“Okay,” Sylvia replied. “Thanks, Virgil. What you said really means a lot to me.”

“It’s all right, sister. I have a mother too.”

Virgil held Sylvia and hugged her tightly. They both dabbed their eyes with tissues when they loosened their embrace.

As soon as she left the meeting with Virgil, Sylvia called Diego to let him know that everything was fine. But although she shared a quiet laugh with him she ended up feeling guilty for the rest of the afternoon. She hadn’t been prepared for Virgil’s show of tenderness.

She had never thought of Virgil as a man with feelings. After all, he never showed them. But after the conversation she knew better. Virgil was not just a living, breathing, thinking person, but a feeling one as well. So, she couldn’t help but feel remorse. I have a mother too.

Mother. Hopefully she would find out more about hers when she went to Kingston.

But just as everything seemed to be going smoothly—right as she was packing to leave the office—she got a frantic call from Lewis. And before she had a chance to say anything, even hello, Lewis shot her a question. “What is this about your mother being dead? Is there something I don’t understand?”

Sylvia sat back in her chair and held the phone away from her face for a minute. Already struggling with her conscience for deceiving Virgil, she felt overburdened by this new development. How did Lewis even know there was gossip about her mother’s health floating around the office? she thought. And dead? How many cycles of gossip did it take to get to death? Shit!

Pissed with herself and the world at large, she answered tersely, “My mother is dead, Lewis. But you’re right, she didn’t die today.”

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked. “I’m only telling you what I heard.”

Her scalp began to itch. She didn’t know what to say. She cursed herself silently. After all, it was her screw-up that was causing this awkwardness now. She should’ve dealt with Lewis over the weekend, she thought. But the right time had just never come. And she had been too annoyed with him to guarantee a civil discussion. And she didn’t want to fight.

“Who … who told you this … this … ridiculous thing, Lewis?” she asked, trying to buy some time.

“Does it matter?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes, it does,” she replied.

“Why?” he demanded before her answer had fully passed her lips.

Feeling desperate as she found herself getting cornered, Sylvia held the phone silently, trying to make sure that what she was about to say would make sense. She struggled to find a suitable answer, but all she could raise was: “Because I just want to know.”

“Is there something the matter with your mother, Sylvia?”

“I can’t talk now,” she replied indignantly.

“Why?”

“I just can’t! Okay?”

“When can you talk about it, Sylvia?”

“Can we meet somewhere this evening, Lewis?”

“I’ll see you at yours at eight.”