Me – Who the hell is doing this shit?
Darling – I haven’t a single freaking clue. Just like who changes the population sign.
Me – Or who writes in the Whisper?
Darling – Oh, I have theories on that one.
Me – Do tell.
And that was how Harlee managed to make my time on the oil rig bearable.
This rotation was three months.
Then she got to talking about who she thought could be writing the Whisper.
The Whisper, a newspaper, was a small-town staple, and in the Whisper, you found out things you didn’t know.
Mrs. Collins loved to wear frilly pink underwear. She was ninety-eight.
Or like Paul Cantrell was seen coming out of a hotel room, and the woman wasn’t his wife, and the man who followed was another woman’s husband.
Just like everyone found out about Old Man Travis leaving his estate to his two dogs, and not his two kids.
***
Darling – Are you okay?
Me – Can you keep a secret?
Darling – Are you really asking me that?
I shook my head, yeah, I was an idiot.
I can’t tell you how many of my secrets Harlee held close to her chest.
Me – Had a close call today. My umbilical cord kinked up on me.
Darling – Fucking hell. You’re sure you’re okay?
Me – Yeah. Someone would have gotten a call if I weren’t.
She didn’t know it, but it was she who would get the call.
Darling – I’m not the type of person to tell you not to do something dangerous.
Me – But...
Darling – But you love what you do. I admire that.
Darling – Makes me want to find some high IQ person and ask them to create something that guarantees nothing happens to you when you go down there.
It was her and her light that did that.
But I wasn’t going to say that to her.
***
What I didn’t know... was that the moment my rotation ended in one week, things were going to be changing.
