I wouldn’t mention the majority of the details to Eric. He would definitely gloat if he ever found out.
The tour finished, George escorted me back to my office. He informed me that my computer should already be ready to go and I should be able to use my same logins and passwords as before. He paused in the doorway to remind me that his office was just three doors down and to feel free to stop by if I needed anything. His sense of bravado had diminished greatly by this point in time, and I decided that I liked him.
I sat down in my chair and powered up my computer. As I waited for everything to come up, I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and set it on the desktop. The notification light flashed brightly at me, and I checked to see what or whom I had missed. There were three texts wishing me luck. One from my father, one from Blake and the last from Matthew. I smiled as I read through them, deleting my dad’s and Blake’s immediately after. For whatever reason, I kept the one from Matthew.
When I was able to sign in to my work email, I clicked on the message from Gracie first. She was also wishing me luck, of course, and I quickly typed back that I would call her later with all of the scoop. I knew this would make her happy, and also fill her with anticipation. She knew me well enough to know that if everything was favorable, I would have just come right out and said it. However, I wasn’t about to write anything that could be considered a critical review of my surroundings and send it via company email.
True to George’s word, my team filed in right before eight in the morning. Trust me, I sympathized, having been there, done that. I would be overseeing four employees who basically did the same job that I had done at the branch. However, most branches did not have a field underwriter. The sheer volume of applications processed in the Indianapolis market had made me a necessary anomaly; the majority of underwriting was done right here. In essence, the loan officer took an application, then sent the complete file to me, the Director of Underwriting, to distribute amongst my team for processing. I would now have a supervisory role, though all tough decisions would ultimately be my call.
I locked my workstation and rose from my desk, eager to meet the people I would be working with. This was where the nervousness came into play. Being as young as I was, I was no stranger to the fact that others might have a hard time taking orders from me. I wanted to come across with just the right mixture of friendliness and authority. I had no clue what their opinions had been of my predecessor. I only hoped they would give me a fair chance.
As I crossed the distance between my office and the grouping of cubicles, four sets of eyes turned and looked back at me expectantly. Fortunately, none of them looked like they were ready to bite my head off.
“Good morning,” I said with more confidence than I felt, “I’m Lauren Jefferies. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I walked from desk to desk, shaking hands with each person. Bob Patterson was the employee with the most seniority in the department, almost sixteen years’ worth. I spied a family picture on his desktop. He had a lovely wife and a son that looked like he was in high school. Samantha Walters was next; she had just started at the bank about four months prior. She was middle to late twenties, single from the looks of it. The only picture on her desk was a candid shot of her puppy. Lisa Allen was a rather established employee with five years’ experience. She was more of a mystery; her workstation was very clean and lacked any personality whatsoever. Kelly Jones rounded out the group. I had actually spoken with Kelly several times on the phone, and she looked nothing like I would have imagined. She had a girlish, almost bubbly voice, but in reality was a little on the Amazonian side. An imposing presence indeed. Kelly had been with the company for the last nine years.
Everyone seemed friendly enough, though I suppose they could have been shooting daggers in my direction the minute I spun around to go back to my office. I had quite a bit to do, the most important task in my opinion being to figure out what everyone’s workload looked like. My plan was to distribute applications evenly until I had a feel for each individual’s work product. That way I would hopefully not appear to be playing favorites.
The morning flew by and before I knew it, it was time for lunch. I had purposefully not packed anything from home, partially because I had a phobia of being the new girl in the lunchroom and more importantly so I would get a feel for my surroundings. I had passed a number of fast food restaurants on my way to work; I chose to stop at the nearest burger joint and enjoy something totally greasy and bad for me. When I cooked, it was typically healthier fare so I considered myself entitled to cheat a little bit.
When I returned to my office, I noticed two things that weren’t there before I left. The first item, the box of reference materials George mentioned, was placed right by the door, and I nearly tripped over it because my eyes were focused on the second. Atop my desk was a large vase filled with red roses. If I were to guess, I would have said two dozen of the flowers. I didn’t have to consult the accompanying card to know who they were from.
I plucked the tiny envelope from the plastic holder and removed the card inside. The handwriting was feminine in appearance, and so not Eric’s, even though the arrangement was from him. Since he was two hours away, if not more, it didn’t surprise me that there wasn’t a personal greeting. I seriously doubted that he would drive all the way to Fort Wayne to write three lines on a card.
Especially not the words on this particular card.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” I read aloud softly. “Yours, Eric.”
I threw down the card in disgust. Not even an “I love you”. This very card could have been sent to a business associate without raising any eyebrows whatsoever. Change the roses to daisies or carnations, and there would be no trace of romance or attraction.
For the rest of the day, I worked in a jungle of roses. I stared up at them occasionally, shooting them dirty looks. As flowers in an office setting were prone to do, these brought visitors to my desk. Lots of people commented on how beautiful they were. I considered passing them out to the highest bidder. Instead, I snatched them up at the end of the day and loaded them into the Honda.
Blake wasn’t home yet when I arrived. I carried the offending flowers through the kitchen and slammed them down on the table. Excess water splashed out of the vase, and I wiped it up carefully before I began dinner preparations. As usual, I decided to cook for three. Better to make more food than necessary than take the risk that Matthew wouldn’t show up.
With the oven preheating, I ran upstairs to change out of my work clothes and into a pair of sweats. When I returned downstairs, Matthew was seated at the breakfast bar. His presence frightened me for just a second. I paused to collect myself before coming into view.
“Nice flowers,” he appraised, gesturing to the vase. “From the boyfriend?”
I nodded. “Did you read the card, though?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”
“Go ahead. I don’t care.”
I opened the refrigerator door and busied myself removing ingredients from the shelves. Tonight I was making chicken. I piled everything I needed into my arms and unloaded the items on the counter as Matthew read the message.
“Wow. That’s kind of odd.” He returned the card to the envelope and sat back down.
“You think? And I don’t even like roses.”
“Don’t all girls like roses?”
“I’m not like all girls,” I said simply.
A smile spread across his features as he watched me work. If it would have been anyone else, especially Eric, I would have felt slighted that he didn’t even offer to help me do anything. Instead, he sat back and relaxed while I made everyone dinner. Truth be told, I enjoyed his company. Ever since he had informed me that he was also in management, I felt that we were like kindred spirits. During our previous pre-dinner conversations, he had tried to give me a feeling for what my new position would be like. Even though he worked at a factory instead of a bank, he told me that no matter what
industry you were in, the goals of your position were basically the same. And that sometimes there wouldn’t be enough money in the world to compensate you for the crap you put up with.
“So what would your flower of choice be, gorgeous?”
I blushed at his term of endearment. I still wasn’t used to being called that, even though I couldn’t remember him referring to me by anything but since the first day we met. It was always “gorgeous” just like Blake was always “sunshine”. I told myself that I was reading too deeply into things, though he could have come up with something less suspicious like “shorty” or “peanut”. Thankfully, the oven beeped that it had reached the appropriate temperature, and I was able to spin around to save face. I took my time placing the baking dish inside to cook, then bought myself a couple more seconds by setting the timer.
“Iris,” I said once I found my voice.
“Interesting. Very beautiful and unique.”
“And not like a whole bunch of them. One, maybe two. Big bouquets are so ostentatious.”
“Agreed.”
I sat down at the breakfast bar also, intentionally leaving a stool open between us. I had been playing things pretty cool up to this point, at least outwardly. My heart rate had probably doubled since he showed up, and it wasn’t because he had frightened me. No need to tempt fate and risk accidentally brushing my leg against his. I had no clue what my reaction would be to that.
“So, how was your first day?” he continued, not phased by the seating arrangement.
I shrugged. “Pretty typical. Overwhelming. The office is a dump and Blake would hate it.”
Matthew laughed.
“Blake would hate what?” The lady in question breezed into the kitchen from the garage. “Hey, dork.”
“Hey, sunshine. Your roommate was just describing her new workplace.”
“I see,” she responded, walking over to him to obtain her usual hug. As she exited his embrace, she spied the vase on the table, “Oooh, flowers. Too bad they’re roses. So overdone.”
“Read the card,” I urged, eager to hear her reaction.
She did so, staring for a moment as the words processed. Her lips moved as she reread the lines again and again. “Is this guy serious?”
I snorted. “He’s not one to express his emotions.”
“Apparently not,” she agreed. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“I found this new chicken recipe online. Fingers crossed that it turns out.”
Blake focused her attention on the oven timer. “Looks like I’ve got about half an hour to kill. I’m going to go upstairs and work on something real quick. After I get out of these damn shoes.”
She disappeared around the corner and Matthew and I were left alone once again. I decided to continue with my recap of the day, including descriptions of my staff. Matthew listened intently. Once I completed this an easy silence fell over us. We stayed quiet for a few moments, then he cleared his throat.
“Does he make you happy?” he asked finally.
My breath hitched. I stared at him blankly, not sure how to answer. I knew what my answer should be, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“That’s what I thought.” He smiled sadly.
“I won’t lie and say that everything is perfect,” I said shakily, “but he tries. This was a difficult blow for him to take, but we’ll figure something out.”
Admittedly, that was a pretty sorry defense of the person that I said I loved.
The timer rang, ending any further discussion of the topic. Matthew went to go find Blake, and I busied myself with pulling the chicken out of the oven. It smelled delicious. I had just finished plating everything when the siblings returned. We sat down at the table to eat, awkwardly silent.
“This is really good,” Blake said, looking from her brother to me. The gesture confirmed that she was attempting to figure out what had happened in her absence.
“Yeah,” Matthew agreed, not looking up from his plate.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
A few more minutes of silence passed. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So,” I said as brightly as I could muster, “any Thanksgiving plans?”
Blake shook her head. “Not really. Matthew and I usually just hang out at his place.”
“No family meal?” This surprised me immensely. I couldn’t imagine a holiday without my father.
“We’re not really close,” Blake said dismissively. She set her fork down on her plate, stealing another glance at Matthew. When I turned to look at him as well, I saw his expressionless face. Something about the whole conversation made me cringe inside. I was headed into uncomfortable territory, of that I was sure. “How about you, Lauren?”
“It’s just me and my dad. Sometimes Eric comes. Maybe we could do something here instead?”
“Maybe. You don’t see your mom?”
Well, if we hadn’t already been in uncomfortable territory, we certainly were going straight ahead into it now.
“My mom passed away when I was two. She was driving home from work and got hit by a drunk driver.”
Blake offered her condolences. Matthew’s face turned ashen, and after a momentary pause, he pushed his chair back and rose from the table. Silently, he stalked off towards the living room. I, too, prepared to stand, seriously confused by his actions.
“Let him go,” Blake advised, cutting me off at the pass.
I settled back into my chair. So maybe I had put it a little bluntly, but after years of having to explain what had happened, I had grown a little hardened. Really, there was no good way to say it. When coupled with the fact that I had very few actual memories of her, it was easy to become distanced from the entire situation. When I grieved for her, which I certainly did, it was more for the concept of a mother than for her as a person.
My reverie was broken by the front door slamming.
I had seen just about every reaction possible to the news of my mother’s death, but that was a new one. I looked over at Blake, trying to read her expression for any clue of what had just happened.
“What did I do wrong?” I asked finally.
Blake sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “It wasn’t anything you did, Lauren. It’s what Matthew did.”
Chapter Seven
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
Blake rose and began cleaning up the dishes on the table. Her explanation so far had amounted to nothing more than a version of “It’s not you, it’s me”. Reluctantly, I stood and assisted, reaching for Matthew’s now abandoned plate. We cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher in silence. Blake was clearly conflicted. As we worked, I imagined she was running through the options in her head, deciding what and how much to tell me. Once the task was completed, she left the room. I wondered if I should follow.
She returned a couple of minutes later, holding a white three ring binder in her hand. She motioned for me to follow her into the living room. I did so, and sat beside her on the couch.
“Promise me something,” she began shakily. She clutched the binder to her chest as though it was her lifeline. “Please don’t be mad at me. If you want to break your lease, I’ll understand. I’ll tear it up and give you all your money back.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Blake, I don’t know what to say. You’re scaring me, honestly. But things are never usually as bad as they seem. So I’ll do my best to keep an open mind.”
She nodded, handing me the binder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The binder felt heavy in my hands. I rested it upon my lap for a moment, willing myself to open it. With a deep breath, I lifted the cover. Beside me, Blake twirled the blue portion of her hair nervously. She winced as I looked down at the first page.
Upon first glance, it was an innocent scrapbook of newspaper clippings. In my nervousness, the headlines and articles blurred together, and I was only able to focus on the pictures. A black and white photo of a teenaged Matthew, clad in a high s
chool football uniform stared back at me. Further down the page was another picture of Matthew, this time dressed in a suit, his expression solemn, his hands folded behind his back. As I looked closer, I realized that he wasn’t standing in this awkward position by choice. His wrists were restrained by handcuffs. The gentleman that stood in the background appeared to be a sheriff.
I closed my eyes, willing my vision to clear. When I reopened them, I trained my sight on the headlines. Written in bold black typeface in a large font were the words “Fallen From Grace”. I flipped through the pages in the binder, focusing on certain words and phrases in the accompanying articles.
From what I did read, I found out that their father was a prominent attorney in the area. Matthew had been arrested. His college football scholarship had been revoked. He had been sentenced to six months in jail. It was a felony charge.
My head spun. I ran my fingers over the slick pages, wondering why Blake would have put together a binder of all this hurtful information. Scrapbooks were typically full of things to treasure, not nightmares. It made no sense.
I looked up, meeting her gaze. Nowhere had I noticed where the articles had mentioned what exactly he had done. Perhaps she had done that on purpose. Wordlessly, I pleaded for her to continue.
“When we were growing up,” she began, “Life was pretty good. We lived in a big house, dad made a lot of money and mom stayed at home. Matthew was on the football team and I was a cheerleader. We were popular and everyone wanted to be like us.”
The way she presented this background sounded less like boasting and more like regret.
“His senior year, Matthew got caught drinking and driving. He was obviously underage, and he was arrested. His license got suspended for a while, and he lost his football scholarship. Of course, our parents were pissed off. But it was nothing we couldn’t deal with, right?”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. I slid the binder off of my lap, placing it on the table in front of us. I wanted to hear the story from her anyway.
Intoxicated Page 6
