Pulling myself out of my daydreams, I hop in the car and turn it over. Pulling out of my driveway, I head for the freeway, thinking I should go to Sam’s after work and grab the rest of the boxes he mentioned giving me last night. There may be more of Estherly’s belongings or diaries in them.
It’s not even 12:00 PM and it feels like it’s already 5:00 PM. In my ear, the thirty-fifth complaining, rude customer curses at me because she didn’t pay her bill on time and we shut her services off.
“I can’t believe you jerks would turn my phone off when I was only a little late. I didn’t even get my bill,” gripes the customer.
My eyes shift from the time display in the corner of my monitor to Estherly’s diary waiting for me, resting on my desk.
While I was stuck in the typical bumper-to-bumper traffic on my way into work, I couldn’t help pulling the book from the bag and staring at it, wondering how much of Estherly’s story it’ll contain. I had opened the diary and glanced down at her elegant handwriting. Before I had a chance to read any of its contents, someone blared their horn for me to move two feet. Ever since, I haven’t been able to concentrate while working. All I want is for 12:00 PM to roll around, so I can read more of Estherly’s story.
Someone clears their throat behind me, bringing me out of my fog, and I instantly recognize the vile sound. It’s Roger. Crap!
Getting back to work, I push a button on my telephone and unmute myself. “I apologize that you didn’t receive your bill for last month’s services.”
“You stupid bitch…”
Phlegm gurgling in Roger’s throat over the sound of the customer spewing insults makes me nauseous. I’m pretty sure staying on the phone with the customer is better than hearing what I’ve done wrong today.
“Ma’am, there’s no need to call me names. I’m here to help you. Ma’am?”
Great. The customer hangs up on me while my supervisor is pestering me.
I log myself out of the automated call center system before another irate customer beeps through. Spinning in my chair, I stare up at Roger. My eyes immediately go to the enormous zit unearthing itself on his chin. Internally I chuckle, then remember the joke’s on me. Roger is three years younger than me yet treats me like I’m a child. Even though he’s got a pimple the size of Mars on his wrinkle-free face. I’ve worked for TelCom Digital Systems longer, yet Roger is the one I must answer to. I dread what’s coming next because I’ve gone through this for over a year now. Roger has the innate talent of picking on me for every little thing I do.
“Hello, Ferrin.”
“Hi, Roger.” I grit my teeth.
I notice the clashing colors of Roger’s tie. The skin on his neck makes its way over the edge of his collared dress shirt. As if on cue, Roger reaches up and adjusts his tie and collar. He then moves his hand back to the clipboard of death.
“I’m going over your numbers from this morning, and your talk time is excessive. Now, we’ve gone over this before, so I’m not sure how to get it through your head: your job isn’t to shoot the crap with the customers. You fix their issues and take their payments. Now, how can we”—he emphasizes the word ‘we’ in a sarcastic tone— “get your talk time down? I don’t want to have to write you up.”
Same old song and dance, again. If I have to listen to another word he says, I’m going to blow my top. I’m so sick of this company’s idiotic rules when it comes to talk time. Shouldn’t those of us in customer service focus on the customer and not some number a guy in a suit that’s never done my job before came up with? I’ll try explaining myself, but I’m sure it’ll fall deaf because of Roger’s lack of empathy.
“I had an elderly woman on the phone this morning who was very hard of hearing. I’m sure that call alone is what brought my stats down. I don’t shoot the crap with the customers anymore. I got your message loud and clear last week.”
“Apparently not. One call isn’t going to bring your talk time up this high. I need you to focus. Work isn’t the place for making friends, especially with our customers. If you go over your talk time tomorrow, I’ll be forced to write you up. Straighten up your act, please.”
“I…”
I deflate. A tiny, courageous part of me thinks I should argue with Roger but then I cave, as I always do. Something about my mortgage and keeping a roof over Otis’ head allows me to push the anger down.
“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll do a better job at shortening my calls.”
“Thank you.” He turns to walk away.
I take a deep breath. Before I’m able to let it out, I realize, to my horror, Roger turns back around.
“Oh, and we have over three hundred calls in the queue so I’m going to need you to forgo lunch today. You’re allowed to run and grab your lunch and use the bathroom if you must, but we need you to bring your food back to your desk and keep taking calls. Try not to alert the customers to the fact that you’re eating.”
Disappointment flows through my veins. I’ve waited four hours for the chance to dive back into Estherly’s diary, and now the chance is gone. I hate Roger. He doesn’t wait for my response because he knows as well as I do that there’s no arguing with mandatory overtime.
Turning back to my desk, I look at the diary and promise to myself that I’ll grab an easy dinner and get right to reading as soon as I get home. I put myself back into call rotation and brace for the next angry subscriber.
A man with a woman screaming in the background sounds off about his home phone not ringing when he gets calls. While I drown out the sound of his whiny voice, my mind goes over scenarios where I’ll get home from work and head over to Sam’s, offering him a greasy burger in exchange for the other boxes he has. When he answers the door in my fantasy, he’s wearing a pair of tight blue jeans, and he greets me with a huge smile.
“Are you listening to me?” asks the customer.
“Yes, sir,” I jolt from my musing. “I’m going to transfer you over to our technical support team so they can schedule a time for one of our techs to come out and fix your issue.”
How I was able to see Sam half naked in my mind, yet still hear the exact complaints the caller had, is beyond me. I wait for the man’s permission to transfer him, do so, and not two seconds later, another customer is on the line. How am I supposed to escape from this hell on earth when people keep calling in?
After grabbing two burgers and fries from my favorite downtown joint, I pull into my driveway. Looking toward Sam’s, his blue Chevy is parked out front. I can’t calm my agitated nerves as my mind rehearses the lines I’ve been practicing since I decided to head over there. Pulling down the sun visor, I check the lipstick I haphazardly put on while stuck in traffic. My hair is a mess, so I comb my fingers through my ginger locks. This is as good as I get. I’m sure I’m wasting my time thinking that Sam would find me anything more than his friendly klutz of a neighbor, but I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t try connecting with him. Offering dinner in exchange for the boxes gives me an in for sitting at his table and talking with him about what I found last night.
Letting out a deep breath, I brace myself. I grab the bags of food and my other belongings from the car and step out. I shut my car door and stare at Sam’s front door with my heart about to leap from my chest. As I walk around the front of my car, anxiety pulses in the veins in my neck. I sprint across my lawn… right to my front door. Unable to muster the courage, I twist my key in the front door lock and go inside. I have no idea what I’ll do with the extra meal, so I walk into the kitchen and toss it in the refrigerator. In this moment, I hate myself. I hate myself for not having any guts. In my head, my mother’s voice tells me that I’ll never find a husband – that they don’t come knocking on your door.
While I stand in my kitchen, a bag of greasy food dangling from my hand and my arms full of Estherly’s diary, my lunch bag, and my purse, someone knocks on my door. Placing everything on the counter, I raise my eyebrows and let out a little giggle. Thinking it must be
a delivery man, I answer the door.
Two tattered boxes and a glimpse of the top of Sam’s head catches my eye. So… Mom, my future husband won’t come knocking on my door, will he?
“Hi,” I say, breathless. I hurry and place my things on the bench by the door.
“Hey,” Sam says from behind the boxes. “I saw your car in the driveway and thought I’d drop these boxes by, so you can see if there’s anything you want out of them before I toss them.”
I scoff at the idea of him throwing these away. “Come in. Here, let me help you with one of those.”
I don’t know what’s more exciting, Sam standing in my hallway or what might be in the boxes he’s brought by.
Taking one of the boxes from him, our arms glide over each other, sending chills down my spine. With his dirty blonde curls, more than a five o’clock shadow, and a rugged look, Sam Landry is the most handsome man I’ve ever known.
“You can set that down on the coffee table,” I say as I place my box on the table, leaving room for his.
Setting it down, he places his hands in his pockets. We look at each other for a few moments while I wonder what he’s thinking and why I can’t seem to form a single word.
Sam saves me when he finally speaks. “Your place is great. Look at all this old woodwork.” His head falls back as he checks out the wood beams that go across the ceiling.
“Thank you. The woodwork is one of the reasons I bought this place. I have an affinity for old things.” Before the courage that’s built up inside me disappears, I blurt out, “Are you hungry?”
Sam tilts his head to the side as if he’s studying something that confuses him, and I’m immediately embarrassed I asked. “The burger joint I go to gave me an extra order but told me to keep it.”
Sam’s lips pull to the side and crease his perfect face. A low chuckle sounds from his chest, and I think I’ll die right here in my living room because his smile is so heavenly--even though I’m pretty sure he finds me ridiculous. Why would a guy of his caliber be remotely interested in a plain and mundane woman who leads the most boring life on the planet?
“I… I figured—”
“How did you know I was starving? Do you read minds?” he asks.
I shrug, not knowing what else to do. “Umm, have a seat. I’ll go grab it. I was about to sit down and eat, too. You can… ahh, join me if you’d like.”
He nods. “I’d like… a lot.”
Oh… my… gosh! I think as I rush to the kitchen to heat up his food, then compose myself before walking into the front room.
Handing the bag to Sam, I can’t seem to make my eyes leave his. I know that I’m staring at him for far too long, but I simply cannot stop myself.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bag.
And, what do I do? I stand there, still looking into his light-sea-green eyes.
“So, did you find anything interesting in the box you took last night?” he asks while opening the paper bag and inspecting the food inside.
“Actually,” I say as I grab both of us dinner trays, “I’ve been dying to come tell you all about it.”
“Oh, yeah?” He nods, thanking me for the table, then puts his cheeseburger and fries down on the table on top of the bag. He picks off the onions, and I take note.
“Where did you get all these boxes?” I ask, while taking my seat and preparing my food for total annihilation.
“They’ve been up in my attic since I moved in. I’ve had some extra time on my hands, so I figured I should clean up there. They must’ve been left from the previous owners.”
“You’ve got quite the treasure,” I say, before sinking my teeth into the juiciest burger Seattle has to offer.
“You do. Consider all this stuff yours.”
“I still can’t believe you were going to throw out someone’s memories.”
“Well, if they left all this stuff behind, it must not be valuable.”
“Oh, but it is,” I say, wiping the corner of my mouth where ketchup seeps out. “Do you know what I found in the box from last night?”
“Nope.” He chuckles. “You still haven’t told me.”
“A diary.”
“Oh yeah, is there lots of stuff from a schoolgirl with a crush on some football player?”
“It’s not just any diary. It’s a diary of a seventeen-year-old Jewish girl living near Berlin during the Holocaust.”
This seems to pique Sam’s interest when he scoots his butt to the edge of the couch, puts down his burger, and his sexy mouth forms an “O.”
I nod, with wide eyes. “It’s terrible and amazing, reading her words.”
“Do you mind if I have a look when we’re done eating?”
“Not at all! I’m so drawn to her. Do you happen to read German?” I take another huge bite of my burger and shove a couple fries in the corner of my mouth. My love for food overpowers the shame I have from eating the way I normally do in front of Sam.
Sam shakes his head.
“I’ll have to read it to you then. It’s all in German.”
“I’m impressed you know how to read it.”
“Studied it in high school and college. Along with French.”
“Ah, very cool. I guess I should’ve inspected the boxes before tossing them out. I had no idea something like that was in them,” he says.
“Did you see what’s in the ones you brought over?”
“It’s possible there are more diaries, but I saw some clothes, photo albums, and letters in these two.”
Unable to contain my excitement, I push myself from the couch and head to the bathroom to wash my hands. My stomach protests, wanting to finish my meal, but my mind wins over. I have to know what’s in the other boxes. I say a silent prayer that there’s another diary because, judging from the small size of the one I’m reading, Estherly’s entire story can’t fit into one diary. Dread sweeps over me when I think, If she lived. Before going back to the living room, I run upstairs, grab the box from my room, and head back downstairs.
“Where’d you go?” Sam calls.
“Washing my hands. And grabbing the box from my room. I need to get my hands on the other boxes you brought.” Walking into the living room, I say, “I’ve spent all day wondering if you had more of Estherly’s diaries.”
“You really are fascinated by her. You put your cheeseburger down, and this is one of the best burgers I’ve ever had.”
“Estherly is captivating. I can’t wait for you to check this out.” I lay the first diary down on the loveseat next to Sam. “You don’t mind if I start going through these, do you?”
“I don’t mind at all,” he says with his gorgeous mouth half-full.
I sit on the floor and open a box. Pulling out items of clothing, I search for something more interesting. My heart leaps when I find a black and white photo of a young woman with dark, wavy hair. Her deep-set, almond-shaped, dark eyes speak of strength and serenity despite knowing what she must’ve gone through. Her full lips catch my attention as well as her stunning beauty. I flip the photo over and read the name on the back. Estherly Krauss 16 years old, 1940.
“Sam! Look, this is her. This is Estherly.” I can’t help the elevation in my voice. I pop up off the floor, move the diary over, and sit next to Sam. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
Between chewing a few fries, Sam nods. “She’s gorgeous.”
Placing Estherly’s photo near my heart, I sigh. Suddenly, I regret being so rude to Sam. “I’m such a jerk.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Do you need a drink or a napkin? I’ve been a dreadful host.” I put the photo on top of the diary.
“Both would be awesome, but please, don’t worry. I’m fine. If you wanna keep looking through the box, I can get them myself. Point me in the right direction.”
“No, I won’t have it. I’ve already been rude enough. Be right back.”
Scolding myself, I walk to the kitchen.
When I come back, I find Sam’s dinner tray all cle
aned up and he’s nowhere in sight. I must’ve scared him away. He probably made a quick exit out the front door.
“So, let’s have a look at this diary.”
His voice behind me causes me to jump.
“Oh, crap. You scared the heck out of me!” I laugh.
“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind. I found the restroom and washed my hands. I don’t want to get grease on any of this stuff.”
I admire his thoughtfulness.
I hand Sam a water and discard the napkin in my pocket. He makes his way to the loveseat. Sitting back on the floor, I sift through the first box.
Two hours later, I’m curled up against my couch, reading to Sam from the same diary I read last night. Rain hits the rooftop and adds to the mood.
Sam and I rummaged through all three boxes. We retrieved family photos and one other diary with dates past the one I’ve started reading, along with some letters we put aside to read later.
“‘I can’t speak, I can barely breathe. Tears stream down my face as I grab for my mother. I melt into her warm, loving arms and gasp as the sobs overcome me,’” I read. “This part is touching,” I say, then sigh. “I think I might cry.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No, I’ll keep reading. I know you want to know what happens as much as I did.”
Sam became so eager about our findings while we went through the boxes that I was afraid he was going to take everything back, but graciously, he said that I could read the diaries to him. With him unable to read German, it’s his way to learn more of Estherly’s story.
Remember the Stars Page 3