Faker

by Sarah Smith

  “Is that all it takes?” He grabs a pen off his desk and stretches his arm out, offering it to me. “Here’s a pen, Emmie. Will you be nice to me now?”

  “Not in a million years. I’d have to like you first.”

  “Oh, Jamie likes you all right,” he spits out before tossing the pen back on his desk. He sets a pile of product catalogs on his lap and shifts his focus from me to them. “He likes you enough to give you his pen, flirt with you on a loading bay, and then promise to flirt with you at a construction site later. Lucky girl.”

  “Of course you would say that. You don’t like me, so you dismiss anyone who does. Makes total sense.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” he mutters while thumbing through a stack of catalogs.

  My jaw drops. He’s insulted my integrity and sworn at me. I won’t stand for it. “What did you say?”

  “I said, you’re full of it.” One by one, he drops the catalogs onto the floor next to his feet. From this angle, I can see the mound of paper piled high underneath the open space of his desk. His gaze is still glued on the stack, like he couldn’t possibly waste precious eye contact on me.

  “Watch the way you speak to me.”

  He’s silent now, still surveying the catalogs on his lap, still refusing me his eyes.

  A second later, I bolt out of my seat and dart to his office. Rounding the corner of his desk, I yank the catalog out of his hand. He gazes up at me in shock as I stand inches from him.

  “Don’t speak to me like that. Ever.” I’m fuming.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “If you think you can swear at me like that, insult me, you are dead wrong.” I emphasize “dead wrong.” If he suddenly lost his hearing, he would still know exactly what I said, I speak it that slowly.

  He raises his eyebrows at me in an expression that indicates both surprise and fear. He probably didn’t think I’d accost him. To be fair, I didn’t think I would, either, until moments ago.

  I’m leaning over him now, taking stock of his features up close. I don’t think we’ve ever been this close to each other before. His forehead showcases a smattering of soft wrinkles, likely earned after spending a year frowning at me. Now that I’m inches away from his face, I notice how pink his lips are.

  Then the intoxicating evergreen cologne he wears hits me. This close to him, it smells spicier. One deep inhale almost throws me off. Damn the power of scent.

  “Calm down.” He says it softly, like he’s soothing an angry dog. And just like that, I shift back to angry and annoyed that he chooses to use that tone.

  “No, you . . .” I struggle to finish my sentence. The ache to scream a long list of obscenities at him is strong, but that won’t fly. Not after scolding him about swearing. I scrape the innards of my brain for the right non–curse words to spew, but I can’t find any. His face reddens and his chest stills. He must be holding in his breath. I take a step back and drop the catalog at his feet. Finally, he exhales.

  I dart down the hall to the single-occupancy women’s bathroom. Locking the door, I steady myself against the sink. I was seconds away from either lashing out at Tate or slapping him in the face with a tool catalog. A few deep breaths and a splash of water to the cheeks later, and I’m almost back to my steely self.

  I don’t have to stand for this. I have every right to report him to Will. He’s our supervisor after all, and a boss needs to know when one of his employees is out of line. But when I make it to Will’s office, his door is still shut. Low murmurs echo from behind it, indicating he’s probably still on his conference call. I can’t wait, though. From the corner of my eye, I spot a flash of white blond at the far end of the hallway.

  The urge to confront Tate takes hold before I can think to do anything else. I don’t need Will to do my bidding. I’ll confront Tate myself. My rage from minutes ago has cooled to simmering, a promising sign. I’ll be able to face him sternly yet professionally.

  The heavy metal door to the staircase swings shut, and I have to scurry to keep up. I’m probably thirty seconds behind him. Hustling down the stairwell, I dart through the door to the warehouse. In the distance amidst the endless towering carousels loaded with inventory, I spot Tate’s unmistakable blond curls.

  He turns the corner, and I nearly lose sight of him. I open my mouth to call after him while rounding the last carousel, but my breath catches at the sight in front of me.

  In the darkened corner of the warehouse is Cal, the delivery driver. He rests on a stool, a wide smile filling his face. Tate is crouched down next to him, paper lunch bag in hand. He hands it to Cal before patting him on the back. Cal gives a nod, then digs into the bag. He fishes out a giant plastic container filled with some sort of casserole, a bag of chips, some fruit, and a packet of cookies.

  I’m impressed. That’s a far cry from the megahealthy lunch I see Tate eat every single day: an organic turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mustard on multigrain Ezekiel bread. Always with carrot sticks, an apple, and a giant bottle of water. He’s a glutton for monotony. If I ate the same sandwich every day, I’d raze cities. And I know it’s organic because when I offered him part of my ham sandwich his first week of work, he inquired if it was organic. There was definite nose crinkling when I said no, and then he muttered something about the harmful effect of nitrates.

  Cal must be his one exception.

  I stumble back behind the carousel so they can’t see me. In the distance, the beeping of a forklift chimes through the warehouse. I squint for a better look while the two chat in hushed tones. I can’t hear much until the beeping stops.

  “I appreciate it. More than you’ll ever know,” Cal says in a gruff voice.

  “I’m happy to. And here.” Tate pulls some bills from his pocket.

  Cal frowns before waving a hand at him. “No way. That’s too much.”

  “You fixed my taillight. It’s what I owe you.”

  “That’s triple what I charge.”

  I didn’t know Cal did auto repair on the side.

  “This is what I want to pay.” Tate’s cash-filled hand stills. I have a feeling he’s going to win this standoff.

  A shy smile spreads across Cal’s face. “What am I supposed to tell Miriam when I come home with a wad of twenties?”

  In the dim light, Tate’s mouth lifts into a smile. I nearly choke. I didn’t know his face could look so gentle, so soft. “Tell her you won a radio contest.”

  I have to bite my lip to stifle a chuckle. I don’t do a great job keeping quiet, though, because they both twist their heads to look around. Quietly, I suck in a breath and hold it. They turn back to each other.

  Tate backs away from Cal. “I’m breaking out the slow cooker tonight, so be ready for pot roast the rest of the week.”

  With a nod, Cal waves good-bye to Tate. He exits the side door on the opposite end of the warehouse. Leaning my back against the carousel, I huff out a breath. When I straighten up to walk back upstairs, I trip on a rogue electric cord and fall into the carousel in front of me. A box of hammers spills from the bottom shelf, causing an epic crash and echo that I’m sure half of the warehouse hears.

  I scramble to pick up the hammers and shove the box back on the shelf when a set of leathery hands comes into view. When I look up, Cal is crouched down to help clean my mess.

  “You all right?” Together we slide the box back on the shelf.

  I nod. “Sorry, I didn’t meant to interrupt your lunch—I mean, I didn’t see you eating . . .”

  It’s official. I’m the world’s worst sleuth. Cal waves a hand at me, and a flush of pink flashes across his wrinkled cheeks. There’s no use in me stammering through another lie. He knows I saw Tate bring him lunch and give him money. And there’s probably a reason why he’s choosing to eat lunch in a darkened corner of the warehouse instead of the break room.

  He t
akes a step back, his eyes falling to the stained concrete below. “Things have been tight for the wife and me lately. She’s had some health problems, and there’s not a lot of money for much else other than doctors, bills, and rent.”

  In my head, the blocks fall into place. That explains why Cal, who is pushing seventy, is still working instead of retired like most people his age. It explains why he apparently does auto repairs in addition to his full-time job.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  When he looks up, he’s smiling. “Don’t be. That Tate fellow is something else. Kept asking me why I never took a lunch break. He saw past all my excuses. Then one day, months ago, he started dropping off bagged lunches for me. I didn’t say a word. He just knew.” A wistful look passes across his face. I pat his arm. “Son of a gun even tries to give me cash sometimes. I used to refuse it, but he started hiding it in the lunches he brings me.”

  Warmth courses through me. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help, Cal. We’re here for you.”

  His eyes widen for a second, but then he nods. He’s probably surprised at my offer, seeing as we haven’t spoken more than polite pleasantries to each other since I’ve worked at Nuts & Bolts. But Cal is someone who’s always been kind and respectful to me at work, and I want him to feel comfortable approaching me if he needs help.

  “Appreciate it.” He walks back to his lunch.

  When I make it back to my desk, I see that Tate’s office is still empty. He must be out on an errand or an appointment or something. It’s just as well. I don’t know if I could even muster the courage to look at him right now. Much of the fire and fury inside of me from our argument has melted away, leaving something unfamiliar behind.

  I ball both fists in my hair, unsure of what to do or how to feel.

  five

  So wait, Tate’s been delivering lunch to your elderly coworker? And giving him money?” My little sister, Addy, stares at me through my laptop screen. Her chocolate brown eyes are as big as saucers as I fill her in over Skype about my fight with Tate and creeping on his random act of kindness.

  “Yeah. For the past few months now, apparently.”

  “Huh.” A confused frown crowds her face. Anything other than a beaming smile appears unnatural on her. She is one of those people whose resting neutral face radiates warmth and friendliness, unlike me. My resting bitch face suffers no fools.

  “I feel kind of bad about freaking out on him now.”

  I down the last of the green smoothie I made in preparation for this evening’s Skype session with Addy, hoping it would reset my cloudy head. It doesn’t. Excluding his first week of work at Nuts & Bolts, I’ve never felt anything other than negative emotions for Tate. But after seeing him act so kindly to Cal, I’m at a loss. The past few days have been quieter than usual because I don’t know what to say or how to look at him. We got through our latest one-on-one meeting for the charity homebuilding project with quick answers, minimal questions, and short bouts of eye contact. After ten minutes, it was back to ignoring each other.

  “Don’t you dare feel bad,” Addy scolds.

  “Maybe my empathy is seriously lacking,” I say, ignoring her comment. “Maybe I’ve been so blinded with rage and irritation that I missed out on little kind things he’s done these past eleven months.”

  Addy pins me with a frown. “Your empathy is perfectly intact. Can you honestly think of one instance where he showed kindness to you?”

  I open and close my mouth a half dozen times, yet nothing comes.

  The empty glass makes a loud clink when I set it on the table. Addy wags her finger at me. “Just because he was kind to someone else doesn’t take away the fact that he was an utter douche nozzle to you. Do you honestly think that he’ll suddenly be nice to you too?”

  It actually speaks volumes that he went out of his way to be nice to Cal but can’t seem to show me the slightest bit of courtesy in our everyday interactions. Yes, we’ve maintained a courteous silence lately, but we’re bound to bicker about something soon. We always do. And it’s only a matter of time before he says just the right cutting words to me, leaving me frustrated and hurt.

  That knot of annoyance seeps back into the pit of my stomach. “You’re right.”

  “He’d better be more professional at least, especially if you have to meet with him every single freaking week for that project.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” I shake my head, hoping it clears away all remaining thoughts of Tate. “Enough about work. Tell me about Costa Rica.”

  “It’s absolutely incredible here. Like, otherworldly.” Addy gestures wildly. “Lush green everywhere, crystal blue ocean. I wish you could be here to see it.”

  Her olive skin is even tanner than before. That combined with her dark hair makes her pop against the beige and yellow background of the room she’s in.

  “Your gifts are being put to good use too!”

  She holds up the pink visor I gave her. “Thanks to this, my face stays covered, which means no blemishes or sun spots. Yay for staving off future wrinkles!”

  I flash her a thumbs-up. “How are your feet holding up?”

  “Amazing! Those gel inserts you gave us make all the difference when we’re walking for hours and hours. You’re seriously the best.”

  She mentions how much she loves the translation app I bought for the one phone she and Ryan are sharing during their trip.

  “When you get the chance, check your PayPal account,” I say. “I left you a little something.”

  Addy’s jaw drops. “Emmie! Come on, you’ve already done enough.”

  “I know you saved money for this trip, but you’re still my little sister. It’s my job to look after you. You don’t even have to use it if you don’t want to. Save it for an emergency, just for your peace of mind.”

  She crosses her arms, but her beaming smile gives away her delight. Seeing her expressive face and wide smile is a delightful comfort. We haven’t talked since she left for her trip last month, and I’ve been dying to catch up with her.

  “I swear, you’re more like a mom than my big sister. We owe you. Seriously.”

  “The only thing you owe me are regular Skype sessions while you’re away,” I say. “Internet access permitting, of course. Speaking of Mom, I emailed her and let her know that I’d be Skyping you today, so be prepared for an onslaught of questions from her delivered through me for our next Skype session.”

  “You’re an angel for how you accommodate her when she travels overseas.” Addy crinkles her nose in mock frustration. “Way to make me look bad, by the way. Even when she’s out of the country and you can’t do your weekly phone call with her, you email her regularly instead.”

  “You’re traveling. She understands you’re not available. And every time I offer to pay for international coverage on her phone when she visits Auntie Marla in the Philippines, she rebuffs me. Says it’s not worth the money and that emailing is better anyway since we don’t have to pay extra for it.”

  She chuckles. “I wish you were here.”

  My throat squeezes with how much I miss her.

  “We’d have a blast together and you’d be thousands of miles away from that jerkoff at work.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “It’s fine. I’ll survive. If you could send some good thoughts my way, though, I’d appreciate it. It’s our first day volunteering at the jobsite tomorrow. I have zero construction experience and will probably embarrass myself in front of everyone.”

  “I’ll wish for a million construction hotties to magically show up and offer to help you.” She waves her hands in the air, like she’s casting a spell.

  Her joking words make me think of Jamie.

  “Oh, that face! Tell me!”

  I curse the wide grin I let slip. “It’s nothing, but you know that hot guy I mentioned who dropped off the supplies? His company will be vo
lunteering at the worksite too.”

  Addy claps her hands. “Perfect opportunity to flirt some more, maybe even ask him out.”

  Heat hits my cheeks. “We’ve only met once. I’m probably reading too much into it.”

  “Come on, think positive! You’re a pretty girl. Give him a show while you hammer away in front of him tomorrow.” She winks, and I burst into a laugh.

  “Enough about that. Enjoy the beach. Get a tan for me. And eat all the yummy tropical fruit you can find.”

  She peers down at her watch. “Shoot, I’m supposed to meet Ryan at the market. I’d better get going. Miss you! Skype again in a few weeks, okay?” She waves at the screen and I wave back.

  “Absolutely. Be safe. Love you!”

  I shut my computer. Chatting with Addy was just what I needed to regain perspective. Tate isn’t some faultless saint. Yes, it’s wonderful that he’s helping Cal, but it doesn’t erase his treatment of me. Tomorrow I will be a beacon of professionalism, but I will take no crap from him if he tries to pull anything.

  * * *

  • • •

  NUTS & BOLTS employees scatter around the worksite, eager to get started. Despite the nearly triple-digit temperature, everyone is in surprisingly good spirits.

  A foundation for the house has already been laid by Midwest Family Homes. According to the emails Lynn sent out, we’re building a four-bedroom home with a basement. The entire block this house is located on boasts a half dozen homes in various states of progress. Volunteers from other companies and organizations hammer away around us.

  Lynn finds an empty bucket to stand on and hollers for everyone’s attention.

  “Everyone, thank you so much for volunteering your time to help with this worthy cause.”

  Soft clapping follows, as well as more of Lynn’s encouraging words. I’m half listening, gazing at the neighboring worksites, wondering if the universe will smile upon me and bless me with a visit from Jamie. I even tucked his pen in the outer thigh pocket of my yoga pants. In my head, I play out our run-in. I retrieve the pen from my pocket while Jamie indulges in a full-body scan. I’m wearing an oversize T-shirt, but I’ve tied it into a side knot. Hopefully, that will make him think—