Chapter 10: A Second Copy
I didn't take the folder to the library until my lunch break the next day. I'd kept it in my apartment overnight inside my laundry hamper under a stack of towels, which felt ridiculous and not safe at all, but I didn't have anywhere else to put it. I kept checking the deadbolt on my front door.
The downtown library on Main smelled like old carpet and coffee from the little cart by the entrance. I hadn't been there since I was in college. The copy machines were against the far wall near the restrooms, two big gray machines that took quarters and cards. I brought a canvas tote bag like I was just carrying books.
I waited until the older woman ahead of me finished copying what looked like tax forms, then I stepped up and emptied the tote. The navy folder was heavier than I remembered. The red tab stuck out just enough that I could see it without opening it all the way.
I propped the folder open and started feeding pages through. The glass was warm. Each page made that bright flash and whirr. I counted in my head. Nine pages total, including the cover sheet with CONFIDENCIAL stamped crooked at the top and the last page with his signature. My hands were shaking so bad I had to redo the third page because I'd laid it crooked.
The librarian at the desk glanced over once, then went back to her computer. No one cared. That was the point.
I paid with my debit card and the machine printed a receipt for $2.70. I stacked the copies in order, tapped them straight on the side of the machine the way I'd seen lawyers do on TV, and slid them back into my tote. The original went back into the navy folder. I made sure the red tab was still lined up exactly how I'd found it.
My sister Jenna lived twenty minutes away in an apartment over the hardware store on County Road 9. She worked nights at the diner and was usually home until three. I texted her on the way to my car.
You home? Need to drop something off. Takes two minutes.
She wrote back right away. Yeah door's open.
Jenna answered in socks and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair still damp. Her place was small and always smelled like dish soap and toast. She hugged me even though I was holding the tote tight against my side.
"You look like you're gonna be sick," she said.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just need you to hold something for me."
We sat at her kitchen table, the one with the wobbly leg she'd fixed with a folded takeout menu. I pulled out a plain manila envelope I'd bought at the gas station on the way over. I slipped the photocopies inside and sealed it, then ran a strip of clear tape across the flap and signed my name across the tape with a Sharpie so I'd know if anyone opened it.
I wrote her name and the date on the front and then, underneath, Do not open unless I tell you to.
She stared at it.
"What is this?" she asked.
"It's copies of something I found at work," I said. "The original is still at my apartment. I just need a second copy somewhere that's not with me."
Jenna picked up the envelope and turned it over in her hands. "Is this about that guy in the black shirt? The boss guy you told me about?"
I nodded. My breathing was shallow and I tried to slow it down.
"Did he do something to you?"
"Not the way you think," I said. "He's just trying to make sure I don't have proof of something. If he gets the original back, this is the only thing left."
She held the envelope out like it was heavier than paper. "You want me to hide it?"
"Yeah. In your closet, in a drawer, anywhere he wouldn't look. And don't open it unless something happens to me. Like if I call and say to open it, or if I don't come home or I get fired and you can't reach me. Otherwise just leave it sealed."
Her eyes got wide. "Are you safe right now? Should you go to the sheriff?"
"Not yet," I said. "If I do that now without a backup, he can just say I made it up and take the folder. This way it doesn't matter if he tears my apartment apart. The copies still exist."
Jenna got up and went to her bedroom. I heard her closet door slide. When she came back her hands were empty.
"It's in the shoebox on the top shelf, behind my winter hats," she said. "Nobody looks there."
I felt my shoulders drop for the first time in two days.
"Thank you," I said. My voice caught a little. "Don't tell anyone you have it. Not your boyfriend, not Mom."
"I won't," she said. She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "You call me every night, okay? Even if it's just for a second."
May you like
I promised I would. I left the envelope there and drove back to work with just the original in my tote, light and dangerous again in my lap at the red light.
Now there were two. One under my towels at home, one sealed and signed in my sister's closet. He could still take one, but he couldn't make both disappear.
