Be My Warmth

by Shanade White

  “Where you from, with that surname? Aaldenberg.” Whitney pointed to his nametag, recalling what ‘Bob,’ aka Jack Brook, had said earlier.

  “Belgium. The Dutch speaking part. And I am here to pluk de dag!”

  Belgium. Whitney scoured her information bank, recalled it as the seat of the European Union, located next to France. “There’s Dutch in Belgium?” Whitney frowned, encountering an issue in her memory. “Don’t you guys speak like some weird language? Uh, what’s it called…”

  “Flemish?” Faith supplied.

  “Yeah. That one.”

  At this, Miles emitted a derisive scoff. “Oh, no, no! We speak French, Dutch and German in Belgium. ‘Flemish’ is the Dutch, uh, accent? Accent. Though we’re nothing like the Netherlands with their cheese-slicers and their cheap ways.”

  Unfortunately, it seemed someone was listening. The instructor with Alex – Anja Jenssen, cut in and without preamble said, “Two Belgian truck drivers arrive at a bridge with a warning sign. It says: maximum height, four meters. They get out and measure their truck. It is six meters. ‘What should we do?’ asks one. ‘I don’t see any police,’ replies the other. ‘Let’s drive on.’”

  “You two, stop with your snappy European jokes!” Jack barked from where he stood with his clipboard, Natalie and Sandra still vying for his attention. “We’re in America now! I swear, Belgian and Holland Dutch are the worst workers I’ve ever had here. Those two are always at it.”

  “What is happening?” Whitney said, confused.

  “I think we stumbled onto racism,” Faith hissed back.

  Miles clapped Anja on the shoulder, and she walked off, grinning, both giving each other the middle finger.

  “Is that racism? They’re smiling at each other and also seem to be insulting each other at the same time.”

  “Probably to conceal their undying rage and patriotic wrath,” Faith commented. “Maybe it’s a European thing.”

  “Anyway,” Miles said. “So Flemish is not the language we speak. It is accent.”

  “So, uh,” Faith dug for words, “You guys are like Americans and British?” She looked all the while to be stomping down on mirth.

  “Better. We have chocolate, beer and waffles. We invented chocolate.”

  “Well. Certainly learning a lot of new things today,” Whitney declared, still trying to figure out what rabbit hole they had jumped down and when, “What brings you to America, then?”

  Miles moved his arm in an arc, sweeping the ranch and the countryside, unbothered by the change in topic. “This. Beautiful nature. I am with the Holiday work thing.” He searched for the correct phrase, “Activity? Scheme? Yes. Scheme. One year.” He then seized both of them and squished them into a forced huddle, as if preparing for American Football. Whitney felt uncomfortable with the whole gesture, but met Faith’s eye with a smile. “We will start with the problem-solving ropes now, before others. Come! Follow!” He released them and strode off, Faith and Whitney tagging behind, bemused as the enthusiastic Belgian halted at a pile of ropes. The others were still discussing in their newly formed groups, taking the moment to know each other better. Whitney already felt she knew more about Miles in a couple of minutes than she had known her colleagues in years.

  The tall Belgian picked up a length of cord, and three belts. “Place belts on. I tie rope.”

  Once Faith and Whitney had secured their belts, Miles looped the cord through the rings in the belt, until very little slack remained between them. They were trussed up as if for a climbing expedition. The four ungrouped instructors, including Jack Brook, assigned themselves teams to watch.

  Jack Brook, having finally extracted himself away from distracting conversation, made for Whitney’s team, much to the annoyance of Natalie and Sandra. “The early birds get the worm! I’ll be on board duty. Might even end up fetching you three some drinks. I see you want to start with the more challenging tasks first, Miles. You devil.”

  Miles grinned. “No waiting time.”

  The annoyance Whitney stored from earlier bubbled out. “You know this guy here, Miles?” She jabbed a finger at Jack Brook. “He wore a false beard and called himself Bob so we wouldn’t recognize him.”

  “Ja. Is normal. He does that a lot.”

  “Really?” Faith said.

  Jack Brook grinned. “I like to see people’s reactions when they don’t know it’s me. More authentic. Less fainting. Much better that way.”

  “And has anyone ever said you're crazy?” Whitney placed hands on hips, pursing her mouth in mock disapproval.

  “Many times.”

  To be fair, his statement made a grudging kind of sense, but Whitney still wanted an excuse to be annoyed. It didn’t help that the boyish grin on his face enhanced his dashing features. The curve of his cheekbones made her eyes linger longer than intended. She yanked herself out of the reverie fast. “Aight, then. So. What’s this all ‘bout?” She tugged at the rope tying her team together.

  “See those little benches there?” Miles showed two four stumps in the ground, supporting two thin, semi-circled logs. They spanned out from each other in a narrow triangle.

  “Yeah.”

  “We have to all get up from one end, and make it across them both without falling off. If we fall, we start again. We also cannot have our feet spread between the two logs. We stick to one at a time. I’m not supposed to tell you the best way to do it. That is something for you ladies to work out.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Whitney huffed. Jack Brook gave them a thumbs up.

  “Not something recommended for those suffering from impaired motor function,” Jack added. He moved in close to Whitney, and said in her ear, “But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  The tickle of his breath on her ear made Whitney flinch in startled arousal. He appeared to not notice, instead avidly scribbling something on his pad.

  Whitney drew in a sharp breath. She and Faith were tied up on either end of Miles. Faith gave her camera to Jack, showing him how to work it, so he could take pictures of them attempting the exercise. He agreed affably, placing his clipboard on the ground to hold her camera steady. Whitney went first, stepping up onto the rope. In her haste, she underestimated the rope slack. She immediately tumbled off with a curse, whilst both Miles and Jack doubled up in laughter.

  “For God’s sake!” Whitney exclaimed, rubbing where it had yanked at her hip – “Don’t just stand there. Come up with me too!”

  “Go slower,” Faith recommended, “So we can join you without triggering off a domino effect.”

  The exercise, with Whitney’s less than glorious sense of coordination, proved difficult. It took two more attempts before all of them finally balanced on the log in an awkward sideways line. Balancing with all of them together coupled with the restricting rope meant that if even one person lost their footing, the rest would promptly follow. Whitney managed about three steps, arms flailing hysterically before her legs buckled, and she fell rear first to the ground – jerking Miles and Faith as if they were pets on a leash. Miles narrowly missed kicking Whitney in the side as Faith pushed into him.

  After untangling themselves, Whitney suggested stepping onto the log last, as her balance was too unpredictable to support them. In the meantime, Jack unobtrusively clicked photos of their debacle.

  “I’m not sure that will make a difference,” Faith said, but complied, switching positions around Miles. Faith’s sense of balance helped, and Miles, having done this exercise numerous times before, knew how to keep his body centered. However, Whitney couldn’t replicate the feat. Again, she tugged them all off within a few steps. Then Faith tumbled off, when she spread her feet too wide. Four more attempts later, they still hadn’t even made it across the first log.

  “How can I be so terrible at this?” Whitney panted, again clutching at her side. “How can I not even know how to stand up straight? Knew there was a reason I never took gym.”

  Miles whistled innocently, boyish features crinkling. �
��Talk. Speak. We are team. Maybe you need to think more.”

  Jack coughed, tapping his clipboard with a pen, and Miles shut up.

  Whitney sighed irritation. “Sorry, Faith, Miles. Don’t think we can do this. Not good enough to keep up. Literally dragging you down.”

  Faith pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That’s not the point of something like this, though, is it? Like, um. If there is a problem, we should address it, so it doesn’t stay a problem.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. Let’s shoot. Problem is me. Can’t balance.”

  Looking as though she was able to protest the statement, Faith then hesitated. “Right. Problem is you. No um, offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Thanks. So it’s, um, your lack of balance. So… maybe there can be a better way to help you balance?” Faith’s brow scrunched up as she studied the two logs, and the rope binding them together.

  “Be my guest. Though doubt you gonna cure a lifetime of clumsiness with an inspiring speech.”

  Miles placed a finger to his lips. Whitney took the hint.

  “We all have to be on the log at the same time?” Faith addressed this to Jack Brook. He nodded.

  “Yup. None of you can be on the ground.”

  “Okay. Um. Do we have to be on the same log?”

  A pleased smile emerged. “None of you should be touching the ground. And you have to make it across both logs.”

  The quiet, soft spoken girl nodded.

  “Well?” Whitney demanded. “You got something? Spit it out.”

  “The logs aren’t so far apart, Whitney.” She took a moment to form her thoughts into words. “I think one of us can stand on the other side – if the rope slack allows it – and we can maybe lean against each other like we’re a triangle. Where the logs touch, we can just move around each other. So we all make it across the logs – just one of us starts on a different one.” She pointed at Miles. “Um. Maybe you start on the other log. Because you’re in the middle. Is this okay?” She directed the last question to Jack, seeking approval.

  He said nothing, but kept the smile, and winked at Whitney. His deep blue eyes connected with hers, sending little ripples of delight through her body. There was something in the way he stared at Whitney that suggested interest – deep interest.

  And damn if she wasn’t interested back. All her fantasies found themselves stirring into life.

  Wow. Okay. Down, girl. “Let’s do it.”

  It took them two attempts, with Faith patiently explaining where they should stand. Finally, Whitney and Faith had hoisted themselves up to one log, and Miles teetered on the other. He clasped a palm into one of theirs each, so they formed a tentative, leaning bridge. The extra support enabled Whitney to disregard her balance issues, stabilized by their triangle. They shuffled slowly along. The heart in mouth moment came when they needed to switch over at the thinnest point between benches, and Whitney almost lost her footing. She kept it with a quick tug from Faith, then they persisted with their bridge. They each made it to the other side, and dropped off. Excitement and triumph surged through Whitney, dispelling the original notions of defeat and incompetence.

  “Jesus, we did it! We actually did it! I didn’t let you guys down! Faith, you little genius!” She seized the younger girl in a crushing hug, giggling when Miles also squished into them, wrapping his arms around them both in an unbreakable sandwich.

  “I can’t… breathe…!” Faith gasped.

  The Belgian released them, and laughed. “Good work, ladies! And see? Team work. Talking. Listening. Adapting. This is needed for the tasks we will face next.”

  Jack Brook made an exaggerated tick on his clipboard. “One down. Fourteen to go. Miles, can you be less… hinty, as well? I’m letting you off though because you technically didn’t reveal the answer. Just how to reach the answer.”

  “You think others won’t do same?”

  “Regardless, I’m watching you.” Jack placed two fingers near his eyes, twisting them back and forth.

  They proceeded to the next exercise. Sunlight poked through tufts of cloud, casting shadows around the buildings. A soft breeze stirred the tall, thin grass, nestled in cracked brown soil. Whitney struggled immensely with the tasks requiring an innate sense of balance, but found in Faith someone a lot smarter than she let on – crippled somewhat by clinical shyness. She found in Miles an instructor who really wanted them to succeed, and shout a lot. Insults were compliments, according to him, Jack, and Anja – when she briefly passed them between tasks. Jack watched their group and sometimes roamed to check up on others, eyes often drifting back to Whitney.

  I’m not imagining that attention. A silly, girlish smile ate her up from inside. It felt good, really good to have that knowledge someone liked you enough to keep seeking you out. She didn’t completely understand why Jack kept focusing on her, but she welcomed the attention with some observation of her own.

  Gradually working through the different challenges, with Faith, Miles and Whitney learning to trust each other’s judgments better – Whitney thoroughly enjoyed the session. Little by little, Faith became more brash, more confident around Whitney, Miles, and even Jack. However, she clammed up if any of the other women came too close – especially with Natalie and Alex, who both flaunted their authority in different ways.

  Sometimes, considering the dynamics of everything gave Whitney a headache. Life never set itself in a straight line. The lives of all the people she associated with made it crooked and complicated. It honestly felt like wading through a pile of trash at times. If there wasn’t an issue with her mother – then her father chose the time to break down. If not him, then the children. If not them, then some new project with a ridiculous deadline at work, a sick employee and forced unpaid overtime. Something always liked to get in the way of what should be a normal, unexciting day. Whitney adapted to it as best as able, but struggled. There were days she wanted to curl up into a ball and give up. But people depended on her.

  So she couldn’t.

  The former company holidays never amounted to much of a treat, either. But this one – already she felt something different. Special. Maybe it showed in the way the wind rustled the leaves of the trees, spread out over the ranch, bunched on the mountains and the valley – or with the way the staff interacted with their clients. Maybe it came from the floating sensation in her stomach when she thought about or matched gazes with Jack.

  Placing a finger on the emotions proved impossible. They kept shifting, rocking. She persisted instead through the tasks, enjoying the moment. Alex’s group finished first in the group challenges, followed by Natalie and Sandra. Whitney’s team finished the last task ten minutes before Tia and Gracie stumbled with the rope bindings. Tia glared at Gracie, in a foul mood from Gracie’s continued persistence in not cooperating with the tasks. They had skipped several for taking too long, despite Tia’s best efforts.

  A small table had been prepared, and there were plastic plates laden with various different sandwiches. Two cartons each of apple and orange juice lay stacked by polystyrene cups. Whitney, Faith and Miles took their preferred food and drink, with Miles sticking near them instead of joining his work colleagues – saying he liked their company.

  To Whitney’s surprise, as she chewed away on a peanut butter sandwich, Alex approached her. The imposing, olive skinned woman congratulated both of them for their efforts. “I saw what you were doing. You made a good team and supported each other. Unlike the fucktards over there –” she nodded to Gracie and Tia, “—Who clearly forgot what the word ‘team’ means. Natalie, of course, only picks who she thinks will guarantee her a win.”

  “This wasn’t a race,” Whitney said. Faith, cheeks beetroot red, said nothing. She drank from her cup, arm noticeably shaking.

  “Exactly. Everything’s a race with her. What you two did is what the company wants with these holidays. Actual team trust and communication.”

  “Thanks… I guess.” Whitney didn’t know what to make
of the Latina woman’s apparent friendliness.

  Alex drew a little closer, muttering the next sentence. “And don’t think I can’t see what’s happening between you and billionaire boy.”

  Whitney inhaled surprise, heart fluttering. “What?”

  “I personally don’t give a flying fuck,” Alex said. “And I say go for it. I can almost guarantee that if you snap your fingers, Jack will be jumping you. But keep it out of our noses and just be careful of the Natabitch. Okay? She’s got a jealous streak the size of New York city.” It seemed Alex was well aware of Gracie’s favorite endearment for the executive. The Latina then whirled on Faith, making the younger woman shrink in fear. “You annoy the shit out of me. But when you’re not chewing on your own insides with whatever stupid insecurities you have, you’re good. You have the potential to be the best of us, barring Whitney and her perpetual habit of cleaning up other people’s fires, and Tia’s productivity when she’s not being sucked into Gracie’s dumb-ass games. Don’t fuck yourself up. I liked what I saw here. I want to see more of that from you.”

  Jack, who had sauntered into close enough range to eavesdrop, examined Alex in intrigue. Miles gaped at Alex.

  “You are very blunt woman.”

  Alex cocked her head towards Miles. “Got a problem with that?”

  “It’s sexy.”

  Alex snorted. “Glad you think so.”

  “What’s bought this on?” Whitney asked, suspicious. “You're blunt on insults and when people do bad. You're vicious at work. People hate you for it. Compliments, though? That’s new.”

  Alex idly tugged at her left sleeve, brown eyes wavering in contact. “Just because I’m a bitch doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate when people do good. There’s a reason you made assistant manager.” And, with a final self-satisfied wave, she stalked off to Tia and Gracie, still fuming on the side-lines – no doubt to regale them.

  Whitney opened her jaw in utter astonishment. “She was my reference for assistant manager? Good Lord.”