to prove I was doing well.

I picked up my phone from the table.