Eleven
“TOM!”
I’m jarred out of a sound sleep by the sound of Anna yelling my name and pounding on my bedroom door. Instantly awake, my heart pounding, I leap out of bed and dash to the door.
Yanking it open, I say, “Anna! What’s wrong! Are you OK!”
Anna’s a combination of distraught and furious. She’s holding her tablet computer and shaking it at me. “No, I am not OK! What is that fiancée of yours doing?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Just calm down—”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down, Thomas Jude Greer! I want to know what Helen thinks she’s doing!”
She thrusts the tablet at me. It takes a second for my eyes to focus on the screen. When they finally do, I grab it out of her hands.
“Dammit!” I spit.
It’s the Sunday morning digital edition of the Myerton Gaze
