be some things that couldn’t be definitively figured out in advance made my mouth go dry. I knew myself well, both the searing anxiety I experienced up until a decision was made, and then, once made, how I pursued it like a dog chewing on a bone. Better be careful, I warned myself. If something goes wrong today, you’ll have to be flexible. Be ready to switch to a different strategy, maybe one you’d already discarded. At any point.
My anxiety grew as the day wore on. One minute I was sure I’d covered all the bases and that I would emerge triumphant. The next minute I imagined all kinds of unknowns and missteps that would guarantee my downfall. By five o’clock my surroundings had become distorted, as if everything I saw was corrupted by what I was about to do. By five thirty the only thing I was aware of was my breathing, the movements of my body, the butterflies under my ribs.
When I was sure everyone else had left for the day I opened my office door. Then I sat down at my desk and shuffled some files, doodled on a pad of paper, pinched my arm, blew my nose. But no matter what I did I couldn’t chase away the hovering sense that a devious creature had taken up residence inside me and was about to devour me.
“Working late, huh?” Craig, the night janitor, poked his head in the door.
I jumped.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
I glanced at my watch and saw that it was five forty-five. “I didn’t expect you yet is all,” I said. “You’re early tonight.”
“It’s Friday,” he said, with a shy smile at odds with his handsome, frat-boy appearance.
“Ah, yes, party night.” I was relieved to hear how normal my voice sounded.
Craig vacuumed the carpet around my desk with the efficiency of a boy eager to finish his work so he could start the weekend partying with his college buddies. I kicked myself for miscalculating the time of his arrival. It wasn’t a fatal error but it wasn’t an auspicious way to set my plan in motion either. I couldn’t afford any other missteps.
I hoped I was right about Craig. My plan depended on him having no loyalty to his part-time job or to the agency. It also depended on him being as innocent and naive as he looked, with his baby-pink cheeks, butch haircut, floppy T-shirt and jeans.
“That’s it, then,” he said. He emptied the contents of my garbage can into a large bin and started to wheel it toward the door.
“Have a good one,” I said. I paused, and when he was just about out the door, made my first move.
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