I’d started it, of course. “We’re going to get killed if we don’t get off our asses and start the rehab,” I said, slamming myself down on the sofa and kicking at the scratched coffee table. I heard the hysteria and unreason in my voice and it just made me madder. I was frustrated by not being able to check in on Suneep and Dan, and, as usual, it was too late at night to call anyone and do anything about it. By the morning, I’d have forgotten again.
From the kitchen, Lil barked back, “I’m doing what I can, Jules. If you’ve got a better way, I’d love to hear about it.”
“Oh, bullshit. I’m doing what I can, planning the thing out. I’m ready to go. It was your job to get the ad-hocs ready for it, but you keep telling me they’re not. When will they be?”
“Jesus, you’re a nag.”
“I wouldn’t nag if you’d only fucking make it happen. What are you doing all day, anyway? Working shifts at the Mansion? Rearranging deck chairs on the Great Titanic Adventure?”
“I’m working my fucking ass off. I’ve spoken to every goddamn one of them at least twice this week about it.”
“Sure,” I hollered at the kitchen. “Sure you have.”
“Don’t take my word for it, then. Check my fucking phone logs.”
She waited.
“Well? Check them!”