21
O
n Monday afternoon, Javier and I sat in his car outside the public works building on the edge of town. I’d ridden past this place thousands of times probably, and never once had it seemed terrifying. Until today.
Popson, it turned out, was the Water Services Manager, the boss. Mom had looked him up on Saturday, and first thing this morning, she’d called to make an appointment for four o’clock.
It was 3:55 p.m., and I was fairly sure I was going to throw up. Again.
The last two days had both gone by at the speed of light and been as slow as molasses. I wanted this over with, and I never wanted it to happen. I hate that feeling and try to avoid it as much as possible by getting uncomfortable things behind me as quickly as I can.
But now, here I was with still four minutes to wait.
