by Lisa Martin
So it wasn’t luck that I had a huge savings to dip into now, one that I’d been working on as soon as I got out of college. Too many friends and relatives had gotten into debt early on in their life for me not to realize the importance of saving money for a rainy day. Not to mention, working and going to school full time had taught me the full value of a dollar.
I’d already considered giving up my apartment and trying to find something smaller and more appropriate for my new budget, which was currently, nothing, but by the time I’d broken the contract on my current apartment, paid a deposit on the new place, and hired someone to move my stuff, I would have been paying almost as much as just staying the last few months.
I had a job interview the next morning, so I had allowed myself the luxury of having a nice dinner and a long, hot soak in the bathtub before getting out and laying down. I wanted to make sure that I felt completely myself for the interview the next morning.
Things will be back to normal soon, I told myself sleepily, just before drifting off.
But no amount of preparing could have changed what went down at the course of that meeting. It was clear from the very moment that I walked through the doors that the interview had been a courtesy, a way of not turning me down without appearing to give me a chance.
“I have several recommendation letters,” I said, pushing them towards him, “And all of my skills listed, along with how long I worked at my recent job.”
The interviewer’s doughy round face turned slightly red at the mention of my previous position. “This appears to be quite an impressive resume Katherine…but I’m afraid we just can’t use you.” The words rang in my ears, quite similar to so many of the interviews that I had been to lately. Every single place I’d been had placed an ad for needing an executive, or at least a position with the possibility of advancement. I had the skills, the ambition, the work ethic. And yet somehow, they didn’t’ need my services.
“I promise Mr. Etterly, I am an extremely hard worker,” I begged, trying to plead my case, even though he was trying to shut me down. But he shook his head before I’d even finished speaking.
“It’s not that I don’t doubt your abilities. I’m sure you’re very capable. But the thing is…” he said, lowering his voice and folding his hands together, “We’re team players here Miss Rugio. I can’t hire an employee when I can’t trust that they won’t do as they’re asked.”
I sat straight up in my seat, finally understanding.
“Let me guess,” I said, aware that my icy tone was completely unprofessional, and still not caring in the slightest. “When Mr. Jones found out I had an interview with your company, he felt the need to personally call and give you his opinion on me.”
The man shrugged, almost apologetically. “We place a lot of emphasis on prior employer’s comments, and the reasons that the employee left the company.”
“So I’ve been…what? Blacklisted? I’m not allowed to work in the industry?” Outrage filled my voice. It wasn’t bad enough that Jones had fired me for not doing something that was borderline illegal, no matter what he said, but now he had to go and keep me from getting a job anywhere else?
“I appreciate your time,” the man said, standing and offering his hand to me, apparently unwilling or unable to say anymore.
“Yeah, thanks.” My mind was distracted, wheels spinning, and anger fuming underneath my skin. I couldn’t bring myself to be any nicer, although I knew I was burning what little of the bridge was left between myself and a possible employer.
I had hardly walked out of the building before pulling out my phone and angrily dialing Mr. Jones’s direct line.
“Hello?” He asked, after answering the phone with his name, the same way that he always had. “Hello?”
“Mr. Jones,” I said coldly, “Can you tell me exactly what you think you’re doing by jeopardizing my job interviews?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Katherine.” His voice sounded wary, like he was itching to put the phone down before I had a chance to say anything else. But I wasn’t going to give him that chance.
“Like hell you don’t!” I spat out. “I saw the news about Reese Simpson getting the patent for the same thing Oliver Bertrand had pushed for. Imagine how well the public would take it if they knew that was only because you sabotaged him?” Threatening normally wasn’t my area of expertise, but I knew how worried Jones had been when all of the stuff with Oliver was going on. He had to be ten times more nervous now that he’d almost gotten away with it, only to have me bringing it up again now.
“What,” he asked, anger in his voice, “…what exactly are you trying to say?”
“Let me be very clear. Don’t try to keep me from getting another job. Or I’ll make sure that everyone knows it was your doing that Oliver’s patent fell through. Proof or not, it’s going to be pretty hard to talk your way out of.”
“It’s already done,” he insisted. “And I pulled quite a lot of strings to have it accomplished. There’s nothing that I can do about it now.”
“Then undo it.” I hung up on him, slamming down the phone the same way that he had done to me a few weeks prior. That self-righteous….words weren’t bad enough to describe how I felt about him.
The street outside the office that I had gone to the interview in was bustling, crowded and busy with both tourists and people trying to get to work. It would have been nice if I were one of the ones lucky enough to be going to a job.
It was starting to get cold, the chill of fall seeping in and taking over. My anger didn’t subside as I walked through the chilly weather, and if anything I grew angrier at my predicament.
I didn’t deserve this. I had been a damn good employee, a great employee. They had no right to do this to me. I had given everything that I had to that company, only for them to fire me for something that…
At that very moment, my train of thought was cut off by catching sight of a bright, boldly lettered sign that was across the street, hanging on the length of a cyclone fence.
Have you always thought that helping others was your calling? Do you have experience with volunteer work, or would you like to?
Then the Peace Corps might be for you!
Come volunteer today!
A number was listed under it, but it was unnecessary. The small building behind it had a sign that clearly displayed it as the local outpost and headquarters of the volunteer organization.
***
It was an impulse decision. That’s all I can say, other than claiming some kind of temporary insanity. When I thought of the Peace Corps I always envisioned people digging ditches in Vietnam or immunizing sick kids in Africa. None of which was bad, not in the slightest, but when I’d pictured my life, I had never seen it in that way.
Would it really be so bad?
I would probably have done more good working with them than in the entire eight years I’d been at Trestmont. And fighting with Jones was like trying to win a battle that was already lost. Threatening him wouldn’t do me any good in the long run, except maybe put some pressure on him for a while.
But as I started to walk towards the slightly run down looking office, the heavy feeling that had been in my heart since I’d gotten fired, seemed to finally be lifting. That’s when I knew that I was making the right decision.
There were two people sitting at desks when I walked in. One was sitting with a short blonde haired girl, filling out some paperwork. The other one, a middle-aged woman with shoulder length red hair, jumped up at my entrance, like she’d been waiting for something.
“Good morning!” She said enthusiastically, already handing me a flyer and eyeing me like she was sizing me up. With an approving nod, she continued speaking. “Are you interested in volunteering? We have six offices in the whole state, but we have been a bit short on volunteers as of late. Hence, the new sign out front.”
“That’s actually why I came in.” I took a deep breath and then looked her dead in the eyes. “Where do
I sign up?”
She laughed, a small, tinkling giggle that made me feel better, not like she was making fun of me. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. Let’s talk, see where you’d best be suited, and we’ll get you figured out and then sign the papers!”
She clapped her hand on my shoulder and led me to her desk. As I sat down to talk with her, I realized for the first time in almost a decade, I felt good about what I was doing.
Chapter Four
The airport around me was humming with activity, people, shuttles and trolley’s bustling from place to place within its walls. I know it’s crazy, but at that moment, it felt like it was reflecting the nervous energy that was building in anticipation inside of me.
The two weeks that had passed hadn’t been able to go by quickly enough, but now that I was finally here, time seemed to move even slower. I had only been waiting about fifteen minutes to go through baggage claim, but it felt like days.
I kept a close eye on the arrivals and departures board. Flight to Brazil, scheduled layover in Florida, Estimated Departure—2:00 p.m.
My flight. The start to my new life. They’d decided that because of my degree in Teaching and Education, that I would be most useful teaching at one of the schools that had been set up for underprivileged children that lived in the Amazon. The tribe had reluctantly agreed to let Americans build a school near their village, and I would be allowed to stay there, to help them grow and thrive in whatever ways I possibly could.
It was more nerve-wracking than any job interview I’d ever had, or any case that I’d handled at Trestmont. I was actually going to be responsible for doing something, for teaching something, that could change someone’s life. It had taken me the full two weeks not only to pack, but to get my ideas together, although I had been told I would have to restructure my lesson plans based on what level the children were at.
I glanced another look at my watch. 1:30. The plane would be allowing people to board soon, so at least I wouldn’t have to sit at the gate for very long. The crowd of people around me thinned as each made stops at the flight gates that they would be leaving from until there were only a handful of people left. One of them was a handsome man that looked around my age, sitting and reading a newspaper.
I didn’t want to keep staring, but once I had noticed him, it was hard not to. The angled curve of his chin had a five o’clock shadow just gracing the tanned skin, which he rubbed with a calloused hand as he turned the page of the newspaper. His blue eyes looked mysterious and haunted, and lay beneath a strong brow, which was creased with his deep concentration. His short, dark hair was cut in a sensible way, and he was biting the soft pink hue of his bottom lip as he read the paper. All in all, he was the most attractive man that I’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on, and my eyes, devious traitors that they were, wouldn’t stop from stealing glances at him every chance that they could.
The last time that I looked up, right before the trolley stopped at the gate that I needed to get off at, I found that those incredible blue eyes happened to meet mine. He was staring at me. The realization made me blush, and fumble with the handle of my suitcase as the trolley lurched to a stop, where the baggage abruptly fell over. I reached down to grab it, but before I could, I felt another hand reach for it as well.
“Please, allow me.”
The man’s voice was just as attractive as the rest of him, gravely and somehow soft at the same time. It couldn’t have been nicer if he’d sat in front of a mirror and practiced it. I gave him a smile of thanks and backed off, letting him pick up the suitcase for me, aware of the fact that his muscles picked up the case a lot easier than I would have been able to.
“Is this your first trip to Brazil?” He asked conversationally, as we walked from the seats of the trolley to the line that had already formed for boarding the flight. There weren’t that many passengers in front of us, but enough that we had the time to get out our identification and tickets to show to the gate guard.
“Yes, actually.” Something about the man made me almost nervous. Perhaps it was just his good looks, or the fact that I didn’t hardly know him, and no matter how good looking he was, it wasn’t exactly sensible to go out giving your personal information to strangers.
“Business or pleasure?” He asked. Before I could answer, he gave his passport and ticket to the woman at the counter, who scanned it with a bored expression before waving him forward.
Instead of moving on, however, he waited for me, making it look like just standing there should have landed him a spot in a magazine. Finally, he returned the baggage to my outstretched hand as I passed through the security checkpoint and entered the tunnel that connected to the plane. It was almost too easy to fall into step with him, although his stride was much longer than mine.
“A little bit of both,” I said finally, aware that I still hadn’t answered his question and that he was still waiting for one expectantly.
“Same here.” His smile made me feel like a school girl with a crush. I wondered if he knew what kind of effect he had on people, or if he was genuinely a good natured person that was completely unaware of what his smile could do to a woman. Butterflies filled up my stomach, a sensation that I hadn’t felt, or rather hadn’t allowed myself to feel, for a very long time.
We discovered on the plane that we had conjoining seats, coincidence of all coincidences, so we were allowed to continue our conversation as the other seats filled with people.
His name was Charles Reid, he was in his mid-thirties, and he enjoyed reading and playing softball in an adult league. He admitted to me halfway through the flight, and a quarter the way through a glass of scotch, that he also enjoyed watching HGTV, the home and garden channel, on slow days when he had no work to do.
“It’s my guilty pleasure,” he said shrugging and taking another sip of his glass. I couldn’t keep myself from laughing just a little at the fact that the man’s guilty pleasure involved watching people renovate houses and design rooms. It hardly seemed the kind of skeleton that most people had in their closet.
“Everyone has a guilty pleasure,” I told him, voicing my thoughts, unable to wipe the smile from my face, “but I don’t think you have to worry about yours making headline news.”
“All right then,” he said, leaning a little closer to me in his seat. I took in a deep breath at the unexpected movement.
“All right,” he said again, clearly aware of the sudden heat between us as he backed off a little, “then what’s yours?”
“My guilty pleasure?” I asked. My voice sounded breathless, like I’d just run a marathon. All from one small movement on his part. His blue eyes searched mine for a moment, like they were penetrating me, seeing right down to my soul.
“I don’t have one.” I said.
“You just said that everyone has one,” he reminded me, tapping his head as if to say the thought had come out of his own head instead of mine.
“Well, most of the general population does.” I couldn’t stop my face from turning a little red.
“Aha!” He exclaimed loudly, pointing his hand in my direction.
The man on the other side of me looked at the two of us like we had lost our minds. We both gave a sheepish little grin at him and then turned back to each other.
“Tell me what it is,” he demanded, more quietly this time, but still just as insistent. “I told you mine.”
“Fine.” There really was no arguing with him when he wanted something. Even in the short time I had known Charles Reid, I could already discern that.
“Sometimes, sometimes, mind you, when I’ve had an awful day, or am just in the mood for it…I…I listen to bluegrass.”
I expected him to wrinkle his nose, or to laugh, but he just kind of made a face and said, “I didn’t expect you to be a banjo picking type girl.”
The fact that he even knew what it was astonished me. Most people didn’t listen to bluegrass, much less know what kind of instruments played a part in it. “You listen to that ki
nd of music?”
“I travel a lot. Hear a lot of different genres of music,” he told me. It seemed that the longer he spoke, the bluer and deeper his eyes got, like they were a deep pool of water threatening to suck me in. How was that possible?
“Mmmm-hmm.” I said, nodding, and almost losing track of what he was saying.
The rest of the long flight was spent talking about our different various likes and dislikes of food, movies, music and everything in between. I knew different odds and ends about Charles, or as he finally asked me to call him, Charlie, but I couldn’t tell you where the man had lived, or what he did for a living. It was strange, knowing a person so well and so quickly, and yet, not really knowing them at all.
It seemed almost too quickly that the captain was speaking to us, telling us that we would be landing shortly. We had talked for five hours, not even noticing that the time was passing by as quickly as the ground beneath us. It had been nice, pleasant. Not like the weather in Florida when we landed.
Even though we weren’t off the plane yet, I could already practically feel the moisture and heat of the coastal state, and I cringed, thinking of the mosquitoes and other creatures out there that were practically dying to get a hold of a tasty thing like me.
“I hate swamps,” I said, whining slightly. “They really aren’t my thing.”
“Have you ever actually been to Florida before?” He asked me, raising his eyebrows and grabbing both of our luggage cases from the compartment overhead. He sat them down on the floor, allowing me a moment to grab it before heading down the small aisle.
“No, but I’ve been to Louisiana once. Kind of the same thing, right? Mosquitoes, muggy weather, heat?”
He shook his head sadly, and even though I couldn’t see his face right at that moment, I could imagine the pitiful and sarcastic look he was making. “You poor, misguided creature. You have much to learn.”
“As long as it involves me learning from the confines of this airport…” I muttered under my breath.