by Mia Ford
I was late, two weeks actually, and the only reason I had waited so long to check was because I was scared of what the result might be. Seeing that pink positive sign would kill me. It would be like a hand reaching into my chest cavity, grabbing my heart and squeezing until the blood burst out.
There was something almost pathetic about it all. I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that my mascara had run wild, making me look like I had war paint on my face. I had shaken my hair so many times, it probably looked like a whirlwind of brunette strands. My eyes burned, my nose was running, and the left sleeve of my blouse was a mix of make-up and tears, a Van Gogh of my anxiety and inevitable misery.
Just don’t be positive. For fuck’s sake, don’t be positive!
I had lost track of time, of how long I had been sitting there waiting for the result. The box had instructed me to wait for ten minutes, and I was sure those had gone by already. I just couldn’t bring myself to look at the stick. I would lose it completely if it told me I was pregnant.
Dennis would be thrilled.
On second thought, no, Dennis wouldn’t. He’d probably turn into a hurricane of emotions, scream at me for being a ‘dumb cunt’ who couldn’t keep track of her contraception. He’d go on and on about how we couldn’t afford a child, how I was a conniving bitch that had planned to get knocked up just to make his life miserable. I’d probably react in some stupid way, like laugh at the fact that we actually could afford a child if he spent less money on booze and hookers.
Then the beating would begin. And the screaming.
Mostly my screaming.
I sighed, coughed as I felt the breath I took break into staccatos of inhales threatening to suffocate me, and hugged my knees tight. I rocked faster, whispering a prayer I knew would definitely go unanswered. Look at the damn stick and get it over with, the voice of reason screamed in my head. But I didn’t want to. There was only one result I wanted to see, and I had a feeling that the world wasn’t done slapping me across the face just yet. It would be positive, and I’d be screwed.
I ran a hand through my hair and shook it for the hundredth time since I had sat down. Jeremy would probably be looking for me by now, scouring the offices, ready to drop a shitload of paperwork my way. It was one thing to deal with Dennis’s wrath at home; Jeremy Karp was a completely different story. It wasn’t easy being the secretary for the CEO of KarpTech. People kept telling me that I was lucky to have the job.
I wanted to slam a fist in those same people’s faces and dare them to walk in my shoes.
Getting fired is only going to make it worse.
Dennis would kill me for it. He already had his hands on half my salary, and that was only because he didn’t know just how much I earned. Otherwise, my entire paycheck would be used to fund his nighttime sex-capades and barhopping. The money he got from working at Ford was never enough, or at least that was what he claimed. Then again, I believed him. How much could a good-for-nothing mechanic make anyway, even at Ford?
I shifted in my place, and the plastic pregnancy stick tapped against the toilet porcelain, reminding me that there were bigger problems looming. Being married to a drunk and cheat was one thing, but there was nothing worse than constantly fearing, I could get beaten up because the chicken was too dry. Telling Dennis I was pregnant would get me a one-way ticket to the emergency room, and that was if I was lucky.
You’re going to have to get a break sooner or later. Maybe this is it. Check the fucking stick!
I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and brought the stick up. I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurred by the tears already forming, my body shaking with the anticipation of what it meant to see a positive sign.
It was negative.
The stick fell from my hand and clattered across the floor, and my sigh of relief was quickly followed by a rush of tears. I cried freely, having had dodged a bullet, and I fought to stay seated as my legs turned to jelly.
It took me half an hour before I could finally get up and wash my face.
***
“Where the hell were you?”
Karen Briggs pulled me into the conference room just before I could make it to my desk. A fiery redhead with the body of a Greek goddess, she was Jeremy’s right hand woman and the only person in the company who kept him from firing everyone left and right. Of course, there was the added benefit that she actually liked me, which made my job just bearable, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew that if push came to shove, she’d throw me under the bus.
Karen closed the conference door and turned down the blinds, turning to me with a frown that made me cringe.
“I had an emergency,” I said. “That time of the month, wasn’t prepared for it.”
“He’s been asking for you for the past hour, Andrea,” Karen shot.
“I’m sorry, I really am,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. Don’t look down. Don’t you dare!
I lowered my eyes and mentally slapped myself about it. If there was one thing Karen hated, it was lack of confidence, and unfortunately, I had a bucket load of that. Thank you, Dennis.
“Hey,” Karen cut through my thoughts, finger under my chin and tilting my head back up. She looked at me for a few seconds, and for a moment there, I could feel the tears threatening to come again. The problem was, I knew she could read me like an open book, and if she didn’t say anything, it was only to save herself the agony of listening to my excuses.
Karen sighed. “Fix your make-up, you look like a whore on a walk of shame,” she said. “Then get back to your desk. I told him that I sent you out on a photocopying errand, so find some memo and make enough copies to validate the lie.”
Karen opened the conference door, stepped out, then stopped and turned back to me. “And for fuck’s sake, stop crying.”
She disappeared, and I quickly wiped at my face. I took a few deep breaths, adjusted my clothes, and raced out towards the copying room.
KarpTech was a bustling beehive of employees, and I tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible. I knew quite a few of the people who worked here and stopping for some friendly chit-chat would only make my situation worse. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a lot lighter than when I had first signed in this morning.
I’m not pregnant. That’s all that really matters. For now, I’m going to be okay.
The copy room was on the other side of the floor, tucked in between the break room and the ‘deck’, a row of cubicles devoted to the constant turn-over of interns and newly hires. The rule was, if you could survive three months on the ‘deck’, then you could withstand the stress and hard work that came with a full-time position at KarpTech. I avoided the deck like a plague, mainly because I couldn’t stand to see the pale faces and bloodshot eyes of newly hires who were in over their heads. But also, Kyle Hannigan ran the deck, and for every woman in the company, yours truly included, he was a starting player for the majority of our wet fantasies.
Of course, none of us actually did anything about it, although the rumor was, Karen enjoyed a little Kyle every now and then after hours. I never asked her to confirm it, and she never brought it up. But I couldn’t ignore the sexual tension when the two of them were in a room together, as if they were mentally undressing each other, yearning for everyone to sign out and go home so they could go at it like bunnies.
You just had a pregnancy scare. The last thing you should be thinking about right now is sex.
I shook my head in frustration, pushed into the copy room, and grabbed the first memo lying discarded on the table by the machines. I scanned the contents quickly, making sure that it could pass for something Karen would want photocopied, and went about solidifying my alibi.
“Mission impossible?”
I almost jumped at the sound of Kyle Hannigan’s voice behind me and turned around to find him smiling at me from the doorway. I immediately felt self-conscious, wondering why I hadn’t gone to the bathroom first to recheck my make-up.
“Mr. Hannigan, hello,” I
said, attempting to flash a smile that would at least partially hide my discomfort.
“It’s Kyle,” he said, making his way to the pigeon holes on the opposite wall where copied material was stacked by interns, awaiting to be picked up by managers or their secretaries. “I think we’ve been through this before, Andrea. I hate being called mister.”
“Sorry, Mr. Hannigan,” I replied, cringing when I heard the words escape my mouth.
Kyle smiled and shook his head at me. “And the apologies, too,” he said. “Stop it.”
I nodded.
“So, Karen’s got you making copies again, huh?”
“Mr. Karp’s a busy man,” I smiled. “He keeps me busy.”
“Does he?” Kyle asked, winking. “Or is it Karen who has you running around in circles.”
“Whatever she needs,” I replied.
Kyle looked at me for a second, then nodded his approval. “Remind me that If I ever decide to get a secretary, I steal you from Jeremy.”
I flashed him a polite smile, then turned back to the machine before the flush in my cheeks gave me away. I was still shaken up from the pregnancy scare, and it was strange how just talking to Kyle made me almost forget all about it.
“Well, always great to see you, Andrea,” Kyle said as he walked out. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t,” I said, briefly looking at him as he walked out.
I quickly took him in with all his splendor. The muscles that bulged under his shirt, the blonde hair that was combed to perfection, the soft stubble of his beard that outlined his strong jaw and somehow made his blue eyes sparkle. I could almost see myself pulling him back into the copy room, locking the door, and tearing his clothes off while those strong arms wrapped around me.
I turned back to the task at hand, letting my mind wander a bit and saving a mental image of Kyle in my head. In about four hours I’d be driving back home to a house that felt like a prison and a volatile husband whose idea of touching me involved his fists.
Hey, at least it was negative, right?
I cursed the little voice in my head and finished the rest of the copying without any further interruptions.
***
“Go home.”
I looked up from my computer, briefly noting the time and that it was an hour past regular working hours. Karen was pulling on her coat, her make-up redone and looking like she was ready for a night out on the town. I felt a pang of jealousy at how in control of her life she was, and how I could never have that. Not anymore.
“I have to finish transcribing these last few memos,” I said. “It won’t take me long.”
Karen cocked her head and gave me a sad smile that made me feel sorry for myself. “That can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “Do you really want to be late getting home?”
I frowned in confusion, and she only shook her head.
“Listen” she said. “I’ve known you for almost three years now, and I honestly believe that what happens behind the closed doors of someone’s home is their business. So, I’ll keep pretending like everything’s dandy in your life, but you need to stop acting like I’m an idiot, okay?”
I opened my mouth to reply, then closed it again. There was nothing I could say.
“Go home, Andrea,” she said softly. “I don’t want to hear about how you ran into a door when you come in with a black eye tomorrow.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezed, then turned and walked off. I watched her leave, my fingers shaking slightly against the keyboard. From where I sat, I could see a few of the other employees at their workstations, finishing off tasks that would probably keep them here all night. Some would even fall asleep at their desks. KarpTech never really closed for the night.
I looked at the memo I had half-finished, the cursor blinking at me seductively, urging me to keep at it. Karen was right, though, the work wasn’t urgent. In fact, I didn’t even have to hand it in the next day. The truth was, I just didn’t want to go home.
Yeah, but Dennis will be waiting, and you know what happens when you keep him waiting for too long.
Walking into the door seemed like as best an excuse as any.
Sighing, I shut down the computer, grabbed my purse and made my way out of the office. I pondered stopping on the way home for some ice cream, to celebrate the fact that I wasn’t pregnant.
Then again, I didn’t want to be late.
Chapter 2: Andy
“Andy, upstairs!”
The heat of the surrounding fire was excruciating, and even with the protective gear, I could feel the flames threatening to burn my skin off. The smoke was blinding, and the creaking of the house’s foundations only made the situation worse. I barely heard Bobby yelling at me before a beam crashed down in front of me and sent sparks into the air, forcing me back.
“I can’t get to the stairs!” I heard Bobby shout from somewhere beyond the wall of fire and smoke.
I looked around me, panting as I squinted through the fire. I spotted the staircase a few yards away.
“I got it!” I yelled.
“Hurry up, man,” Bobby yelled back. “This place isn’t going to hold for very much longer!”
It was rare for a fire of this magnitude to disturb the peace in Mansfield, and the fact that I personally knew the family didn’t make it any easier. We had gotten the 911 call only half an hour ago, and the familiarity of the address had left me with a sick taste in my mouth. By the time we had arrived, John and Samantha Klein were already safe outside, with no sign of their son, Peter.
Bobby had been close on my heels when I stormed into the house.
I had grown up with John, had even dated his wife for a while back in high school before she learned that I was probably not the best guy to start a family with. Too much of a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junky since I was four, and definitely not in any way domestically stable. Besides, catching me in bed with her best friend had pretty much ruined any chance of our relationship going much further.
Still, John and I had stayed close. I was his best man at the wedding, shamelessly hooking up with one of the maid of honors afterwards. The two of us frequently volunteered at Mansfield Middle School, coaching baseball when the school’s coach was either too drunk or too high to show up. We enjoyed poker nights at his place, with Samantha civil enough to let me into her house without giving me the finger, and a few innocent football games over the weekends. I was also a regular at their summer barbecue.
So, it was no surprise when he made me godfather to his first born, much to Samantha’s dismay, I was sure. And I loved that kid like he was my own.
That same kid who now was somewhere inside this burning house, scared shitless, no doubt. And hopefully with enough sense to have taken what I had taught him about fires seriously enough to say alive until I could find him.
I shook the thought away and hurried across what remained of the Klein’s living room, praying that nothing else fell down around me or blocked my way up. I took the stairs by two, forcing myself to keep moving despite the flames that licked at me from every corner. Peter’s room was the first door to the left, and as soon as I was on the second-floor landing, I raced inside. The heat was a little more tolerable here, but the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet told me that it was only a matter of time before the whole thing collapsed.
“Peter!”
Nothing. I quickly scanned the room and dropped to my knees to look under the bed. Stay low and go, buddy. Let’s hope you remembered that. He wasn’t there, and I was slowly beginning to panic. If he was as smart as I knew he was, he probably would have crawled out of the room. That meant I’d have to check the entire second floor, and I wasn’t sure how long the structure would stand.
“Peter!” I shouted again, hoping for at least some reply that would make my search quicker.
The closet door to my left was kicked open, and I turned towards the crashing sound. Peter sat in the corner, hidden behind hanging clothes that were just begging to
be fuel for the fire around us. He was shaking, his eyes wide in horror, but he didn’t hesitate to drop down onto his stomach and crawl towards me.
I met him halfway, pulling him into my arms. He coughed uncontrollably.
“You’re okay, buddy,” I yelled over the sound of the flames. “Are you okay to run out of here?”
Peter shook his head, threw his arms around my neck and almost suffocated me.
“Alright, alright, window it is, come on.”
I dragged him beside me, making sure he kept his head as low as possible.
“Andy Stetson to Command. One conscious victim found on the second floor, front bedroom. Victim is frantic. I need a ladder and hands.”
I didn’t wait for a reply, quickly throwing the window open and pushing the small, makeshift desk to a side. I sat Peter down while I worked to remove the glass, the window sash and the Power Rangers curtains. From below, I watched Bobby leading a three-man team with a ladder towards us.
“We’re getting out of here, buddy,” I smiled down at Peter. He only nodded.
“We’re coming up, Andy!”
The ladder struck the bottom sill, and I watched Bobby quickly make his way up, the other two fighters bucking the ladder below.
“Okay, Peter, listen to me,” I said, kneeling down in front of him. “Here’s what you’re going to do. One leg out, sit on the sill, and put your foot on the rung. Then you grab the ladder, head and body out first, then your other leg.”
