“I completely agree that we can all improve, but don’t you think it’s strange that all of a sudden I am below par in areas I excelled in prior to my pregnancy?”
No answer.
I’d had enough.
Clenching my fists, my voice possessed an aggression that stemmed from a part of me I’d never met. “Kevin, tell me what else I can do. My numbers are above goal, but I need my subjective ratings to reflect my efforts. I am being treated unfairly by my manager, but I am confident that I have earned the right to keep my job! I will not put up with it anymore.”
I folded my arms tightly and felt my chin lift with natural confidence.
His expression registered shock at my defiance.
Wow! Was that me? I sounded like a badass. Jana Cook, ass-kicking and taking names. Yeah. Thank you, Grace Thomas Milton, for the years of listening in your shadow as you took the world by storm.
Kevin raked his hands through his hair. The more he talked, the less he looked like Matthew McConaughey to me. “Perhaps this is a misunderstanding.”
Yes, dipshit, you already said that.
“You know, Jeff came to us very highly recommended…” he continued.
“Delta Flight 1032 to Orlando, Florida, now boarding Group 4 customers. Please board immediately. We apologize for the delay.” The glaringly loud announcement made my ears hurt.
Kevin jumped to his feet. “Well, that’s me.” He shuffled around in his backpack and retrieved his copy of Golf Digest. Tiger Woods stared back at me, his wide-mouthed smile front and center. I wondered how much Elin got out of their divorce after his sex addiction deal.
I refused to let Kevin shove this under the rug without a fight. Bravely, I steadied to my feet and grabbed his arm. “What happens next?’
He stopped in his tracks. “After creating a report, I will give you a call to discuss next steps.” Dismissively, he waved and trotted away. “Have a safe flight, Jana.”
I nodded curtly. Sure, Kevin. Thanks for listening to poor, pregnant Jana, the newest problem to dispose of. Thanks ahead of time for doing a whole lot of nothing.
Only weeks stood between me and the day the fate of my career would be revealed. Merry freaking Christmas from Covington Company.
I glanced at my watch and suppressed a groan. Sighing, I bounded toward the nearest restroom to pee again before sulking through the next few hours of waiting to board my flight.
Andrew was napping peacefully when I collapsed from exhaustion on our couch, jet-lagged. Burrowing in the trendy, fabulous pillows hand-sewn by the magnificent Jessica, I inhaled deeply and tried to ignore my pounding headache. My senses drank in the sweet scent of vanilla, lingering from the candle Andrew must have recently blown out. I peeked at my feet, my eyes widening when I noted their resemblance to water balloons.
I counted fuzzy navels, trying to doze off, wishing I could pop a Lunesta. Even a Tylenol PM would have been helpful. After several minutes and a hundred and fifty liquor-laced drinks, I felt Calla kick rapidly. An excited giggle escaped me, and I rubbed my belly where the kicks surfaced. The interaction refreshed me; a sweet reminder that life extended outside of Covington.
At some point I lost myself in dreams of kissing Andrew on the white shores of Cancun’s enticing beaches, our fingers laced loosely as we watched our daughter splash in the water … maybe three years old, Calla’s laughter resonated with the wind as drops decorated her dark hair. With my olive skin and Andrew’s blue eyes, this tiny beauty dazzled my dream with her childlike innocence as she wiggled her toes in the warm sand, shrieking at the new sensation.
“Earth to Jana.” Sniffing, I caught a whiff of coffee as I struggled to leave my dream.
I hoped Andrew had not overdone the sugar. After years of training, he still frequently forgot that one teaspoonful would suffice. “Good morning, beautiful.” I sniffed again. What he had overdone was his cologne, or maybe my pregnant sense of smell was too sharp.
“Did you forget about your doctor’s appointment today?”
“No, I didn’t.” I could hardly open my eyes, my head throbbed so horribly. “I would bet a hundred grand that my blood pressure is up.” I tried to sit up to accept my steaming cup of coffee, but it was too much effort. Feeling horrible, I closed my eyes and slid back into the pillows. Was it flu? I should have ignored Grace’s obsessive research and let one of my customers give me the damn shot.
Andrew’s briefcase dropped to the floor with a loud bang. Swiftly, his hand was on my forehead, his finely sculpted features brimming with concern. “Can you make it until your OB/GYN appointment? We don’t need you ending up in the hospital again.” He tenderly stroked my hand and brushed my hair out of my face. God, I loved that man.
“I can make it,” I replied hoarsely. “I’ve got to stay sitting. Crap, I’m skipping my shower. Just pick me up and put me in the car.”
My vision blurred as Andrew lifted my supersized self and whisked me to the car. The strange fatigue plagued me, but somehow, it felt strangely pleasurable at the same time. I bathed in my sea of sweet exhaustion until Andrew drug me out of the car when we arrived, practically shoving an ice cold bottle of water at me.
“141/95. Jana Cook, I should put you on bed rest right now.” Dr. Wilson wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, his expression strained.
“Don’t, please don’t,” I pleaded with him, cringing at the glowing red numbers on the blood pressure monitor. “We are having layoffs in a few weeks. If you put me out, you’re drilling the nail in my coffin.”
“It’s already drilled,” Andrew broke in, shooting me an irritated look.
Dr. Wilson peered at me with concern over his wire-rimmed glasses. “You are on the verge of toxemia. There is no protein in your urine, but we are going to check you every week, and more often if you get worse.” He turned to his computer screen and rapidly typed a note. “I am increasing the dose of your blood pressure medication. You may experience more side effects, but they should subside. You need to move around as little as possible, and I don’t care what your boss says, you are not going more than thirty miles out of town. If you feel bad, stop immediately and rest.”
I nodded obediently.
Andrew leaned against the door, his Polo shirt noticeably ruffled. Crossing his arms, he asked, “Is there anything we can do?”
Dr. Wilson let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “It goes without saying, reduce stress, but it sounds like Jana does not have much of a choice about that. I hope you keep your job, sweetheart. What horrible timing.”
I smiled my thanks, hating his pity.
“Let’s go home and get you better.” Andrew whisked the prescription from Dr. Wilson’s hand and wrapped a protective arm around my shoulders.
We were at the pharmacy in the blink of an eye, but the tech smiled apologetically and informed us it would be at least twenty minutes before my prescription was ready.
“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Andrew grinned devilishly, resting his hand on my leg.
Imagining something sexual was about to roll off his tongue, I glanced in his direction apprehensively. “What’s that?”
“Go out. Like really go out and have a good time. If you feel well enough after taking the increased dose for a few days, maybe we can have one last shebang before Calla is born.”
Ah … so booze rather than boobs was on his brain.
I pointed to my belly. “You are trying to take advantage of having a designated driver.”
“Maybe. We don’t have to stay out late, and we will only go out if you are rested.” His eyes sparkled above his charming grin. “When’s Gavin playing in Orange Beach again? My dad’s been bugging me to come over.”
I scrolled through my texts to see if Grace had sent me a date. “I have no idea. Grace said he’s been really tied up with work lately.”
“He has so much talent. He should audition for American Idol or something.” Andrew looked in the rearview mirror and messed with his light bro
wn waves.
“Speaking of Gavin… ” I had almost forgotten, snapping my fingers as he turned the air conditioning up. “Did Gavin say anything about a woman he is spending time with? He probably met her through the department, maybe a case that is assigned to him? I know he’s trying to become a detective.”
Andrew shook his head. “No. Why? You know they have all kinds of stuff going on at all times. He can’t say much anyway.”
I shrugged. “No reason, I guess. Grace freaked out because she saw him hug another woman. She stalked him.”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “I hug other women all the time.”
I poked him lightly in the arm, his eyes teasing me as I yawned sleepily, thinking that Gavin’s mystery woman would remain elusive, likely some departmental project.
His joking grin faded and he frowned. “I wonder what has been up with him lately. He fudged out on our last golf game.” It was his turn to shrug. “Maybe Grace is out of control, or maybe he’s freaking out over parenthood.”
“Maybe so…” my voice trailed off as I succumbed to the sweet exhaustion again, hoping to reenter the breathtaking dream I’d left earlier.
GRACE STOPPED BEING her daddy’s girl when she was sixteen. Half of her birthday cake was still sitting in our kitchen, the marshmallow fondant roses eaten off. She’d held it together until the rest of our friends left, exhausted and tipsy from the coconut rum Daniel helped us sneak in our drinks.
Her gut-wrenching sobs soaked my favorite silk blouse. I stroked her matted waves as she cried violently, void of all speech. Spring break should have been spent frolicking in the waves and filling our heads with clothes and sex and other trash out of the pages of Cosmopolitan, but instead, Grace and I spent our first day out of school cuddled in my bed—with me trying my best to be strong for my devastated friend.
She clutched my frazzled teddy bear. “He had an affair with her for like five years, pretty much from the time I was born.” She sniffled, her husky voice muffled. “Mom had absolutely no idea. She trusted him with her life. He said he couldn’t help it—that he fell in love. That they didn’t ‘mean’ to hurt anyone,” she scoffed.
“How did your mom find out?” I asked quietly, reaching to flip on my bedside lamp.
“Someone sent her an anonymous email.” Grace sat up and covered her lap with pillows. “She lives in Mississippi. They met up every time he went to Biloxi.” Grace’s dad traveled a good bit for work. “She’s married, too. Of course, she never left her husband, and he never found out. Holy shit, it took a fucking decade for Mom to find out.”
My blood boiled, and I looked at her incredulously. “You are kidding me. Is your mom going to rat her out?”
“Mom said there was no sense in ruining the lives of two families,” Grace said miserably. “Of course, she’s like eight years younger than Dad. So, now, my family is wrecked, and the nasty whore gets to keep living her life like nothing ever happened. With all the time that has passed…”
I avoided her eyes so she would not see the tears welling in mine. “When do you leave?” Her brokenhearted mother, a longtime Dillard’s manager, had requested a transfer. Grace, an only child, was moving to Atlanta with her mother.
“She said we will be gone by July. Ashton Larson is her attorney, and he said everything should be finalized by May.” She paused and held out her hand, which I met with a Kleenex. “I’m so scared about starting over. I’m going to miss you so much!”
We held each other and cried, speaking our private language of friendship that would never die, that would survive so much more than that.
A few months later, my best friend was gone, and I felt a void until she returned our senior year. The stress of the divorce and move triggered her first bipolar disorder episode. She racked up over five grand on her mother’s credit card and had unprotected sex with an un-confessed amount of men in a very short period of time. After the horror of what she had done hit her, she crashed into a desolate depression, refusing to leave her bedroom, much less go to school. With the help of medication, her moods leveled out, but thankfully her mom decided that moving home to Fairhope was the best medicine for Grace.
Unfortunately, every time I heard the name Ashton Larson, I would think of Grace’s life collapsing with five words: “Your dad had an affair.”
After my not-so-productive confrontation with Kevin Matthews in the airport, Andrew called Ashton, who was still one of the go-to attorneys in our area. He handled Grace’s parents’ divorce with finesse, slyly getting more alimony out of her corporate upper management father than Grace’s mom had ever dreamed of. With his sharp tongue and arsenal of connections, Andrew thought he was the best place to start for legal advice.
At one o’clock sharp, spotting us as he sauntered in, Ashton smiled warmly and sauntered briskly to our table, where we already had appetizers waiting. The salt from the phenomenal spinach dip clung to my taste buds, and as I pictured my legs swelling, I could hear Dr. Wilson’s scolding. I did not care. I felt I deserved some sort of pleasure, and the creamy dip was hitting the spot. My taste buds were the only spot that was getting hit lately. My midsection had expanded to the point of unbelievable discomfort, and the only position I could tolerate was spooning, and manual stimulation just wasn’t doing it for me. Andrew was frustrated, and I was trying, but…
“It’s time to resurrect the blow job, Jana,” Grace said resignedly after I complained about my suddenly nonexistent sex drive.
My choices for completing wifely duties were looking grim. At one time, I actually liked doing it. Now, after throwing up for months on end, I was terrified to do anything that might possibly make me gag.
Shaking my head from thoughts of blow jobs, I eyed Ashton Larson as he slid in the booth, looking sharp as a tack in his business suit. “Hi, Jana, I’m Ashton. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s great to finally meet the woman putting up with this guy.” He nudged his head toward Andrew, flashing a silly grin, and winked. His face was handsome, and his suit was expensive, but his teeth were slightly crooked, giving him a rugged farmer-turned-professional look.
“It’s a hard job, but someone’s got to do it,” I played along jokingly. “He knows his place.”
Andrew casually rested his arm around my shoulders. “The Ashton I remember would eat about anything.” He raised an eyebrow as I shoved a handful of greasy chips into my mouth. “And if that’s changed, my wife will clean the plate for us.”
I glared at him, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “Watch out. Sometimes I open my mouth, and your mother comes out.”
“She got you there, man.” Ashton laughed out loud, slapping his hand on the table dramatically.
Our chuckles faded and his face sobered. “Let’s get right to the point since Andrew has an appointment. Sounds like you have quite an issue on your hands.”
Goodbye carbohydrate-induced dopamine rush, hello familiar nausea. Every time I opened my mouth to talk about “it,” I couldn’t believe “it” was really happening. Gender discrimination: a thing of the past? Not so much.
I spilled my Covington Company saga to Ashton, who listened intently at full attention. Fat, hormone-induced tears rolled down my round cheeks around sentence number three.
Ashton jotted notes as I spoke, asking questions every so often to clarify details and sequences of events. By the time I finished, his eyes were wide with astonishment, and he wore the expression of utter sympathy that I hated.
“Wow,” he said finally. “Your manager’s an asshole. Has this happened with anyone else?”
I vaguely remembered a girl’s story on Jeff’s team a few years back. “Yes.” I paused as Ashton shook his head in disbelief. “I know a girl on his team last year got put on a performance improvement plan a week before she went out on maternity leave. From what I remember, she always performed well. She was fired two weeks after getting back from work.”
I felt my pulse speeding up. Why hadn’t I thought about that before? Idiot! I needed to give her
a call…
“But,” I added abruptly, “it’s easy for him to slide by with ridding himself of me. The way this is going down will make it seamless for him. The assessment that determines who stays and who goes is 100% subjective.”
“Unbelievable,” Ashton muttered, straightening his tie. “If that is the case, their legal department has probably approved it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t prove your case. Report this to HR if you haven’t already. If your doctor believes your pregnancy complications are stress related, get that in writing.”
An image of Kevin Matthews walking away from me in the airport flashed through my mind. “Our human resources representative never got back to me after our discussion.”
The waitress pranced up to our table, her eyes lingering a bit too long on Andrew’s sexy frame. I think she actually licked her lips before she took our order. Frenzied with the possession of a crazy pregnant wife, I placed my hand on his leg, trickling my fingers up and down his thigh.
Ashton nodded as she walked away, shaking her hips slightly. “Although they have made direct comments to you about your pregnancy, it is your word against theirs, so a case would be circumstantial. You can’t sign any severance agreement … they hold up in court.”
He folded his arms on the table and pushed his half-finished plate aside. “You certainly have a case, and I want you guys to get the best representation possible. We have been successful with racial and age discrimination cases, but not gender. They are tough to win, but can be done. Covington Company is a monster; it’s no starter case. I’m going to ask my bosses for a reference to a lawyer who specializes in gender discrimination. Birmingham has one famous for being a hotshot in discrimination cases. Singletary, maybe? I will find out for you.”
I left the restaurant with my head spinning. I met Ashton because Andrew insisted … sort of hoping he would discourage Andrew from his plight for justice. Instead, I felt my blood boiling at the injustice of what had befallen me, burning out my self-made label of being “not the suing type.”
The Storm (Fairhope) Page 11
