Wrong Place, Right Time

by Elle Casey

  I sigh loudly.

  He pauses. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you tell me to stay behind you if everything is okay?”

  He grins at me. “Wouldn’t want you to get lazy on me.”

  I give him a glare. “You’re so lucky I don’t believe in hitting.”

  He dips his head back and laughs. “That’s why they call me Lucky. Because I am.”

  We walk out into the sultry night together to an empty parking lot. After locking the door behind us, Lucky makes his way over to his vehicle. I wait for him to unlock the doors and get inside.

  “Do you think those two were wondering what this car was doing here?” I ask.

  “I doubt it. People leave their cars in this industrial area all the time for different reasons. And if they were, so what? Right now they have bigger problems to focus on.”

  “Do you think they’ll get charged with breaking and entering?”

  “I doubt it. But they are going to have some explaining to do. I’m going to let Mr. Jorgensen know what happened from the inside, and he can just deal with it however he feels is best. I don’t think those kids are going to be worrying about a random car in the parking lot when they have to explain to their parents what they were doing inside their offices in the middle of the night.”

  The trip back to the warehouse is a mostly silent one. I’m lost in thought about what we’ve done tonight and about the work we have ahead of us. As we’re pulling into the industrial park near the port, Lucky speaks. “Are you available tomorrow to start working on this? Or are you going to need a day to go over what you found?”

  “I think I’m going to need a day to do that.” And recover. I can just imagine trying to work on four hours of sleep. “Can we get started on Friday?”

  I need to go retrieve my things from my old job along with my last paycheck. That severance had better be there, and it better be good, or heads are going to roll. I’ll be ready to start fresh with the Bourbon Street Boys on Friday. I get a little thrill knowing that I have a job waiting for me, and it’s the kind of place that allows me the flexibility to work my own schedule. I don’t have to be jealous of May anymore.

  “Friday is great,” Lucky says. “I’m going to take Sunny to the vet tomorrow. He’s not looking so hot right now.”

  I chew my lip, wondering if I should delve any deeper into this issue. But after what we went through together tonight, I decide it’s fine. “Can I ask you a question about your fish?” I’ve never met an adult with a goldfish, let alone an adult who’s attached enough to a goldfish to take it to a doctor. It’s just too cheesy not to ask about.

  “Sure.”

  “What is a grown man like you doing with a goldfish who he worries about so much that he takes it to the vet?”

  Lucky pulls up to the warehouse door and puts the car in park. Turning off the ignition, he lets out a deep breath. Then he just stares at the steering wheel.

  I’ve probably overstepped my bounds again, but in fairness, I did verify with him first that I could ask the question. He had to know this was coming. He must’ve been asked this question before. I mean, I can’t be the only person in the world who thinks being a dedicated goldfish owner is weird.

  “Sunny originally belonged to my little sister.”

  He doesn’t say anything after that, so of course I’m compelled to gather more information. At this point, it would be rude not to ask. “Did she not take care of it?” I can see him as the avenging older brother, there to teach her a lesson. If you can’t take care of your fish properly, I’ll do it!

  Lucky shakes his head. I take that as a simple no, but then he elaborates. “It’s not that she didn’t want to; it’s that she couldn’t.”

  There’s obviously a story here, and I’m pretty sure it’s not one I should ask about. But then I feel like it would be really insensitive to drop it. I struggle with how to continue.

  “How old is your sister?” That’s the safest question I can come up with.

  “My sister, when she had Sunny, was fifteen.”

  The next obvious question dangles in the air between us. He used the past tense, but he used it in reference to the fish. What am I supposed to do with that? Keep going? Stall out? Why did I ask him the question in the first place? I should have just kept my damn mouth shut. When will I learn to stop prying?

  Because honesty is always the best policy, I decide to stop the charade and come right out with it. “Lucky, is everything okay with your sister? I get the impression you’re really sad right now, and I’m sorry if I brought up a subject that makes you unhappy.”

  He shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “It’s okay. People don’t ask me about her because they’re afraid they’re going to upset me, or they’re afraid to bring up bad history; but it’s almost worse when they do that, you know?” He turns to look at me, and the lights outside the warehouse show me that his eyes are bright with unshed tears.

  I nod. “I get it. When somebody isn’t around anymore, sometimes the only thing you can do to feel better is to talk about them.” I had a friend in college who lost her sister. The only thing that made her smile was telling me stories about the things they did as kids.

  He nods, chewing the inside of his cheek.

  I reach out and put my hand on top of his. “Did your sister pass away?”

  He nods.

  “Was it recently?”

  He shakes his head no. “She passed away eighteen months ago.”

  “How old was she?”

  “She was sixteen.”

  My heart clenches up and starts to ache. I want to cry with him, but I think he needs somebody to be calm right now. And I can be that person when I have to be. “What happened? Was she sick?”

  “No. She wasn’t sick. Not really. She was sad. Depressed.”

  I squeeze his hand and swallow several times, trying to keep myself from losing my shit. I’ve asked as much as I can. To go any further, to delve into the details of what happened, will serve no good purpose now. “You must’ve been close, even though there’s a big age difference.”

  His voice is devoid of any emotion that I can hear. “I thought we were close. But it turns out we weren’t close enough.”

  I squeeze his hand harder and lean in, forcing him to look at me. “Lucky, if you’re even suggesting that you are to blame for what happened, you need to not go there.”

  “I don’t think she blamed me for anything. But I blame myself. If I had just paid more attention . . .”

  I shake my head. “No. Sometimes these things are battles that are fought completely inside. Nobody sees it. It happens all the time. Most people who are depressed are also very loving. They don’t want others to suffer with them. They feel very isolated, but not because other people aren’t trying to be with them or aren’t trying to understand. They just can’t connect. There is a huge disconnect when you’re depressed, and it often takes a professional to recognize it.” I sigh with frustration, wanting him to understand, but knowing he probably isn’t going to take my word for it. “You can’t blame yourself. There’s no end to that kind of torture. It’ll ruin the rest of your life, and I guarantee you, your sister would not want that for you.”

  Lucky pulls his hand out from under mine and takes the keys out of the ignition. I think he’s just going to get out of the car and not say another word, but he stops staring out the window and turns to look at me. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for what? Digging into your private life? Lecturing you about something that makes you sadder than anything in the entire world? I can think of lots of better ways to spend an evening. I’m sorry that I overstepped my bounds. It’s a problem I have.”

  He shakes his head and tries to smile. “No, you didn’t do that. You’re a nice person, and you saw that there was something going on, and you asked about it. I’m glad you did. It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about her.”

  “How come? I’m just curious. You don’t
have to answer me if you don’t want to.”

  “Like I said . . . it’s difficult for other people. Ozzie and the rest of them know what happened. They were here. They were the ones picking up the pieces when I fell apart. I think they worry that if they talk about it, I’m going to lose it again. I haven’t been good for a long time.”

  “You look really good to me. Maybe too much.” I laugh.

  His smile is sad. “My sister always said I was too handsome. She told me I should grow a big old beard to ugly myself up a little.” He grabs his stuff and opens his door.

  I take that as my signal that the conversation is over and get out too. I’m relieved to know that Lucky feels like he can talk to me, but I’m also a little dizzy over the fact that the conversation went so deep. Here I thought we were just going to work an assignment together and that would be that. And then I thought that a break-in in the middle of our operation was the most stressful event I was going to be dealing with.

  It’s amazing the things I’ve been through in such a short span of time. Just a few days ago I was living my normal life with nothing going on. Now I’m going out to dinner with a totally handsome, seven-foot-tall bald guy who may or may not just want to be friends, I have a new job as a freelancer, I’m hiding under a desk calling 911, and I’m counseling a guy about what I assume is the suicide of his younger sister. I have never had such an odd and interesting week.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Waking up at six-thirty to get the kids ready for school is even harder than I thought it was going to be. I’m exhausted from the previous night’s work, and four hours of sleep was not enough to erase that. But at the same time I feel very gratified. I can safely say that in all the years I’ve been working, I’ve never had a shift quite like I did last night with Lucky.

  I had hoped that I’d be able to discuss all the fine details with May over breakfast, along with the other things that have been weighing heavily on my mind, but she got called away shortly after waking up.

  Before parting ways at the front door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, she and I promised we’d make time for each other this evening.

  The extra time I would have used gossiping with my sister, I spend on a quick phone call to an old friend from college. I have a feeling I’m going to need her legal advice for my meeting with my old boss today, and thankfully she’s able to tell me exactly what I want to hear in less than ten minutes. Today is not going to totally suck. I hope.

  After dropping the girls off at before-school care and Sammy at daycare—I refused to buy in to the stomachache excuse again—I’m headed over to my former job to pick up my last paycheck and the things I left there at my desk. If it weren’t for my new temporary job with the Bourbon Street Boys, I’m pretty sure this trip would be one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, but instead, I’m walking in the front door with my head held high. I only went one day without a job offer, and I didn’t even try to get it.

  So what if it’s my sister who technically got me the job? Last night I was able to use my skills to impress a guy who I know is very intelligent and can hold his own behind a keyboard, and that’s not nothing.

  Now I see what my sister meant when she talked about being part of a team that feels almost like a family. The Bourbon Street Boys are something special. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, though. It’s not like I’ve been offered a permanent job; and even if I were, I don’t know that I would accept it. There’s still that whole danger aspect, which everyone kept trying to convince me wouldn’t be there but ended up being there anyway. I think we got pretty lucky with the people who broke in being just kids. They could’ve been career criminals with guns.

  “Hey, there! Long time no see.” It’s Eddie, the kid I got the virus program from, and one of my favorite people in this place. I run my security badge through the machine and then wait as it turns red and the guy at the desk looks me up.

  “I’m just coming to get my things,” I say to him.

  He nods, recognizing me as the lady who often brought him coffee and doughnuts. “Go ahead. I was told you were coming.”

  I turn to my former coworker. “Hey, Eddie. What’s up?”

  He leans and mumbles in my ear as we continue on through some glass doors and toward my old supervisor’s office on the far side of the cubicle farm. “Did you hear the latest?”

  “Nope. I don’t work here anymore, remember?” I weave in between desks, waving at people as I walk past. I don’t feel like hanging around and chatting. Being here is embarrassing enough; I don’t need to prolong the experience.

  “Well, apparently, we’re getting some new funding. And they’ve got new investors coming in who’re gonna be taking a really close look at our operations. We’re all supposed to be on our best behavior.” He snorts after that.

  I know exactly what that sound means. Eddie has a prank planned. This silly boy could never be completely well-behaved, but when he’s warned he has to toe the line, forget it. That’s the surest way to get him acting up. He’s worse than my son. My guess is management will send him on vacation just before the investors show up.

  I try not to let my anger at the news show. “It’s funny you say that, because I heard that times were tough and they were letting people go because of their dire money situation.”

  Eddie backs off the happy-mania a little. “Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard going around the rumor mill. But I think it’s true; they have dates on the group calendar where everything’s blacked out, and they’re not saying what we’re going to be working on during that time or who’s going to be taking lead or whatever. They just told us to get our shit straight. We had to get rid of all our squeaky toys—can you believe that? How am I supposed to code without Lionel?” Eddie has a little rubber man he squeezes, making the eyeballs pop out over and over. It helps him focus.

  “You should apply for an exception for Lionel.”

  “I know, right? I mean, what’s the big deal? Who’s going to come in here and care if Lionel’s sitting at my desk with me?”

  There are so many things going through my head right now, and none of them are good. Did they get rid of me because I was going to make a bad impression for the company, like a stress ball named Lionel? Were they showing off, proving that they could be ruthless and cut anybody who might not be the most economical employee? Did I do something wrong?

  The wise part of my personality is telling me that I should just get my box of belongings, collect my last paycheck, and go. But the other part of me, maybe the reckless part of me, wants to know what the hell happened. I worked so many hours for these people and sacrificed so much. Why don’t they appreciate that? They seemed to appreciate it well enough at the time. I was always told what a great employee I was. My performance reports were impeccable.

  “You come in for your stuff?” Eddie asks.

  “Yep. And my paycheck.”

  “There’s a box of your things on your desk. They haven’t replaced you with anybody yet.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s surprising.”

  “I don’t want the old man to catch me slackin’, so I’ll leave you to it. Good luck. Let me know if you need anything else.” Eddie pats me on the back.

  I stop to give him a little hug, which I think surprises him. “Don’t get yourself into too much trouble, Eddie. I like you. You’re one of the good ones.”

  When I release him, he pulls back and looks at me with a surprised expression. “You think so?”

  “Yes, of course.” I grin at his disbelief. “Would I pull your leg?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe not. But I gotta tell you, there aren’t many people who would agree with your assessment of me.”

  “Screw them. What do they know?” I wink at him.

  He points at me as he walks backward toward his cubicle. “I got your back, Jenny. Any time, day or night. You got my number.” He puts his fingers up to his ear and mouth, miming the words Call me while giving me an exaggerated nod.<
br />
  I turn around, shaking my head at his silliness. I doubt very highly I’ll ever take him up on that offer, but it’s nice to know that a kid with a super-charged brain like his is on my side. A person can never have enough smart friends, as far as I’m concerned.

  I’ve reached Frank’s office, a glassed-in space that looks out over the maze of cubicles where I used to toil away along with all the other worker bees. He’s on the telephone, but when he sees me approaching he hunches down, talks fast, and then hangs up, trying to pretend like he was just sitting there casually with nothing going on.

  I narrow my eyes at him. He’s up to something, and while I shouldn’t really care what it is because I don’t work here anymore, I have a sneaking suspicion it involves me. Operation Do Not Mess With Me is in full swing.

  “Hello, Frank.”

  He stands. “Jenny! So nice to see you.” His voice is saccharine sweet. Yuck.

  I know Frank well enough to know when he’s hiding something. You don’t spend six years working more than full time with someone, often stuck in meetings that go on for hours, without becoming fluent in their body language. He’s worried about something; I can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands before he reaches out to give me a handshake. And when his palm touches mine, I know for sure he’s got something on his mind. Sweaty palms. Ew.

  “Just here to get my stuff and my last paycheck.” I keep it light and breezy so he won’t see my sneak attack coming. I’m so glad I ran into Eddie before I got in here. I have ammunition now, and I plan to use it. Frank flat-out lied to me to get rid of me. He thought I’d be so upset and scared about being unemployed that I’d just go running out to find another job and not question anything he said. I hate it when people in positions of power take advantage of those weaker than they are. I think that’s why I enjoy reading superhero comics with Sammy so much. The good guys always win and they get to wear capes.

  Unfortunately for Frank, I know how the world of venture capitalism works. I’m not one of these young whippersnappers running around in this office, living on ramen noodles and wondering when I’m going to get laid next. I’ve been around the block a few times, so I know that when new investors come in, a company will do anything it can to make its balance sheet look crisp and clean. Management gets rid of anything that the money men might consider deadwood, and older employees who cost them more in salary and who have kids that get sick from time to time are considered deadwood.