Lu gazed out at Stanley Park and the North Shore mountains, at the morning sky reflecting in the water. Two walls, from floor to ceiling, were entirely glass. It felt strange to be alone in the conference room. The white walls, the massive table, the twelve swivel chairs, her two hands seemed like objects recovered by someone else’s memory.Īs unexpectedly as the panic had arrived, it fled. It seemed to rush effortlessly forward, the curl of dark sea in its wake reminding her of the fold of an ankle. She slid into the nearest chair and, just as she settled, the seaplane touched down. That old panic, here, now? Big ball of wax. Lu felt as though someone had punched her in the chest. Down it went, hurrying to meet the water. The plane’s nose was tilted up very slightly, as if it disliked getting its face wet. This view from the twenty-seventh floor could hardly be believed. A seaplane was descending toward Burrard Inlet, seeming to accelerate even as it slowed. Bewildered, she placed the Duffin’s box on the table, turning the mangled side to the wall.Īfter a moment, she put the reports down, pulled off her coat. A fountain pen gleamed at the head of the table: Sheila’s expensive Parker, with its marbled green shell. Her coat was wet with rain, copies of the report slid from her arm, and the doughnut box was crushed on one side.īut the conference room was empty. She hurried through the swinging glass doors, an apology on her tongue. The next morning, Lu was late for the department meeting.
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