Accidentally Yours

by Bettye Griffin

  “Pete, just one minute. I’ve got to answer a question for someone.”

  She found the information quickly and told Dr. Konishima what he needed to know. “Okay, Pete,” she said loudly as she hung up. “Come on in.”

  “I’m back,” Harriet called.

  “Good. It was crazy while you were gone. Now that you’re back maybe it’ll slow down.”

  “You’re very busy this morning,” Pete observed.

  “Oh, yeah.” She spoke pleasantly, not giving any clues to her distaste for obvious trivialities, like “It sure is coming down, isn’t it?” when anyone with two functional eyes could see it was pouring.

  “I wanted to give you that check for my rollover, and the completed form as well.”

  She took the envelope he offered. “That’s fine. I’ll see that this goes out today.”

  “Thanks. Have a nice day.” He left.

  She made a face. If there was anything that made her want to scream more than motorists who didn’t use their turn signals, it was hearing that expression. It was so insincere sounding, no matter how heartfelt the intention. “You do the same,” she returned, not wanting to be rude.

  She scribbled a cover page to Lisa and asked Harriet to fax it then resumed work on the insurance updates.

  “Vivian, are you on two?” Harriet asked about fifteen minutes later.

  “No.” She heard Harriet saying “Hello? Hello?”

  Harriet appeared in the doorway. “That’s funny. There’s nobody here, but the light doesn’t go out when I hang up.”

  “I haven’t been on two since I took a call while I was in Lisa’s off—” Vivian broke off abruptly, remembering how she had put the phone down without hanging it up in her haste to get back to her office to answer Dr. Konishima’s question. “Oh, I know what I did. I’ll be right back.”

  She was halfway between the two offices when she drew in her breath, realizing that she had left her keys on Lisa’s desk and locked the door behind her, taking only the document to be faxed when she left. Her pulse began to pound in panic. She wasn’t sure if Harriet had a set of keys. Not only was she unable to get back into Lisa’s office if she should need to, she couldn’t break the connection, meaning one of their lines was out of service.

  She turned and went back to her own office.

  “The light’s still on,” Harriet said.

  “Yes, I know. I left the phone off the hook in Lisa’s. I just realized I locked my keys in there.” Vivian chewed her lower lip, daring to hope. “Do you have a set, by any chance?”

  “I have a key to the outer office. Maybe Connie keeps her key to Lisa’s office in her desk drawer. Let’s go see.”

  “Thanks, Harriet.”

  Together they went next door. Once in the outer office they rushed to Connie’s desk, and Harriet tugged at the top drawer.

  Nothing happened.

  “Oh, no. It’s locked.” Vivian slammed her palm on the surface of the desk.

  “And Connie’s on the road to Pennsylvania by now. I’m so sorry, Vivian.”

  “It’s my own fault.”

  “I just wish I had a key to Lisa’s office.”

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  “I’ll go look up a locksmith for you.” Harriet left the room.

  Vivian didn’t reply. Lisa would have to sign off on a locksmith bill. Some great impression she was making. Her hopes of a promotion were fading like a noncolorfast garment after a washing.

  She slowly walked the few yards to her office. She didn’t go back to the insurance list; instead she leaned back in her chair, her clasped hands supporting her head, and stared at the ceiling. What she needed was a key, and if not that, a miracle. Of all weeks for Connie to take off.

  She sat up. Wait a second. All those squares that made up the ceiling were removable, not just the plastic that covered the tubular fluorescent light bulbs. They concealed all the telephone and electrical wires. “Harriet, hold off on the locksmith. I’m going to call maintenance. I think they might be able to help me. Just cross your fingers that Lisa doesn’t call again and want me to get something else from her office.”

  It was nearly noon by the time a maintenance man arrived with a ladder. He promptly disappeared into the ceiling, and if all went well he would be able to crawl next door, come down in Lisa’s office and unlock the door. Vivian completed the insurance updates and placed calls to those who had not yet selected a plan.

  The envelope from Pete Arnold was on top of her inbox. It was sealed, and she opened it with a silver letter opener. Her eyes widened when she saw the amount of the check. No wonder he wanted to hand it to her personally. Eighty-three thousand dollars was a nice piece of change, and it still had many years to grow before Pete would be ready to retire. It was a personal check, so it hadn’t been a direct rollover. She hoped he hadn’t had the funds more than sixty days, not that it was any of her concern.

  She checked the corresponding form and made sure it was complete, then addressed an envelope to the investment firm that handled the employees’ 401(k) accounts. She picked up the check, preparing to put it inside the folded form. Eighty-three thousand dollars, made out to…Vivian St. James.

  What! Payable to her? What was Peter Arnold thinking of? He should have made it payable to the investment firm.

  Someone entered her office. “There you are. I’ve been calling you, but your line’s been busy.” It was Glenda. “What’s up with that? You and Zack didn’t talk enough last night?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with Zack. I’m having a miserable morning.” Vivian told her friend about the telephone problem. “And if that’s not enough, look what your boy has done now.” She handed over Pete’s check and enjoyed Glenda’s bewildered expression.

  “Why’s he giving you eighty-three thousand dollars?” she hissed.

  “Relax, I haven’t been keeping a secret from you. It’s for a 401(k) rollover. He made it out to me by mistake. Can you imagine?”

  “Good thing you’re honest.”

  Vivian was relieved when five o’clock came. Maintenance had been successful in getting into Lisa’s office from the ceiling, and the line was now free.

  She realized on the way home that Zack hadn’t called. She supposed no news was good news. He was probably answering replies to all those emails he’d sent out yesterday.

  She smelled the meat cooking as soon as she opened the apartment door. “What are you cooking now? It smells fabulous.”

  “I marinated a couple of steaks.”

  The computer was on, but he’d been playing the strategy game, not writing email. Once again this made her glad, and once again she forced thoughts of his female admirers out of her mind. “You’re a handy man to have around the house, Zack. But—”

  “I confess I had ulterior motives. I’m dying to get out of this house. Not that there’s anything wrong with it; it’s just that I’ve been in for two days, and I’m not used to being housebound.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “Maybe you and I can go out for drinks and dessert or something.”

  Vivian chewed on her lip nervously. “I’m sorry, Zack. I should have told you. I have plans for tonight. I won’t even be able to have dinner.” She felt terrible. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he might make dinner again tonight. She figured he would have one of those microwave meals she had in the freezer. They were actually quite good. But that look on his face—he looked so lonely and unhappy. She had to say something encouraging.

  “I’m sure I won’t be too late. A friend invited me over for dinner, but since it’s a Tuesday I don’t think it’ll run very late. If you feel up to climbing the stairs we can go somewhere later.” It would mean a late night for her, but she’d be all right. Surely tomorrow she would have a calm day. She was certainly overdue for some tranquility.

  After she left, Zack fixed his plate. The steak tasted flat to him, the potato dry and the salad was like eating tree leaves. There was nothing wrong with
the way the food had been prepared, but disappointment had dulled his taste buds. The draped maroon blouse and brown tweed slacks Vivian had changed into, casual but feminine, told him she wasn’t dining with a female. She was going on a date. The only reason the guy wasn’t picking her up was because she wouldn’t be able to explain his being here.

  He picked at the T-bone, in the end only eating half his meal. He left it on the table. Maybe his appetite would return when it was closer to the time for her to return.

  The last thing he expected was to hear her say she had plans for tonight. He was afraid he had acted like a chump, wearing his disappointment as openly as he wore his clothing. It had been years since he’d been caught with his emotions showing. He hoped Vivian would see it only as a result of his being isolated for two consecutive days, even if he knew that wasn’t it. He wanted company, but not just anybody. Last night had been wonderful, having dinner with her and then sitting together in front of the computer. All day he had looked forward to doing it again, not only spending time with her, but perhaps a repeat of that wonderful kiss they shared, this time assuring her there was no reason for her to be nervous. If he wanted to get out for a few hours, all it would take would be one phone call to any of the women he knew who lived in the area. But he didn’t want to be with any of those women, he wanted to be with Vivian. She had made an indelible impression on him that first night in the ER at Hudson, and he believed Fate played a role in throwing them together again and again.

  *****

  Vivian found the Williams home with no difficulty. It was one of those Leave It to Beaver stone- and-shingle homes that began to dot American suburbia in the prosperous post-World War II years, well before any African-Americans lived in the village of Pelham. She forced herself to look pleasant as she moved down the front walk. It was only a quarter to seven, but she felt she should arrive a few minutes early. It seemed tacky to arrive just in time to sit down to dinner. At least this way she could participate in a little pre-dinner chitchat.

  The dog began barking the moment she rang the doorbell. Good Lord, it sounded vicious, like a Doberman or a rottweiler. Or maybe there were two. Vivian didn’t like strange dogs, and they usually didn’t like her, either. Now she knew how mail carriers felt.

  Bernard answered the door. It was good to see him after nearly a week, and he looked much healthier than he had last week in the hospital. He held out his hand, and when she was inside he discreetly kissed her on the lips.

  She jumped on hearing the low moan of a dog. A large Irish setter bounded into the foyer. How could such a gentle-looking animal sound so threatening?

  “Oh, that’s just Cocoa coming to check you out. He does that to everybody he doesn’t know. Don’cha, boy?” Bernard rubbed the top of the dog’s head. Cocoa ignored him, instead concentrating on sniffing at her, trying to put his snout between her legs while he panted like a plus-size man making love. Why did dogs always do that? Maybe it would make sense if she had been stuck on a desert island or somewhere without facilities, but this was ridiculous. She was fresh out of the shower. It would be less embarrassing to be bitten.

  Bernard’s voice was sharp as he reprimanded the dog. “Hey! Cut that out.” Cocoa obediently stopped his sniffing...or maybe he had had enough. He ambled off out of sight. “Sorry about that,” Bernard said. He took her arm. “Come in. I want you to meet my uncle.”

  She frowned. His uncle! What was this, a family reunion? She walked with him into the living room. Mr. Williams was seated in a chair opposite the television, his feet propped up on a matching ottoman with Cocoa resting nearby. When he saw them he swung his legs to the floor and began to rise.

  “Oh, please don’t get up, Mr. Williams,” she said, walking over to him and extending her hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Vivian. Glad you could join us.” He shook her hand.

  Bernard led her toward another man seated on the sofa. “And this is my uncle, Oliver Williams.”

  “Hello, Mr. Williams.” Vivian shook his hand. He strongly resembled his brother. “Are you and Bernard’s father twins?”

  Oliver laughed heartily. When he spoke she had difficulty understanding his words; he spoke in a barking manner with poor enunciation. As best as she could tell, he was saying something like, “Oh, people ask me that all the time. We look a lot alike, but we’re not twins.”

  She turned to Bernard. “Where’s your mother? I’d like to say hello.”

  “In the kitchen. She’ll be out soon.”

  Vivian pictured Mrs. Williams patting flour on her face to make it appear that she had been slaving over a hot stove, when in reality she had probably thrown the uncooked meal in one of those oven bags and was in there reading a magazine.

  She took a seat in the middle of the couch next to Oliver, with Bernard sitting on her other side. “Would you like a drink?” he offered.

  “Some wine would be lovely.”

  Bernard disappeared, and she was startled when Oliver patted her lower thigh and said something unintelligible. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite understand you.”

  He repeated the statement, and this time she understood a little better. Still, she wanted to be sure. “How long have I been seeing Bernard?” she asked. When he nodded, she said, “We’ve gone out a few times. I was with him the afternoon his ulcer acted up.”

  Oliver made a reply, but it sounded like mush. Vivian felt like she had stumbled into a Peanuts cartoon broadcast. Oliver Williams was about as intelligible as the horn that provided the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.

  His brother came to the rescue. “Now, Ollie, kids today have different options than we did. I agree that there wasn’t any stress delivering the mail. But we didn’t get paid like Bernie does, either.”

  Vivian raised an eyebrow. Bernie?

  Bernard returned with two glasses and handed her one. “Mom says she’s ready.”

  “Good,” Mr. Williams said, getting to his feet, quickly followed by Vivian, who nearly spilled her wine in her anxiousness to get up. Oliver had not removed his hand from her knee, and it was getting uncomfortable. It wasn’t like she could give him a withering look or, to make certain he got the point, lift his hand and put it back in his lap. Not that he didn’t have it coming, but it would be considered rude and disrespectful of her elders. She hadn’t bargained for the evening to include a lecherous uncle. She just hoped she wasn’t seated next to him at dinner.

  In the dining room Mrs. Williams greeted her with uncharacteristic friendliness. “We’re so happy you could join us tonight, Vivian.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad I could be here. Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, I’ve got everything on the table. Let’s all sit down. Bernard, you’re next to Vivian. Ollie, on this side.”

  As Vivian looked at her plate, she wished Mrs. Williams had put a little more thought into her menu planning. Dinner was a colorless affair, with chicken with white gravy, biscuits, rice, and turnips, which she detested. Only the burnt orange stoneware kept them from drowning in a bland sea of white food.

  During the meal she learned that Oliver lived with the Williamses. Fortunately, he didn’t say much during dinner, concentrating on shoveling in his food like this was his last meal. The conversation was dominated by Mrs. Williams asking one loaded question after another. Vivian was from Connecticut? Had her family lived there very long? What did her father do? Oh, her mother worked, too, as a librarian? How nice! Did she have any siblings? And what did her brother do? Did he like living in Rhode Island? Vivian was glad when Mr. Williams laughed and said, “Ceola, you’re asking so many questions the poor girl can’t eat her food;” it gave her a reprieve.

  She was swallowing a bite of chicken when Mrs. Williams started in again. “Vivian, I noticed your eyelids are kind of reddish. Do you have some kind of rash?”

  She froze. She had always used bright makeup; after all, she was brown enough to be able to handle the contrast. But she was careful in applyi
ng it. She decided Bernard’s mother was just trying to give her a hard time. “I don’t think so,” she said, relaxing. “I don’t feel any itching. I’ll take a look at it later.”

  She had fiddled with her wine glass for what seemed like an eternity after it was empty, but by the time Mrs. Williams cleared the table for dessert she made a quiet but desperate grab for the wine bottle and poured herself a second glass. Her movement was not lost on the sharp-eyed older woman, who pointedly remarked, “Bernard, perhaps you should drive Vivian home tonight.”

  She resolved to get away as quickly as she could.

  *****

  “I’d like to thank you for a charming evening.” She was surprised she could get the words out without bursting into laughter. She had been properly cordial when thanking Mr. and Mrs. Williams, knowing she would never see them again; and in saying goodbye to Uncle Ollie, who marked the occasion with a kiss full on the lips. So help her, if he had tried to infuse his tongue in her mouth she would have bitten it, uncle or no uncle.

  Now she and Bernard were alone by her car. She wished she could tell him right now that it could never work between them. He was a nice man, but he’d have a lot more appeal if he was an orphan...or at least motherless. Uncle-less, too.

  Bernard laughed. “Charming evening, huh? You know you didn’t mean that.”

  It was pointless to object. “All right, I didn’t mean it.”

  “I guess it wasn’t fair to spring Uncle Ollie on you. He’s a trip. He’s lived with my parents ever since his wife threw him out.”

  “For cheating on her, I’ll bet.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “How did you know?”

  “Just a hunch. What’s with him, anyway? I could barely understand a word he was saying.”

  “That’s just the way he talks. I’ve been around him all my life, and I couldn’t understand him either until I was about fifteen.” He put an arm around her. “I’m going home Saturday. How about some seafood Saturday night? Just the two of us.”

  “I’m going to Connecticut Saturday.”

  “But you were just there Sunday.”