Last month I wrote that Don thought he was doing me a favor, so it would have been rude of me to refuse. But that’s not why I came back.
I tried to kill myself after she died, and was preparing to try again when Don called and offered me a job. And then the next time I was preparing to die, he called again. I know it’s only a coincidence, but it’s uncanny.
The company is dying, so it’s a comfortable place for someone like me to be. Almost everyone I worked with eight years ago is gone now, and the few who remain know it has no future, so it’s quiet as a funeral. The only sounds are when Bob or I tell each other a joke, and we both chuckle.
I think Bob wants to be my friend. It’s not that he wants to be my friend specifically. He’s just lonely, and wants a friend.
I think Mark wants to be my friend, too. And like Bob, he’s just lonely and anyone will do.