Game On. Nancy Warren
and she’d volunteered so much at school when he and his sister were growing up that he sometimes felt he’d seen her more than he’d seen some of his teachers.
Almost as amazing, she and Dennis had been happily married for almost forty years.
She put three muffins on his plate, poured him a mug of coffee exactly the way he liked it and placed the works on a floral place mat on the kitchen table, complete with a matching napkin. His father got only one muffin, but Adam didn’t comment. He knew the diet his doctor and wife had forced on him was a sore point with his dad.
When they sat down, Adam’s mom placed glasses of orange juice in front of both men.
“Roy Osgood decided to stay on as president of the local Rotary Club for another year,” his dad said before biting into his muffin.
Adam got the feeling this was part of an ongoing discussion, guessed his dad had been interested in the post himself.
He watched as his mom ruffled her husband’s hair fondly. “Not everyone can be president, honey. Besides, it’s the worker bees who really contribute to an organization, much more than a man with a gavel.”
“I know. I’m staying on the gardening committee. There’s a lot to be done.” He turned to Adam. “We’re trying to get rid of invasive nonnative weeds in the public parks. It’s amazing what damage those things can do.”
“I know. My yard’s full of them. Can’t you make my place a community project?” he joked.
“You know I’ll come anytime.”
“Yeah. Truth is, I want to get the inside fixed up before I put much energy into the landscaping.”
He ripped a muffin in half. It was steaming and full of good-for-you-looking grains and blueberries. Stuffed it in his mouth.
“I thought when you bought that house you might settle down,” his mother said. “I could not believe it when I heard you and Max and Dylan make that stupid bet about the last man standing. Why don’t you want to get married?”
“Because you’ve spoiled me. Where would I get a woman like you?” he said before stuffing the second half of the muffin into his mouth. He was only half joking.
* * *
“WHAT ABOUT FEAR?” Serena’s voice was sharper than she’d intended and Marcus blinked at her.
“Remember? You said for some people fear of public speaking is worse than their fear of death. I think you even blogged about it.”
Her hand drifted to her throat. “You read my blog?”
He stared at her the way she imagined he’d stare at his computer screen when a piece of programming didn’t behave logically. “You suggested I read your blog.”
She had to shake this foolishness. “Of course I did. I’m just surprised you found the time.” She sat down, pulled out a pad of paper. “Okay,” she said. “You want to talk about fear.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I develop games because that’s what geeky kids with no friends do. Except I turned out to be really, really good at it. Now I’m worth millions and own a big company and most of the time I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
She nodded. This was familiar territory. She’d worked with athletes and musicians, people who suddenly found themselves famous, rich and with responsibilities they hadn’t anticipated. They hadn’t had the time or training to prepare themselves mentally or physically.
“Your whole life has changed,” she told him. “Sometimes people feel as though they don’t deserve their good fortune, so maybe they sabotage themselves.”
“You mean like Trog in ‘Third Circle’?”
He’d referenced his own game, which was good. Except that it was one of those violent point-and-shoot games, so clearly for the teenage-male market that she hadn’t been able to play it after the second blasted and bleeding alien hit the ground groaning.
She took a wild guess. “In ‘Third Circle’ doesn’t your hero have to perform certain tasks to get to the next level?”
“You mean like vanquishing death meteors?”
“Exactly like vanquishing death meteors. Why don’t you work on that? Imagine that your fear of public speaking is your death meteor. How are you going to extinguish it and move to the next stage? Remember, you’re the hero of your own game.”
He was nodding, looking not enthusiastic exactly but more engaged than he had been last time she’d seen him.
“I could do that. I think.”
“Okay.” She saw that noon was fast approaching and she had a meeting with Adam at twelve-thirty. It didn’t matter to her that he was a pro bono client and Marcus was paying big bucks. She didn’t make schedule changes if she could help it. She rose. “All right. I think we’ve had a bit of a breakthrough. Why don’t we schedule you another session right here in my office? Maybe it’s good for you to get away from your own building for a while.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She walked him out to the front. Lisa glanced up from her computer, quickly removing her glasses.
“Marcus needs another appointment. Can you schedule it?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lisa glanced up at Marcus. “I have to tell you, I really love ‘Third Circle.’”
Marcus dropped his gaze immediately to his computer case and mumbled, “Cool.”
“When’s ‘Third Circle: Zombie Apocalypse’ coming out?”
Marcus looked up from his computer case the most animated Serena had ever seen him. “It’s going to be so rad. We’re working out a couple of kinks. Can’t get the zombie blood right. I mean, what color is zombie blood?”
“Do zombies have blood?”
“Excellent question.”
Serena could not believe two intelligent, educated adults were having a conversation about the color of zombie blood. But it gave her an idea.
When the two paused in the midst of their geekfest, she said, “Marcus, why don’t you try reading your speech to Lisa?”
“What, now?”
She’d meant at a later appointment and was about to say so when Lisa said, “Sure. That’d be sweet. Unless you have somewhere you have to be.”
“No,” Marcus replied. “I do most of my work at night.” He shrugged. “Habit of a lifetime. I’d like to read it to you.”
“Awesome.”
“Okay,” Serena said. “I’ll be back in the office at two.”
“Sure,” said Lisa, not even glancing her way. “See you then.”
As she was leaving the office, she heard Lisa say, “If there really was a zombie apocalypse, where would you hide?”
“No, see, that’s a mistake a lot of people make. You can’t hide. You have to run.”
* * *
ADAM WAS WAITING at the restaurant when she got there. She’d let him choose the venue and he opted for a Mexican restaurant. “Sorry,” she said when she arrived a couple of minutes late. “I got caught up in the zombie apocalypse.”
Her client looked more relaxed than he had the last time she’d seen him, in well-worn jeans that showed the powerful muscles in his thighs and a navy sweater.
“Huh?” he said.
“Do you have opinions on whether it’s better to run or hide during the zombie apocalypse?”
He blinked