Dark Sins

by Charlotte Byrd

  "I've applied for a position in Seattle."

  Dante's eyes suddenly get big for a quick moment before he relaxes them and tries to pretend that nothing has happened. I feel him press his foot on top of mine under the table but I continue on.

  "I just wanted to let you know that I applied for a job there at this company. No news yet, so I didn't want to get you excited, but I wanted to warn you."

  "So Seattle, huh? Why so far?"

  "Well, frankly, I haven't had the best luck here. I'm expanding my search, but it's a contract position, so it wouldn't be for more than six to nine months if I do get it."

  "Okay, that's not too bad. Besides, now that I'm feeling better, I think I'd like to come visit you."

  Her words take me by surprise.

  I sit back in the chair and look up, uncertain whether I actually heard what I thought I heard.

  "You're really not upset?"

  "Of course not. You're living your life. You're graduating, you're looking for work. You have a wonderful, caring boyfriend; what more could I want for you?"

  "I thought you'd be seriously annoyed with the fact that I might be going to the other coast."

  "Nope, not at all. I want you to spread your wings. I want you to live your best life and I want you to make sure to FaceTime me at least once a day, no matter where you are in the world."

  I laugh.

  Yes, that's right.

  That's the mom that I love and know well.

  She wraps her arms tightly around me and I start to feel tears fall down her cheeks as she shakes. I can't help but stop the tears now, it's too late.

  "It's going to be okay," I say over and over and over again.

  "I'm not crying because I'm sad," she says, "I'm crying because I'm really happy for you."

  10

  Jacqueline

  Mom invites us to stay for dinner and Dante wants to see the town where I grew up. Neither of us wants to drive all the way back to the Hamptons, so I show him the new medical center that used to be the Blockbuster where I would rent all of my movies every Friday night and a Wendy's where I would get their soft serve ice cream and eat just that for meals at a time.

  Dante seems to like this walk down memory lane and thankfully, I like showing it to him. After an evening of stuffing our faces with pizza, we make our way back to my childhood bedroom with a twin bed mattress.

  It's a tight fit to say the least, and we laugh and try to make the best of it. Unfortunately, my mom's bedroom is right next door and the walls are barely there, thin as paper.

  When Dante reaches for me and moves his body just once, my old wrought iron bed and spring mattress make a loud creaking sound that scares us to death. I never want to hear it again, so I turn off the lights and force him to put his hands back on his side of the bed.

  We arrive at the post office the following morning just as it opens with the letter, or rather a picture of the letter, in hand. Surprisingly, there are two people ahead of us and as soon as it's my turn, I walk right up to the window and ask if the clerk remembers seeing it.

  The woman on the other side of the plexiglass divider stares at me with an inquisitive expression.

  "Do you realize how many letters I see during the day?" she asks.

  "It was on this date.” I point to the other picture on the envelope.

  "Do you know what time the letter was mailed?" she asks.

  I look at the envelope. "9:05 a.m., around that time."

  "Yeah, that's the time I usually work, but I can't tell you anything."

  "What do you mean?"

  She adjusts the fit of her shirt, breathing heavily. Her workday has just begun but she's already exasperated.

  "Look, I have no idea who dropped this off. Or if even it was dropped off. They could have dropped it in the box outside. Do you know if it was a man or a woman?"

  "I don't know.”

  “I can't help you. I barely remember packages with elaborate paper, let alone nondescript letters like this."

  Somebody comes out of the back, a slim, older gentleman wearing the same matching shirt.

  I ask him the same question.

  He gives me the courtesy of taking a closer book, thinking about it, but in the end comes out with the same answer.

  "Is there any way that we could see the footage of who was here on this day?"

  The woman turns to the man who's clearly her boss, and he shakes his head no. "We can't just let anyone do that without a court order."

  "But isn't this your establishment?" Dante asks.

  "Yes, but we're a US Post Office and there's privacy involved for people who are mailing things."

  "But it was mailed to my mother."

  "Still. If you get a court order or a warrant, I’m more than happy to show it to you. It’d be better if the police requested the footage."

  "How long is the footage kept before you write over it?" Dante asks.

  "Three weeks or so. Plus, we don’t record sound, only images.”

  "Three weeks from the day it was recorded?" Dante double checks. "That would give us about two and a half weeks."

  The man nods.

  "Would you mind if I got your names?" I ask, pulling out my phone, ready to record it. "And a way to reach you? I'm going to go to the police right now and ask them to request the footage but I want them to know who we talked to."

  They look at each other, exchanging a few glances, eventually giving in. Melanie Forbrowski and Dale Hubert tell me how to spell their names and give me their contact information. They look suspicious and they ask a few questions.

  I consider keeping the contents of the letter to myself, but I worry what will happen if I don’t share it with them. When we leave the post office, Dante gives me a slight hug.

  I realize that it's Monday and he should probably be at work, but I appreciate him rearranging his schedule whatever way possible to be here for me.

  We head back to the police station and tell Sergeant Malone everything that we know. He's not very familiar with the case, but he takes notes and says that he'll look into getting the recordings.

  We stress the urgency of the situation, but the more that I press, the more annoyed he seems to get.

  "Look, I understand. I'll do my best,” he repeats himself, getting more agitated.

  I ask where Sergeant Mallory is and he repeats himself by telling me that he's on vacation just like he’d told me earlier. And I know that the longer that we're here, the less of a good impression that we're making.

  "It's probably time to go.” Dante tugs on my shirt, and I leave despite not wanting to.

  "What if he doesn't follow up?" I ask Dante in the parking lot. "What if he wastes these two weeks?"

  "Sergeant Mallory should be back in seven days, so we're going to keep on the ball, call him every two days. Be visible, but not annoying. Remind him of his duty, but don't press him too much. Don't force him to give you a reason to say no."

  I nod, pacing from one side of the parking lot to another. I know what he means.

  "Would you like to get some lunch?" I ask.

  "Let me get back in the car."

  It's weird being back here. I feel a little rudderless even though my mom's house is less than five miles away, I feel like I'm waiting for something to happen, to uncover something rather than being the agent of change.

  "Did you take today off?" I ask Dante.

  He nods. "Last night I postponed my flight. I knew that you needed my help going to the post office and maybe the station again.”

  I nod, reaching over and giving him a squeeze on the hand. "Thank you for being here for me," I say, "let's get some lunch, my treat."

  He smiles.

  "I mean it. I'm not going to let you pay for me forever."

  "Oh, come on. It's not that big of a deal, is it?"

  I take him to an Italian bistro famous for their fresh ingredients and fresh food.

  We come in at an odd time, around eleven o'clock, so it's sti
ll relatively empty, but we're hungry after skipping breakfast.

  In the middle of lunch, my phone vibrates. It's in my pocket and I feel the call. Pulling it out, I expect to send it directly to voice mail but it's a number out of Seattle and Dante urges me to take it.

  "Hey there, how are you?" a friendly female voice asks on the other end.

  She introduces herself as Tamara Hillsborough and asks me a little bit about my experience working at a startup.

  Dante told me that it's an administrative assistant job, but I was in charge of a lot of planning and organizing of the day-to-day activities. I have a vague idea of what this means. I play up my strengths and experience that I had mentioned in my resume and cover letter, which were meant to match the job announcement.

  Tamara listens carefully, asking me pertinent questions about the specifics of what I did and I can't answer any of these questions with Dante looking directly at me.

  I excuse myself, walk away from the table, and talk in a dark corner of the restaurant leading up to the bathroom.

  I answer all her questions professionally and as straightforwardly as possible. And afterward, she asks me if I'm willing to fly out for an interview tomorrow morning.

  "What time is the flight?" I ask.

  "Eight o'clock. It'll get you here by the afternoon and you'll be able to do the interview at three."

  "Wow. Okay," I say.

  "This is the only time that Mr. Vasko has available until next week, so if you're interested, I wouldn't waste it. I have about five other people lined up for interviews the following Friday."

  "So many?" I ask.

  "Yes, you are the most qualified and after talking to you, I really get the sense that your personality and Mr. Vasko's personality will go well together. But of course, I can never be sure. There’s more of an art to this than a science, but I'd still like to give you a chance tomorrow afternoon."

  "Okay," I nod, "I can do it. I'll be there."

  "I'll send you all the details and the flight confirmation. The name you listed on the application is accurately spelled, correct?"

  “Yes, it is.” I nod.

  "Good, good. I'll be in touch. It was nice to speak with you, Jacqueline Archer."

  I hang up the phone and stare at the screen.

  I'm going to be on a flight out there at eight the following morning.

  What time do I have to get up?

  What do I even wear?

  What do I say?

  I don't know the answer to any of these questions and about a hundred others enter my mind as quickly as I put these aside.

  Not knowing what else to do, I walk slowly back to the table, sit down, and pick up my glass of water, drinking half of it before lifting my eyes to meet Dante's.

  "What happened? They don't want to pursue it?" he asks, probably judging from the grave expression on my face.

  I shake my head no.

  "What did she say? That was a recruiter, right?"

  I nod slowly, looking at him but also through him. "She wants me there for an interview tomorrow afternoon. My flight out is at eight."

  "Oh my God.” He smiles, excited.

  "There are other people interviewing, but Vasko won't have another opening for a week or so. She has a really good opinion of my application and she liked talking to me so much that she's pushing me ahead."

  "That's great news, right? Why do you seem so unhappy about it?"

  "No, it is. It's amazing news. I guess I'm just in shock. I just feel really nervous all of a sudden."

  Dante gets up from his chair and moves to my side of the booth. He wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  "You have nothing to worry about. You can do this job. You have already done it. Just elaborate on your experience, that's all."

  "Yeah, I know.” I nod, shaking my head. But suddenly I feel queasy, sick to my stomach. "I've never done anything like this before, you know?"

  "Look, I totally understand if you don't want to, but I want you to give this a chance. Just go, do the interview, answer his questions."

  "But he's going to ask me about my experience."

  "Yes, and we can practice tonight, but it's all stuff that you’ve done before. Make appointments, organize his agenda. Nothing out of the ordinary."

  I nod, taking a lot of deep breaths.

  The waitress comes over and asks us if everything is okay or if we'd like to order a second round of drinks.

  I say no, but Dante orders me some more iced tea, no sugar.

  When our entrees arrive, I eat my Mediterranean salad full of olives and feta cheese and I can barely taste the thing.

  It's not that it’s bland. It’s that my taste buds seem to have been thrown into a state of shock, rendered useless.

  "It's going to be okay," Dante promises, and I force myself to believe him.

  11

  Jacqueline

  Since my flight the following morning is so early, Dante drives me to the airport the night before and we rent a suite at the Marriott.

  "I don't want to stay. I don't want to spend another night on your childhood twin bed,” he says and I laugh.

  "It creaks when you breathe, let alone when you try to do anything else."

  I laugh again.

  My bag is packed and sitting in his trunk, and I've already said goodbye to my mom who wished me luck. She doesn't know the extent of what I'm going to do.

  And for now, that's okay.

  The drive doesn't take long, but we sit in a bit of traffic in a heavy downpour with just brake lights, blinking all around us.

  "I can't wait to get into that dry room and order some room service, maybe a bottle of champagne. How about that?"

  I nod.

  "I like the sound of that. Maybe even some hot tea,” I offer.

  "Hot tea? Not sure if that's exactly the romantic gesture that I'm going for."

  "Well, I got soaked getting everything in here,” I say, pointing to my shirt and jacket, which are drenched from multiple trips back to the house.

  He laughs, shaking his head.

  "You have one little carry-on and it's not my fault you kept forgetting things back home. It's almost as if you haven't flown anywhere ever."

  "Well, come to think of it,” I say, nodding my head. “That trip to Minnesota was the only one I had in years."

  "Really?" He gasps. "I think I'm going to have a heart attack if I don't fly anywhere for more than two weeks."

  "I don't know. I went on a trip to Nantucket. So, we flew to Boston to visit some friends of family there and do a little trip. But that's pretty much it."

  "What about Florida? What about Europe?"

  “Nope.” I shake my head.

  “I would love to travel but especially to Europe or anywhere like that, but the opportunity had just never come up. It costs a lot of money to travel. I don't know if you are familiar with this concept.”

  He tilts his head slightly in my direction, making fun of me, but also giving me a sympathetic pitying look that makes me feel bad.

  "We're going to have to remedy that situation as soon as possible."

  "Well, tomorrow morning I am flying to Seattle and I've never been to the West coast."

  "You're breaking my heart, Jacqueline. I hope you know that."

  "Look, I know that you have been all around the world everywhere, but that hasn't been my situation. I was in college and then during breaks, when everyone went skiing in Colorado or to the Swiss Alps and in the summer had their internships in Paris, I had to work. I had to have a real job. A real job that paid really bad and didn't get me anywhere, but it sustained a roof over my head. So that was my reality for a long time."

  "I know, I'm sorry. I was being a jerk,” Dante says. "I don't mean to make fun of you. I shouldn't have said that."

  "No, I appreciate you wanting to expand my horizons. And in fact, I'm kind of into that."

  I smile over at him sitting in the passenger seat of his car. He's a fast driver, but there's
too much traffic ahead of us and too many red lights to really let him fly.

  The rain starts to fall almost sideways and I wonder if they postpone flights over rainstorms. When I ask Dante about it, he says only if there's a thunderstorm and lightning.

  So far we haven't had either.

  Besides, the weather will probably shift by tomorrow or in a few hours, so who knows what's going to happen in the morning.

  We drive for a while without saying a word and I imagine what it'd be like to travel with Dante.

  Where would I even want to go? Paris is right up there on the list.

  Perhaps it's cliche, but given the fact that I've never been there and it is the most romantic city on earth. It's definitely a priority.

  I can just imagine it, Paris in the summertime sitting by the Seine River, eating croissants at a cafe.

  "You know, they actually sit with their bodies facing out,” Dante says when I share my dream.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "I don't know if you've ever noticed it, in movies and that kind of thing. But when you're there in real life, it's very disarming. All the cafes, the chairs, instead of facing inward toward the establishment, people face out. They sit on the side, they sit with their backs to the restaurant or to the coffee shop and everyone watches people walking down the street. They smoke and they drink black coffee and talk about the pedestrians, or at least it feels that way. In reality, they’re probably just discussing philosophy and politics in that abstract sense the way that French people do."

  I laugh and toss my wet hair, which has started to dry in sad little clumps around my shoulders.

  "What about London?" I say. "I'd love to go there. See the Tower, the Palace, just walk along the Thames, all that stuff. It's so romantic. And the British Museum! I’d love to see all of the archeological artifacts."

  "You mean the ones that they took illegally from all the countries they colonized?” Dante asks, raising an eyebrow.

  He jokes and I laugh, but we both know that he's saying the truth.

  “I would also recommend only visiting in the summertime since it gets kind of rainy. I don't know if you've heard of that.”