What She Never Said

by Catharine Riggs

  “Mr. Gilchrist should be free any moment,” Uma says in her clipped Jamaican accent. She gets to her feet and drifts to the water cooler. “Would you like a glass of natural spring water?”

  “No, thank you.” Can spring water be unnatural?

  Kai’s wafer-thin receptionist blends into the room like a three-karat diamond complements its platinum setting. She looks like a Hollywood ingénue with braided hair piled high on her head. Her exotic green eyes are lined in swoops of cobalt blue; her white linen dress hugs every minor curve. Why a girl with her looks would be working at Serenity Acres, I honestly don’t understand.

  I glance at my Fitbit and sigh. Kai’s fifteen minutes late. “How much longer?” I ask.

  “Not much.” She takes a seat behind her desk.

  Worries swim in my head like sharks feeding on chum. I can’t seem to keep them at bay. I chew over Adam’s phone call, Simon’s sudden death, and the pink Post-it Notes.

  Focus, I order, unfolding my review and scanning through the report. But the harsh words that pop off the pages only stoke my growing angst. I work my hands together like I’m kneading a lump of dough. Calm down. Be strategic. Take control. You know Kai’s critique will go for the jugular, that the animals have overrun the zoo. But there’s a good chance Bob’s prediction is right. That Kai will be gone within the year. So lock up your thoughts and envision yourself as sharp, suave, noncombative. The perfect member of any management team.

  I fiddle with my Fitbit and then focus my attention on the abstract paintings hanging on the walls. Swirls of red, orange, and purple, so bright they hurt my eyes. I’m guessing they’re expensive originals, but as a trailer-trash kid from Fresno, how would I ever discern? I check the time.

  “It’s been twenty minutes,” I say.

  “Sorry,” Uma responds, scrolling on her cell phone.

  “Is he in his office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he know I’m here?”

  “Of course.”

  I’m guessing this is Kai’s form of a power play. A way to underscore who is boss. Another five minutes go by, and my good intentions go to hell. I get to my feet. “I have work to do back at my office. Kai can buzz me when he’s ready.”

  Uma frowns and sets down her cell phone. “I don’t think you should leave. Mr. Gilchrist doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  My shoulders snap back, and I face the girl. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any idea who I am?”

  She shrugs and picks up her notepad. “Ruth Mosby. You work in operations.”

  “I’m the VP of operations.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? I want to slap her. Does she know nothing about respect? “Have him call me.”

  She shrugs. “If you leave, we’ll have to reschedule.” She points a perfectly manicured finger at the desk calendar. “I won’t be able to fit you in until next Friday.”

  Next Friday? I can’t spend another week stewing over this damn review. Hell. I return to my seat, seething. It’s another ten minutes before the inner door opens and Kai exits with a replica of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

  “Thank you, Presley,” Kai says. “I’m looking forward to Thursday golf.”

  “Ditto that,” Presley responds with a goofy smile.

  Presley? That’s the name of the new VP of ops at Peaceful Pastures. After news of Kai’s promotion got out, I discreetly applied for that position and never heard back. How is it possible I didn’t rate an interview and this Presley kid got the job?

  The two men engage in a few minutes of banter before Presley exits the door. Then Kai signals I should follow him into his office. “Sorry if I kept you waiting,” he says without the slightest inflection of remorse.

  If? I’ve only just stepped into Kai’s office, and already my good intentions have faded away. “What’s a representative from Peaceful Pastures doing here?”

  “You mean Presley? He’s a good guy. We were having a nice chat.”

  “But they’re our sworn enemies. They stole our trade secrets.”

  “Trade secrets?” Kai laughs. “Who do you think we are? Microsoft? We have no trade secrets. Employees, maybe. But that can go both ways. They have a few I’d like to poach.”

  That stops me. Was he interviewing Presley? Is he thinking of replacing me? Kai’s cell phone dings, and he glances at it before tapping out a short message. “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he says, not looking up. “Why don’t you take a seat, and we’ll go over your review.”

  I sit on the edge of an uncomfortable couch upholstered in shiny purple velvet. It’s fronted by a coffin-like glass table on which sits two copies of my 360 review. “Spring water?” Kai asks, pouring himself a glass from a crystal dispenser.

  “No, thank you.” Ding. His cell phone dings every few seconds, announcing incoming emails and texts. The noise is rude and distracting, each ding a tweak to my raw nerves.

  Kai takes a seat across from me in one of two lime-green chairs. “You’ve read your 360?” he asks, scrolling through his cell. Ding. Ding.

  “Yes.” I think of the nasty contents and begin to sweat. “I will have that water,” I say.

  Kai sighs and sets down his phone. Ding. He retrieves a glass and pours the water, and after returning to his seat, slides it toward me. “You doing okay?” he asks. “Your face is turning red.”

  “Just thirsty.” I take several gulps of water. Ding.

  “We could reschedule for another day.” Ding.

  “Would you mind turning that off?”

  “What?” Ding. Ding.

  “Your phone.”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay.” He fiddles with his cell phone and sets it down with a clank. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” He crosses his legs and settles back in his chair. “So . . . you’ve read your 360.”

  “Weeks ago.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve been incredibly busy. So tell me your thoughts.”

  My thoughts? I pick up a copy of the review, give it a shake, and for a moment I almost spew. But then I remember I need my job and work to temper my words. “I find the new review format to be awkward.”

  “Awkward?” He blinks a couple of times. “In what way?”

  “It seems strange to have the staff judge me. I’m their boss, not their equal.”

  “Oh, that.” Kai offers me a sympathetic look. “I realize some of the comments were harsh, but you shouldn’t take them as a personal attack. Look at them as a chance for you to grow as a person. I found mine quite helpful.”

  I rattle my pages. “So you had a 360?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “Why wasn’t I asked to give feedback?”

  He taps his feet against the coffee table in that irritating way he has. “The secret of a successful review is to avoid feedback from coworkers who might hold a . . . well, a . . .”

  “A grudge?”

  Kai rubs his stubby beard, looking unconcerned. “Yes, I suppose that’s the right word.”

  I have to resist the sudden urge to claw the insolent look from his eyes. “You realize I’ve worked here for eighteen years.”

  He lifts a hand as if swatting away my comment. “I know your work history, Ruth. I’ve read through your file.”

  “Then you’ll know I’ve always had exemplary reviews. I can’t remember when I didn’t receive a five out of five.”

  “And who prepared them?”

  “Bob, of course.”

  His gaze fixes on a point above my head. “Exactly. One person’s opinion, easily swayed. That’s old school, don’t you think?”

  No. I don’t think.

  “The 360 is more comprehensive. It captures any unseen flaws. For example, it’s apparent that many of your coworkers take issue with your management style.”

  “I don’t have any coworkers,”
I say. “I have direct reports. And I have you.”

  “Not quite. We’ve made some changes . . .”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Really? We haven’t announced them yet.”

  “But some people know . . . like Finn?”

  He nods. “Yes. Security now reports to the mother ship.”

  “And I no longer handle code blues?”

  “We thought it best.”

  “We?”

  He stops his tapping and leans forward. “You have to understand. Lost Horizons prefers a flattened reporting structure.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning they think we have too many layers of management.”

  “Are you telling me I’m being demoted?” I wipe the sweat from my brow.

  “No. I’m telling you most of the department heads will soon report to me.”

  “So what will the VP of operations do?”

  “We’re working on that. But don’t worry. I think you’ll find the new structure liberating. It will allow you to focus more time on important work.”

  I have to grasp my hands together to still the shaking. “And what will that work be?”

  “To be determined. You must understand, we are in a period of transition. You’ll need to be flexible. I know that may be harder as you get . . .”

  “Older?”

  “More entrenched in your position.”

  I search his face. “Am I being fired?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Laid off?”

  He gives his chin another rub. “I can’t promise you anything 100 percent. You’re an at-will employee, but at the end of the day, I believe you will have a job. Maybe not the one you have now, but it should be something close.” Glancing at his cell, he frowns. “On another subject, there are some changes coming to our leasing policies, and I’m going to need your full support. Corporate’s lawyers have spent weeks reviewing our lease agreements and agree with me that we are within our rights to evict the destitutes.”

  I lean forward. “But eliminating forever care goes against our policy.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t. It’s clearly a benefit, not a requirement.”

  “But we’ve signed contracts that can’t be broken.”

  He offers me a satisfied smile. “There’s a loophole.”

  I think back on my conversations from the past. “But we’ve made promises . . . verbally . . .”

  “Who made promises? I didn’t. And if you or Bob did, you were wrong.”

  I open my mouth and close it. I then try another tack. “But it would be a publicity nightmare if word got out.”

  “Our marketing team is working on the appropriate spin.”

  “Spin?” I almost spit the word.

  Kai gets to his feet and strolls to the window. He peers outside with a bored look. “Let me be clear. We are fully within our rights to execute the terms of our leases, and we plan to do so. Either you’re on board with management’s plans, or you’re not. Your choice.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  He turns toward me with a grim look on his face. “Then maybe this isn’t the right place for you.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No. I’m asking you to be a team player. Either you support management’s decisions, or you don’t. It’s your choice.”

  There’s so much I want to say, but I bite my lip and nod.

  “Does that mean you’ll support us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You realize you will personally benefit from this change. It could add thousands to your bonus.”

  And even more to yours, you scum.

  “The policy won’t be instituted for several weeks. In the meantime, I’d like you to review the files and rank the destitutes by monies owed. That will determine who goes first.”

  I swallow my next words and get to my feet and stride to the door. “One more thing,” Kai says. “We’ll want to file legal proceedings against the deadbeats’ estates in case there are any assets left in their trusts. You’ll hear more about this in our next management meeting.” He picks up his cell phone. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” Ding. Ding. Ding.

  Three

  Friday, August 16

  I arrive home just before sunset, so tired I’m ready to pass out. A hot wind is blowing; dried leaves skitter through the shadows. A barbeque smokes nearby. My stomach rumbles. Did I eat today? I don’t think so. I try to recall what I might have left in the fridge.

  I unlock the door and pause. There’s a light in the kitchen, a murmuring in the house. Someone is inside. My feet root to the ground, and I grapple for my cell phone. I’m about to call 911 when Adam steps into the living room with a longneck beer in hand.

  “Hey, Mom,” he says in a nonchalant way, like it hasn’t been a year since we’ve spoken.

  “You scared me,” I respond, pulse racing. Adam is dressed in jeans and a ratty T-shirt. He’s thinner than I last saw him, and paler. His sandy hair skims his shoulders. But no matter, he’s still my handsome boy with the mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to. Got the key from the planter box.” He sets down his beer and flicks on the light and gives me an awkward hug. I hold him tight for a moment, feeling happy. Then I catch a whiff of pot and pull away.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, not really wanting to know.

  “Nothing’s wrong. You didn’t get my voice mail?”

  I glance at my phone. “It’s been a crazy day. I never checked.”

  “Same old mom. Busy, busy.” He grabs his beer and sprawls across the old leather chair he always claimed for his own. “It’s no big deal. I’m only here for a few days.”

  “Where’s Nikki?”

  “She couldn’t get off work.” He flicks on the TV.

  “Turn that thing off and talk to me. Please.”

  “About what?”

  “Something. Anything.”

  He flicks off the TV. “There. Now, what’s up?”

  “Have you . . .” I want to ask if he’s heard from Alice, but my words are cut short by a sight that hurts my eyes. “Tell me those aren’t tattoos.”

  “You don’t like them?” He curls his right hand into a fist so that the four crosses stand out.

  “Oh, Adam! How could you?”

  “What? Everyone has them. It’s no big a deal.”

  I can’t keep my voice from rising. “Everyone doesn’t tattoo their hands. In HR, that’s called a job stopper. You’ll never be hired for any decent position.”

  He takes a slug of beer. “You mean, I’ll never work in an office job? That’s a bonus, not a problem. In fact, I’ll tattoo my other hand if I can avoid that shitty world.”

  “But, sweetheart . . .” My words escape me, so I leave it at that. But now I’m worried. Do his eyes have the glassy look they get when he’s using? Are his hands shaking the slightest bit? Yes, I think they are. Dear God, not this again. “How’s work?” I ask, trying to change the subject and get information at the same time.

  “Work sucks.” His eyes focus on the blank TV screen. “And I hate living in Palmdale.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “To start with, it’s boring as hell.”

  My worries amp up another notch. “But you still have your job?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he snaps. Only five minutes in and exasperation already coats his voice. He may be thirty-one, but it’s high school Adam who’s come home.

  “No reason. Just asking. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

  He mumbles something I’m not sure I want to hear. “You go ahead and watch your TV,” I say. “I’ll change and make us dinner. Is there anything special you’d like?”

  “No, thanks. Not hungry.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. I’m going to hang out with some friends a little later. Probably get a bite.”

  “Which friends?”

  “You don’t know them.”

&
nbsp; I hope not. Adam’s high school friends are trouble. They’re from the wealthy Montecito crowd. I was proud of that at the beginning. Didn’t understand how excess money often went hand in hand with drugs. Or that grandiose mansions were sometimes parentless, staffed with servants who looked the other way. Adam’s best friend died from an overdose. Another buddy is serving ten years. At least two are in and out of rehab. I don’t know about the rest.

  I never had that problem with Alice. She didn’t run with the popular crowd. She had only a handful of friends, all involved in theater or dance. I had urged her to expand her network like her brother. But, of course, even then she knew better than me.

  “Where are you meeting?” I ask.

  “Ted’s.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  Adam squeezes his eyes shut in that way he has and shakes his handsome head. “Come on, Mom. Don’t freak. I’ll only have a couple of drinks, and I’ll walk home or Uber.” When I don’t say anything, his voice grows more exasperated. “I’m here for a break, okay? I don’t need any pressure.” He snaps on the TV, and his eyes glaze over in two seconds flat.

  “Adam, please . . .”

  “What do you want to know?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. “My job sucks, and so does my life. That good enough for you? Can I watch for a while?”

  A dagger twists in my heart, bringing a stab of sadness and pain. It’s been stuck there for as long as I can remember, and I’ve done my best to ignore the thing. My throat tightens; my knees grow weak. I want to crawl in my bed and cry. Instead, I finger my Fitbit, freeze-dry my feelings, and hurry out of the room. After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, I make my way to the kitchen.

  There’s a pile of dishes in the sink and the scent of burned pasta in the air. An empty six-pack in the recycling, another six-pack in the fridge. I flash back to my unwanted childhood memories—the alcohol, the arguing, the mess. I step onto the back porch, grip the rail, and work to push the panic away.

  It’s after eight and dark out except for the rising of a full moon. I hear Zach out on his porch again, strumming a mournful tune. I check my Fitbit. I’m short six thousand steps, a problem I can actually solve. I’ll head for downtown and loop up toward the mission. The thought brings me a sense of calm.