Mixed Signals

by Diane Barnes

  “No! Of course not!”

  He has both hands on his belt but isn’t saying anything.

  “The radio show. They were talking about me. Not even telling the truth.”

  He takes off his glasses and slips them into the pocket of his black patrol coat. “They’re talking about you on the radio?” The way he asks the question leaves no doubt he thinks I’m crazy or under the influence. He stares at my coffee cup in the center console. I expect him to ask me to pass it to him so he can sniff it. Instead, he studies my eyes, looking at my pupils to see if they’re dilated, no doubt. He’s probably going to ask me to step out of the car and walk a straight line or search my car for drugs. “What are they saying?” he finally asks.

  “My ex and I broke up a few months ago, and they’re accusing me of stalking him.”

  As he folds his arms across his chest, the piece of paper he’s holding flops in the wind. “The people on the radio know you and your ex broke up?”

  “Yes, and they think I’m stalking him.”

  “Do the, um, people on the radio, talk about you often?”

  “Lately, they do.”

  “Turn up the volume,” he says.

  “What?”

  “I want to hear.”

  I spin the knob. Branigan’s voice booms out of the speakers. “So, Nico, you’re going to have to make it clear to Jillian that the attention is unwanted so that she stops stalking.”

  I turn the volume back down. “See.”

  The police officer looks down at my license like he forgot my name on the walk from his patrol car back to my Honda. “Jillian Atwood,” he reads. “Well, I’ll be.” He stares at me for a moment. “Are you stalking him?”

  “No, my friend showed up at the restaurant he was having dinner at, so they think I’m a stalker.”

  “She just happened to show up there? You didn’t know he was going there?”

  “Well, yeah, I knew he was going there, but I didn’t tell her to go there and spy.”

  “So it was all one big coincidence.”

  “I had no idea she was going to the restaurant.” I rest my head in my hands.

  “I’m going to let you off with a warning,” the trooper says. “Two of them actually. Slow down and don’t stalk your ex. It could lead to big trouble.”

  * * *

  Branigan and Smyth are taking calls when I pull into the parking lot at work. Even though I’m almost twenty minutes late, I remain glued to the driver’s seat, listening to their show.

  “Robbie from the FJ Cruiser, you’re on,” Branigan says.

  “First time, longtime,” the caller says. Nico had to explain to me that it means first-time caller, longtime listener. “Tell him he needs to change the passwords for his e-mail and voice mail accounts. My ex was a stalker too. She broke into mine. Sent some nasty messages to the new girl I was seeing.”

  “Good advice,” Branigan says. “Nico, have you changed your passwords?”

  “Affirmative,” Nico answers.

  Like I wouldn’t be able to figure out his new password. Redsox 2013 or Patriots2015 instead of Bruins2011.

  Frank from South Boston is next. I lean closer to the speaker, anxious to see if the caller is Mr. O’Brien using an alias, as Nico claims. “I thought this was a sports show, not a soap opera,” he says and then pauses to clear his throat. “When are you going to talk about the Bruins?”

  Well that sure does sound like something my landlord would say.

  “Frank, we promise we’ll get back to sports after one more call,” Smyth says. “’Cause we’re pretty sure our listeners want to hear from our next caller.”

  Branigan’s smug voice comes back on. “On line two, we have a caller claiming to be Rachel, the friend of Jillian’s who was at the restaurant on Saturday night.”

  No, no, no! Why would Rachel call?

  “How long have you known Jill?” Branigan asks.

  “Since before I was old enough to talk.” Her speech is clipped.

  I fumble through my purse for my phone and send a frantic text to her: HANG UP. NOW!

  “I want to be crystal clear,” Rachel says. “Going. To. The. Restaurant. Was. My. Idea. Jillian knew nothing about it.”

  Branigan laughs. “You expect us to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  A silver BMW pulls into the parking garage next to me. It’s Kurt Bryan, the head of human resources.

  “Did Jillian tell you to call?” Branigan asks.

  “No!” Someone in the background says something to Rachel.

  “Is she there with you now?” Branigan asks.

  “Hang up now,” I shout.

  Kurt remains in his car, looking at me while talking on his phone.

  “No,” Rachel says. She’s clearly distracted, so it doesn’t sound convincing. “Can I speak with Nico?” she asks.

  “Why don’t you have Jill call us,” Branigan says.

  “He doesn’t have the balls to speak to me, does he?”

  “Weren’t you listening to Dr. Decker?” Branigan asks. “Having a friend call into your boyfriend’s radio show is a form of stalking.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Rachel repeats.

  “If Jill has something to say to Nico, she can call the show herself,” Branigan says. “We’d love to have her as a guest.”

  “Nico, I just can’t believe you’re doing this to Jill,” Rachel yells. “After everything she did for you!”

  “What exactly is he doing?” Branigan asks. “She’s the one following him around.”

  “You don’t date someone for six years and then dump them less than a month after proposing.”

  I bury my face in my hands. She just told the whole world that I waited six long years for a proposal that lasted all of three weeks.

  “Well,” Branigan says, “the fact that it took him six years to pop the question—”

  “It took him that long because he’s a—”

  Whatever she says next is beeped out. Smyth and Branigan are laughing too hard to speak. The station breaks for commercial.

  I kill the ignition. The radio goes silent. “NO!” I scream as I pound my steering wheel. The horn gets stuck, sending one long continuous beep through the parking garage. Kurt steps out of his car and stares into my window as he walks by. I imagine he’s thinking Unstable employee in the parking lot. Get security.

  * * *

  As I step off the elevator, the sales team files through the vestibule, heading for their weekly meeting. Ryan whispers something to Tyler. They both look back at me and laugh. If I didn’t have so much work to do, I would turn around and go home. Instead, I continue walking toward my cube. The smell of maple syrup gets stronger as I make my way down the hall. I turn into my aisle. Renee is on the phone yelling at the printer for some kind of error they made. Ben is at his desk, eating pancakes and reading the news online. As always, his radio is on. He spins in his chair as I pass by. “You okay?”

  “Yup.” I don’t stop.

  He follows me into my cube. “Did you listen today?”

  I nod.

  He picks up a Snoopy figurine I have on my desk and winds it up. “Maybe you should go on the show. Give your side of the story.” He sets the toy down on my desk and Snoopy walks across it.

  “You can’t be serious. Branigan will eat me alive.”

  Snoopy stops moving, so Ben winds him up again. “You need to stand up for yourself. Maybe if you do, it will end all this.” He puts Snoopy down again.

  “Going on the show would only make things worse.”

  “You don’t know that,” he says as Snoopy steps too close to the edge of my desk and tumbles to the floor. Ben bends down to pick up the toy.

  “I do.”

  My phone rings. Stacy’s name flashes across the console. “I need to see you. Now.” She speaks loud enough for Ben to hear her even though the receiver is pressed against my ear.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” he says. “Good luck.�
�� He pats me on the back.

  As I make my way down the hallway toward Stacy’s office, I see Kurt from HR is sitting at the round table in front of Stacy’s desk. She’s summoning me to a meeting with human resources. This can’t be good!

  I pause in the doorway. There’s a small stack of papers in front of Kurt. The paperwork for my termination?

  Stacy motions at me with her hand. “Come in. Take a seat.”

  Kurt nods. “Jillian.”

  As I sit down across from him, he gets up to shut the door. I swallow hard and look out the window. There’s a flock of turkeys marching through the snow along the side of the building. It always amazes me that so much wildlife exists just minutes from the congested highway.

  Kurt returns to his chair. He and Stacy stare at each other across her desk. “This is your meeting, Kurt,” Stacy says. “Lead it.” She pulls out a tube of hand cream from her desk drawer and squeezes some on the backs of her hands. Its strong floral scent reminds me of a funeral home.

  “We’re wondering how you’re doing,” Kurt says.

  I glance at Stacy. She’s wringing her hands to rub in the moisturizer.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I saw you outside in the parking lot. You looked upset.”

  Stacy turns toward her computer as her email pings.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat.

  “I listen to BS Morning Sports Talk, so I know what’s going on,” Kurt says.

  Outside, the turkeys are headed into the woods. I wish I were with them.

  “Your fiancé leaving and having the breakup discussed on air, that’s a lot to deal with,” Kurt says.

  Stacy’s phone rings. She reaches for it, but Kurt shoots her a nasty look. “For Pete’s sake. Stop beating around the bush and get to the point,” she says.

  Kurt slowly exhales. I imagine he’s trying to control his temper.

  Stacy’s clearly run out of patience because she pulls out her stress ball and squeezes the bejesus out of it. “We have resources available that can help you,” she says. She points to the stack of papers in front of Kurt. “Give her those, and let’s be done with this. I have work to do.”

  He hands me a flyer with the words Employee Assistance Program centered across the top of the page in big bold letters. Under that headline in smaller italics letters it says: Whatever you’re going through, we can help. Following that is a list of services available through the program.

  I stare at the flyer in disbelief. The vice president of human resources is recommending I speak with a psychiatrist. Have I been acting that crazy? I think of Nina catching me driving through her neighborhood; my considering sleeping with Ben as a way to move past Nico; the police officer who saw me giving the radio the finger; and Kurt, who watched me screaming in my car and pounding my steering wheel.

  “Talking to someone might help,” Kurt says.

  “I can talk to my friends.” I’m too embarrassed to meet his eye so I’m looking down at the floor. When was the last time Stacy’s rug was vacuumed?

  “Like the friend who called into the show today.”

  I’m pretty sure Mr. Human Resources is using sarcasm. Surely there are rules against that.

  “It might help to talk to a professional,” he continues. “And if you need to take some time off to get yourself together, we’ll supp—”

  “No time off until we finish with our new branding,” Stacy interrupts.

  Get myself together? An image of Humpty Dumpty falling off the wall pops into my head. “I’ll think about it.” Please let this meeting be over.

  “EAP is a wonderful benefit. I really encourage you to take advantage of it,” Kurt says.

  I look up at Stacy. She’s grimacing, like this conversation is hurting her as much as it is me.

  “There’s no shame in talking to a professional,” Kurt goes on.

  “I have a nine thirty,” Stacy interrupts.

  It’s 9:29. I stand. “I’ll think about what you said,” I say, doing my best to sound sincere.

  Renee and Ben are on me as soon as I return to my desk, demanding to know what Stacy wanted. I hold up the flyer for the Employee Assistance Program. “HR was there. They want me to talk to someone about what has been going on with the radio show.”

  “They’re sending you to a shrink,” Renee bellows.

  I wince, hoping the sales team is still in their meeting. “They just suggested that I talk to a professional.”

  Ben takes the flyer from me and reads it. When he’s done, he crumples it into a ball and tosses it into the garbage. “If you need to talk to someone, you can talk to me, us. Renee and me.”

  Chapter 18

  Just before noon, my phone rings. “There’s someone here to see you,” says Barbara, the receptionist. In the background, several other lines are ringing, and she immediately clicks off. The only person who’s ever surprised me at work is Nico, but there’s no way he’d show up here today out of the blue. Or is there?

  Instead of waiting for the elevator, I race down the four flights of stairs to reception. My brother, Christian, is sitting on the edge of the sofa drumming his fingers on the table housing all the company’s marketing literature. I freeze. My heartbeat becomes erratic. I can’t swallow. What is he doing here? Did something happen to my parents?

  The door bangs shut behind me. He turns his head toward it. When he sees me, he doesn’t smile. Something is definitely wrong. Someone must have died. Why else would he come all this way without letting me know?

  He stands. “Hey, Jillian.”

  He never calls me by my full name; usually it’s Jill the pill.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. The constant ringing of the phone in this room is driving me crazy. Barbara answers each call the same way: “Cyber Security Consultants, please hold.” It’s like a verse playing over and over again on an endless loop. I press my hands to my temples and massage them.

  Christian has crossed the room and is right in front of me. He wraps me in a tight embrace. “How you doing?” he asks.

  His hug and question heighten my anxiety. His usual greeting is a slug in the arm while asking Keeping out of trouble?

  “Are Mom and Dad okay?”

  “They’re fine.”

  I sigh. “Why are you here?”

  He tugs at his tie. “I’ve been in New York on business and decided to take the shuttle up to Boston to see you.”

  He travels to Manhattan at least once a month and has never come to see me before.

  “Why?”

  He stares at a spot above my head. “I’ve been streaming Nico’s show all week.”

  I picture him sitting in a hotel room staring out at the New York skyline while Branigan interviewed Dr. Decker. He probably called my parents and told them to tune in. I’m surprised I haven’t heard from my mother. “I haven’t been stalking Nico,” I say.

  He looks me in the eye again. “I didn’t think you were. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  He flew all the way to Boston because he’s worried about me. I blink back tears and embrace him again, realizing how much I miss having my family nearby.

  “You were always way too good for that jerk,” he says.

  * * *

  Christian and I carry our lunch trays from the cashier to the seating area and look for a place to sit. At just a few minutes past noon, most of the company’s employees are here in the cafeteria eating, and there are no empty tables. Off to the side by the windows, I see a group of coworkers from accounting leaving. Christian and I rush toward their abandoned four-top.

  “So how did things get so nasty with Nico that they’re ripping you on the radio?” he asks.

  I’m definitely not confessing to my brother that my coworkers hacked the radio station’s website or that I purposely made a bad call during a tennis match to ignite the hostilities. He’d give me that big brother disappointed look he mastered during high school and try to convince me to apologize to that bastard Branigan. No way. “I
don’t want to talk about that. Tell me what’s going on with Molly.”

  I bite into my slice of pizza while he pulls out his phone to show me the latest pictures of my niece. My heart breaks seeing how much she’s grown and realizing how little I know her. They moved away before her second birthday.

  “She’s taking tennis lessons so she can play with you on your next visit,” Christian says. “She’s not too bad either.” He tells me stories about her on the court and shows me videos he’s recorded of her.

  I get misty eyed, thinking I would like to play with her and take her to movies and shopping. Get to know her as well as I know Rachel’s kids. Why did they have to leave Boston?

  When I look up from his phone, Lucas and Ben are heading for our table with lunch trays. “Can we join you?” Ben asks, giving my brother the once-over. Christian studies him as well.

  I motion for Ben and Lucas to sit and introduce my brother. Ben shakes Christian’s hand while Lucas nods.

  “I can see the family resemblance,” Ben says.

  With his thick, wavy blond hair, light skin and dark eyes, Christian takes after my father while I inherited my mother’s dark, straight hair, light eyes, and dark complexion. No one ever thinks we look alike. I give Ben a skeptical look.

  “I can,” he insists. “From the nose down.” He twirls his index finger into my cheek like he drilling a hole. “Same dimple and everything.”

  Christian raises an eyebrow. Why is he touching you like that? practically scrolling above his head.

  “I don’t see it,” Lucas says.

  Ben rolls his eyes at him. “What brings you to Boston?” he asks Christian.

  My brother looks at me before answering. “Just making sure Jillian’s okay.”

  Ben nods. I look at my watch because I have a twelve-thirty meeting with Stacy and Renee. I’m five minutes late. Christian has been so busy telling me stories and showing me pictures that he hasn’t touched his buffalo-chicken sandwich. “Sorry, I have to run, but finish your lunch.” I hug him goodbye.

  “Excellent. Now you can tell us embarrassing stories about Jill,” Ben says as I walk away.

  At the exit, I turn around to wave, but my brother doesn’t notice because he’s too busy laughing at something Ben is saying.