“And you’re scared. Of course, you’re scared. You’ve double-checked with the airline?”
“Yes.”
“Hospitals?”
Maybe her ideas hadn’t been so paranoid after all. “Yes.”
“If you don’t want to be alone, do you have any friends who could stay with you in the meantime? Maybe from church?”
“We don’t know very many people there yet. Although we are learning a lot. My friends from the art institute are all single—I actually got in last fall right after we moved here. What would you do if you were me?” Angie asked.
“I can come if I can find a substitute to take my class. Although I will have to be back here by tomorrow night.”
“No, I don’t want you to do that. I’m a grown woman, right? A grown, married woman who should have a better handle on her emotions.”
“I think you’re a wife who’s worried about her husband. I’ve been there a time or two. Since you know his plane didn’t crash, do you know if he was actually on it?”
Angelina sank into one of her new dining room chairs and almost dropped the phone on her spotless china. Relief surged through her.
She pushed her hair back from her face. “I bet he had to stay longer than he expected. With the time change, he didn’t want to wake me. He’ll do that sometimes. If he stays at the office, comes home late, he lets me sleep.”
“There ya go. Call his boss or maybe a secretary later this morning to see if they know why he’s delayed. You’ll feel better if you do.”
“Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you for talking me back from the ledge.”
“Worked yourself up, did you?”
“Terribly.”
And suddenly she was exhausted.
“Kay, I’m so sorry I woke you. Will you be able to go back to sleep?”
“I’m over fifty years old; I’m a schoolteacher, and spring break is weeks away. Of course I can go back to sleep.”
“I’ve really missed talking with you. I wish we’d made it down for Christmas, but I had projects to work on over the holiday break.”
“I’m so happy for you about your art school. You know I’m only a phone call away.”
Angelina rattled off her cell number. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch.”
“Angie, even if another person isn’t nearby, you’re not alone. Remember?”
Kay was talking about God.
“He’s right there, sweetie,” Kay continued. “Always. You can talk to Him anytime.”
“Outside of Nicholas, I think you might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“Then just hug yourself from me. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Angie hung up.
The hint of smoke still lingered. She sprayed air freshener in the kitchen and dining area, opened the windows to the cool night breeze.
In the bedroom, the candles she’d lit earlier had burned out— at least they hadn’t started a fire. That would be much worse than carbonizing dinner.
She took off her thin, simple gold band and laid it on the nightstand.
Nicholas must feel so pulled between getting here and proving himself at his job, she thought.
His six-month probationary period wasn’t quite over. He was alone on the other side of the world, probably working long hours in an effort to get home.
“I love you, Nick.” She hugged his pillow.
“Dear God. Please protect my husband, wherever he is. Bring him home safely. If there’s a new problem where he’s working, help him figure out how to fix it quickly and efficiently …”
***
Angelina checked the setting on the toaster and popped down the lever. She didn’t want to burn toast this morning, which was often the case.
She yawned. Even having slept in until almost 10 A.M., the sleep interruption last night had clearly impacted her energy level.
She scrolled through the contact list on her cell for her husband’s employer and dialed.
“Jenkinsons International.”
“I’m trying to reach Gerald Barker.”
“I’ll put you through to his administrative assistant.”
The phone rang once.
“Mr. Barker’s office, this is Edie. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Edie. This is Angelina Rousseau. My husband Nicholas works under Mr. Barker. Nick is in Spain. Would Mr. Barker know how to reach him?”
“Your husband is out of the country on business, and you want his boss to call him for you?” The woman’s voice turned snide with a heavy dose of aren’t you the clingy one?
“I’m sorry. I know how that sounds. See, Nick was supposed to fly home last night. Only he didn’t. I figure he’s had to stay longer than he intended.”
She’d left two more messages this morning and was now convinced he probably didn’t have phone service wherever he was.
“Please. Would you ask Mr. Barker to call me?”
“He’s in a meeting. Give me your number.”
“Thank you.” She did so and ended the call.
Angelina ate her toast and put away the clean dishes. She debated clearing the table, then decided she’d leave it as it was. Who knew? Nicholas might call her at any minute saying he was on his way. Maybe even walk right through the door.
Her phone rang. “Hello?”
“Angelina Rousseau?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Gerald Barker. Ma’am, Nick handles his own travel itinerary with his business account. I don’t have any information about his schedule, other than he’s expected back in the office on Monday.”
“Oh. I guess I thought you’d know if he changed his airline reservation.”
“I can tell you he hasn’t reported any problems on the Spain project. I have no knowledge of any reason he wouldn’t fly home as planned.”
She didn’t know what to say. Mr. Barker seemed evasive, but she couldn’t pinpoint what he might be insinuating.
Still …
“Look,” he said. “It’s possible his cell doesn’t have service. Or the battery’s dead. Or he simply missed his flight.”
“You’re right, I’m sure. I appreciate you taking the time to call me. If you hear from him—”
“I’ll let you know. Goodbye, Mrs. Rousseau.”
She called Nick’s cell again, left another message. She hung up and turned, catching sight of their only wedding photo. A five-by-seven taken exactly one year ago by the paid witness at the courthouse, as Nick’s mother couldn’t fly over on such short notice.
Nick’s mother. Would he have called her?
The third bedroom in their apartment held several still-packed boxes. She grabbed scissors from a kitchen drawer. Somewhere in there was a card from Nick’s mother, complete with her overseas phone number.
She started by the door. Found her high school yearbooks wrapped in sweatshirts. Discovered several years’ worth of fashion magazines. After hours of searching, she found a box that held assorted papers. Nick’s high school and college transcripts. Her grades from her first semester of college in Florida. Check stubs from when they’d worked at Denny’s in St. Augustine.
And the card from Nick’s mother.
The time difference put Paris well into the evening. However, at this point, Angelina didn’t care if she woke the woman.
She dialed.
“Bonjour.”
“Collette?”
“Hello. Yes?”
“This is Angelina. Nick’s wife.”
“Bonjour! I have heard so much about you. You make my son very happy.”
“You heard from him?”
“Why, yes. I just returned from driving him to the airport, so he can fly home to you.”
“Oh, really? He’s flying home tonight?”
“Bien sur. I wish he could have stayed more than two days, but he must get back to work on Monday, oui?”
Nick had been in France for two days?
“Yes, he does have to go back to work
on Monday,” Angie said. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“I would love for you to visit me with Nicholas. Lyon is a wonderful place and only two hours to Paris by train.”
“I’m sure it is. Thank you again. I really have to go.”
She checked her messages. Nick hadn’t called.
She dialed his number, waited for the beep initiating voicemail.
“Your mother enjoyed seeing you. Wish I could say the same.”
CHAPTER SIX
At Jenkinsons’ employee locker room, Nick dialed Angelina. Once again, she didn’t answer.
She was mad. He knew that. By missing Valentine’s Day, he’d also missed their anniversary. Hopefully, she’d cool off once he explained what had happened. But he couldn’t think about that right now. He was almost late for a meeting with Mr. Barker, and he wasn’t going to leave a lame message that might anger her further.
Nick showered and shaved. Weather delays meant flying home had taken two days. The last leg to Birmingham had been over-booked. So, he’d rented a car in Atlanta and drove all night, straight to the office. He towel-dried his wayward curls and realized he badly needed a haircut.
He dressed, repacked his suitcase, and wheeled it to the elevator. He stowed it by his desk and carried his computer bag to Mr. Barker’s office. He knocked.
“Enter.”
“Good morning, Mr. Barker. Should I set up in a conference room to update you on the progress in Barcelona?”
“Didn’t you send me photos and spec sheets?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’ll do it here. You can talk me through it.”
Nicholas quickly powered up his laptop and located the Barcelona files. For the next hour and a half, they reviewed the procedural revisions and structural changes he recommended.
“I believe we can increase productivity by at least twenty-two percent, while significantly reducing injuries. A particular repetitive movement is causing the problems.” Nick demonstrated the act of lifting an object with both hands and turning it over onto a conveyorbelt.
“Initially, new employees do well at this position,” he continued. “However, after a few weeks, the tendons become irritated. Carpal tunnel syndrome is very common. They begin losing dexterity and feeling in their fingers. That’s why they start dropping the product— hence the loss in productivity. Not only are they slower, but less product passes quality control inspection.
“We end up having to move these employees to a different position,” Nick said. “The cost of training current employees for new positions and replacing them with new employees, who, of course, we have to train, increases our costs. My proposed changes will have a high upfront expense, as we must modify the machinery in zone seven, but I believe we’ll recoup that investment within twelve to fifteen months. Thereafter, profits will continue to rise.”
“And why is that?”
“Because demand is high. Right now, we can’t meet it. Those who inquire are told the product is back-ordered.”
“We’ve been turning away new distributors?”
“Yes, sir. I wasn’t aware until after I visited the Barcelona site. That’s why I started analyzing this particular manufacturing division. Every other division except one is showing steady growth.”
“What other one?”
“I figured you’d ask that, sir.” He opened a secondary file and emailed it. “I’ve just sent you my report. Later today, I’ll be speaking with the zone four division director—he was out of town for his son’s wedding. Once I speak with him, I’m confident I can ascertain the needed improvements in this area, as well.”
Mr. Barker nodded. “Nick, when I first met you six months ago down in Troy at Warren, I had no idea I was looking at one of the most brilliant and thorough industrial engineers and efficiency experts I’d ever meet.”
Nick felt his chest relax and realized that until now, he’d been worried about this first project, this first opportunity to prove himself at Jenkinsons.
“Thank you. I really appreciate you saying that.”
Mr. Barker leaned forward. “You know, son, a few more jobs with profit increases like this, you can start your own company. Your own worldwide consulting firm.”
Nick couldn’t hide his grin. “I actually got a side job like that over the weekend. While in Spain, I met a French business owner. After I finished my work—and reviewed my contract to be sure I didn’t have a conflict of interest—I went to France. Can’t wait to put that check in the bank. Even got to visit my mom for a few hours.”
“Maybe you should consider it sooner rather than later.”
“Is something wrong, sir? Did I misread my contract? Is my position here in jeopardy?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just saying you could name your price, live your life your way, maybe take that pretty wife of yours with you.” He frowned. “Have you spoken with her since you left Spain?”
“With Angelina? No.”
“A word of advice from someone who’s been married, divorced, married again, and is now working on year eleven of said second marriage. If you’re going to be late, call your wife. Especially if you’re going to be days late. She didn’t sound too irritated when I talked to her, but do you know you missed Valentine’s Day? I understand it’s not celebrated the same way in Barcelona, so it’s understandable you’d forget.”
“You talked to Angie.”
“She called me wanting to know if I knew where you were. Now, if you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, that’s not my business, as long as it doesn’t reflect badly on the company. I know how it can be when you’re traveling and you figure you can get away with stuff. Second marriage, remember? But that kind of thing takes its toll on a relationship.”
“No, sir. I wasn’t—”
Barker waved away any further explanation. “Either way, forgetting Valentine’s Day or forgetting you are married? Not calling on Valentine’s Day means you should probably stop for her favorite flowers on the way home.”
Nick lowered his gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Great work in Barcelona. I mean that. You look tired. You ready for the Florence meeting this afternoon?”
“I slept some on the plane but drove all night to get here. I’ll be ready.”
“What about leaving again Thursday to go to Italy? The Florence project is vital to this company. I need your best, even if your wife isn’t pleased about back-to-back trips.”
“She’ll be fine. The trip is a great opportunity for me.”
“Then I’ll see you at the meeting. And if we run late?”
“I’ll call my wife.”
***
He wasn’t late. At least he wasn’t late.
Nicholas rode his apartment elevator up, so tired he was seeing spots before his eyes and was uncertain he could walk more than ten steps after unlocking his door.
Just make it to the couch, he told himself. As opposed to collapsing there in the hallway.
A dozen roses were tucked under his arm. He nearly stumbled out of the elevator, bumping hips with an oncoming teenager carrying a skateboard. The doors closed behind him, catching the longest roses and barely missing his arm.
He jerked away as the doors reopened. Green tissue paper and Baby’s Breath fluttered to the travertine floor.
“Hey, mister. This your luggage?”
He’d left it behind. “Thanks.”
Nick made his way down the hall, one hand holding his briefcase and pulling his suitcase, the other carrying flowers for his wife.
He’d make it up to her. Tomorrow. He’d do anything she wanted tomorrow evening, but right now he needed food and sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.
He unlocked the door. Opened it to his living room and a group of people he didn’t know.
“Hey!” They cheered. “You made it home.”
“Angie!” blonde, identical twin girls yelled. “He’s back, and he brought flowers.”
A skinny Asian guy passed by, sl
apping him on the shoulder. “Roses. Good choice, bro.”
“Pizza delivery.”
Behind him in the open doorway stood a delivery boy, his face hidden by a stack of pizzas.
“You buying?” the kid asked.
Nicholas moved to the side. “Um. Just a minute.”
Angelina emerged from the bedroom carrying her wallet. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her face, flawless. Barefoot, she wore a clingy half-shirt and shorts. She made him think of walking in the surf, then carrying her back to a private hotel room.
She looked past him. Walked right by him and flicked out a stack of twenties.
“Keep the change,” she said, as the blonde twins took the pizzas, a bag of two-liters he hadn’t noticed the guy held, and carried everything to the dining room table.
“Don’t shake the drinks, Josh,” one blonde said to the red-headed guy. “Most of us have already showered today.”
“I didn’t.”
“We know.”
Everyone laughed, including Angie, who’d set the table with the china he’d bought her for Christmas.
The blondes sat on one side opposite Josh and the other guy. Angelina served everyone soda in their crystal stemware, then sat at one end with her back to him.
“Dig in, you guys,” she said. “Juro, pass the supreme box.”
“Will do, Angie.”
“Are you joining our celebration?” One twin spoke, but both looked at him. “We all got A’s on our last projects.”
“We’re pretty loud,” the other said. “You want to eat in the other room?”
He nodded, accepting an unopened pizza and half a bottle of Coke. Still, his wife didn’t look at him.
Nick went down the hall to their bedroom. He kicked off his shoes, sat on the bed, and ate straight from the box. Sauce dripped onto his dress shirt. He swiped at it with his hand and succeeded in smearing it across the tip of his collar.
He drank straight from the plastic bottle, set it aside on the nightstand. Angie’s humble wedding ring lay beside the lamp.
Oh, he’d screwed up. So, so badly.
“Here! Hold my glass!” The masculine yell came from the living room. “Gimme that controller. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Abide With Me Page 6
