Part 36 (1/2)
Sailing's been good. Few more weeks left.”
”Great to hear.”
”I'm calling for a favor,” Byron said.
”Shoot.”
”I need some of my old stuff from my office there in New York.”
As the most prominent inventor in ICP's history, Byron was granted lifelong privileges that included an office that was cleaned every day and kept in a ready state, should he ever decide to drop by and sit in, for whatever reason.
”Sure. What kind of stuff?” William said and smiled to himself.
His honorable former partner was experiencing post-retirement pangs. He probably wanted to browse through his old journals, notes, take a trip down memory lane, as it were.
”On my shelf, right behind my desk, there's a binder called 'Advanced Network Agent Design.'”
William snapped on the desk lamp and wrote himself a note.
”I'll have Barbara send it to you. Anything else?”
”No. I mean, no, I don't want you to send it to me. I want you to send it to this address,” Byron said.
William heard some papers shuffling.
”Here it is: 42 Inlet Drive, Camden, Maine, 04288.”
”You got it, Byron. I'll have Barbara fetch it tomorrow and express it to you so you get it by Wednesday. Oh, wait a second, who's the addressee?”
”Peter Jones.”
William's eyes shot to Martha's photo. He blinked rapidly and his lips parted. But no words would come out. He shut his mouth, took a deep swallow. Heard himself repeat the addressee's name, then for a few beats he heard his own blood pounding in his ears.
”Yep, new buddy of mine. You know who he is, right?”
William took a few seconds to answer. ”Of course,” he said, staring at his Joey. Then, struggling to sound as matter-of-fact as possible: ”Why are you sending him this?”
”We're kicking around an idea we've come up with,” said Byron, all snappy and playful.
”I see,” William managed. ”Byron, are the two of you thinking of starting up something new?”
”h.e.l.l, I don't know. It may be nothing. But it may be something, too. Listen, I don't want to talk your ear off. It's late, and you've got a real job to go to in the morning.”
”It's okay. I was just reading.”
”Well, if you've got a few minutes.”
”I do. Really. The time doesn't matter,” William said, and shakily seated himself in his chair. He reached over to the bookshelf and lifted Martha's photo. He placed it in his lap.