The Storm (Fairhope)

by Laura Lexington

  Confused, I cocked my head. “Huh?”

  She fidgeted in her seat nervously, playing with the air conditioner. She made a face and nudged awkwardly toward the pledge. “I’m a liar.”

  And then it dawned on me. My mouth gaping open, I struggled to find the words. “Oh. My. God. Grace. You’ve freaking had sex?!” I was shrieking.

  She would not look at me. “That’s not the worst part.”

  Suddenly, I knew. “Dear God. Don’t tell me.” I thought I was going to be sick. I closed my eyes and saw Grace and Daniel’s Homecoming dance picture from the year before, which still sat on my nightstand. I didn’t even think it was that serious. Maybe a kiss or two, but not…

  Cowering away from me with a fearful expression on her face, she finally said, “I slept with Daniel. Like, six times.”

  “YOU SCREWED MY BROTHER?” I tried to get out of the car, but she locked me in. Defeated, I got up in her face with my mouth wide open. “So you lost your virginity to … Daniel?” I could hardly get the words out of my mouth.

  She was nearly hyperventilating. “Oh my God, I did it. I can’t believe I told you! I thought I was in love with him! It’s been horrible to keep it from you this long. That’s why I always wanted you to come to my house after Christmas last year. I was so hurt when he broke up with me.” She paused. “Seriously, Jana, you know your brother’s hot. And he’s definitely not lacking in the parts department.”

  My hands flew to my ears. This was too far—she was enjoying watching me squirm. “Stop right now. I do not want to hear another word.”

  Grace cowered near the door. “There’s one more thing.”

  I glared at her, but against my better judgment, I wanted to know. “What?”

  “You remember that night me and you ‘camped out’ in our sleeping bags after Halloween? You know, when we went trick-or-treating as ghosts even though we were way too old?” One of our neighbors had called us out on our advanced age and told us we should be ashamed of ourselves. At least I got two fun-sized snickers out of the deal. Poor Grace was allergic to peanuts.

  “Yes…”

  “We snuck inside, and we did it in your … bed. We would have had to go past your parents to get to Daniel’s room.” She cringed and looked at me with a strange sort of hilarity.

  I punched her on the arm, hard. “That. Is. Disgusting. Why would you tell me that?” I felt nauseated, so I took off my sweater and fanned myself with my English binder. The thought of my best friend screwing my older brother was gross. Pointedly, I turned the radio up loudly to 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.” How fitting.

  She grinned at me. “We promised to keep no secrets from one another, and now I have none from you.” She stretched her arms over her head and feigned a dramatic sigh of relief. “I feel so much better now.”

  Now, we roared so hard we were crying as we remembered her confession. My throat dry from laughter, I slurped down half of my drink in one sip. “Oh, Grace. I was so mad at you. I never told Jessica that you and Daniel dated in high school.” My brother married Miss Alabama … literally. Skeptical at first, it did not take me long to see that she was as pure and beautiful at heart as she was in body.

  “Ah, we were kids.”

  “Yeah, but she’s Jessica. I bet she’d never even given a man a hand job before. She’s never even had a sip of wine.”

  “I love sweet Jessica. I couldn’t stand for her to look at me and think about how I know what her man’s got…”

  “And you KEPT the pledge!” I was convulsing in laughter again.

  “Well, I had good intentions, you know? I can’t help it my best friend has a completely irresistible older brother. Hey, you didn’t make it, either, whore!”

  “No…” My voice trailed off as I remembered my first heartbreak. It was a Strawberry Wine love story; we met the summer after I turned seventeen, and I gave myself away to the whirlwind romance. “I didn’t make it.”

  It didn’t take long for me to realize how much I liked having sex. What I didn’t realize was that I sold a piece of my heart with every burst of pleasure, and there was no return policy. I’d rolled my eyes when Mama said that the man who touches your body touches your heart, especially the first one.

  But she was right. When college called and he fell for Liz from Kappa Delta, I was left behind in Fairhope with a shattered heart and wishing with every fiber of my being that I had kept that pledge. When he rang my doorbell the next summer with a bouquet of red roses, I mustered the strength to flip him off and slam the door in his beautiful face before I soaked my pillow with sobs.

  Closing my eyes, I tucked the memory back where it should be, buried deep and replaced with the forever love of Andrew that I would never trade.

  “Not many do keep the pledge,” Grace said resignedly.

  Breaking me out of my deep thought, she popped my arm and grinned. “Hey, I have an idea. If you end up jobless and I catch Gavin with his pants down, I will be your model and you can paint me. Just paint me twenty pounds lighter and with no breakouts.” She posed for me, throwing one hand on her hip and roughing up her waves with both hands. She tightened up her bra straps, cleavage spilling over the top of her loose tee. “How’s that?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” She never failed to draw a smile out of me.

  My thoughts floated back to Gavin and this woman as Grace chattered all the way back to her house. Still convinced it was not an illicit affair, something was still off about it if he was so defensive. What was in that envelope that was so important that he sought her on his day off? Who was she, and how had they met? Come to think of it, he had not been his normal cheerful self lately.

  He didn’t even speak to anyone last Sunday after church, ignoring Andrew’s obvious gesturing to get his attention. His gun hanging from his hip, he couldn’t escape fast enough after the preacher’s last fiery words on redemption.

  He stood Grace up on our last double date … claiming a work-related emergency had arisen. Grace didn’t even know he was on duty that night.

  Hmmm. I decided against regurgitating the subject with Grace, who needed no reason to worry.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I sensed something strange brewed in Grace and Gavin’s world.

  “Jana, you are the best. Thank you for showing up last minute. This is why you have become my favorite rep.” Dr. Tynes gave me an appropriate side hug. We had just finished up an emergency case and were stopping to get a quick bite to eat in the hospital cafeteria. “How much longer until that little girl gets here?”

  His adorable, four-foot-eleven redheaded surgery nurse, Layla, clasped her hands together and cooed. “I can’t wait, honey! She will be drop dead gorgeous if she is a mix of you and Andrew.” She smiled warmly as she showed the cashier her grilled chicken salad and Diet Coke.

  My selection screamed clogged arteries, but I could not have cared less. I was having a chili dog, French fries, and a double chocolate brownie. “Eight weeks, guys. I don’t think I’m ready!”

  “You’re so tall and thin, you can still hardly tell that you are expecting.” Layla’s compliment was met with a blush on my part.

  Amazingly, I positioned myself favorably with Dr. Tynes despite Collin’s best efforts to pin me as the weak link. Since I became his rep, our sales numbers exceeded our goals. It helped that his Boston Scientific representative, who he most certainly was not sleeping with (she was his niece, for goodness sake—Collin obviously had his slander wrong), quit.

  “You will have to stop by and introduce her after you’re settled.” Dr. Tynes led us toward the first clean table we could find. Lunch hour was busy, and tables were typically left littered with dirty napkins and leftover condiments. “I assume we are stuck with Collin while you are gone.”

  Shrugging my shoulders with a small smile, I tucked my American Express receipt into my Coach purse. “Yes, but you will be fine. If things get too hairy, we have associates who can step in.”

  Layla carefully squirted k
etchup onto her small plate. She hated for her food to touch. “Working with Collin is like trying to walk a bulldog. Is he always so abrasive?”

  I suppressed a giggle. “Well…”

  Dr. Tynes wiped crumbs off on his napkin. “I’ve been a surgeon for a long time. I can tell the reps who are in it for the money and the ones who care about patients. You care about patients. Collin does not. Jeff does not, either.”

  I barely got the first bite of my fattening, scrumptious chili dog in my mouth before the email alert on my cell phone started alerting incessantly. In the name of work-life balance, I should have ignored it. But under the influence of a slight case of pregnancy-induced obsessive-compulsive-disorder, I punched my Good app.

  Covington Company Official Business: Internal Restructuring…

  Dr. Tynes and Layla chatted gaily about the upcoming holiday party, but I checked out the instant I gave into the temptation to check my email. My eyes widened as I skimmed the notice. Upper management was altering the structure of our business divisions; layoffs would take place two weeks before Christmas.

  Other factors will be taken into consideration, such as tenure and geography, but an approved assessment completed by management will provide accurate business recommendations…

  An assessment? We were salespeople. The numbers didn’t lie. Jeff could manipulate the “recommendations” with a subjective assessment …

  Disguising the fear that desired to showcase on my face was not effortless. I slammed my cell phone shut and forced myself to conduct my business lunch with pleasantry. Still set on “vibrate,” dozens of texts buzzed through, and I ignored Brooke and Collin’s messages with gritted teeth. Every rep in Covington Company was frantically searching for additional information.

  After work, Andrew met me at the door, fidgeting, with a somber look on his handsome face. An opened envelope was tucked in his hand, and he handed it to me with hesitation. “I thought it was a bonus check. Sorry.”

  Naturally, my most recent review from Jeff would arrive the same day that layoffs were announced. Slowly, with Andrew’s eyes on me, I opened it. Immediately, my pulse raced as if I had just finished a 5K. “Teamwork: Needs Improvement.”

  AGAIN.

  I slammed my fist down on the counter. Cautiously, Andrew stepped back. “Asshole. This is all bullshit!” I screamed in a decibel that should not have come from a human. The neighbors probably cringed at my tirade. Or wondered if someone had been killed.

  “Jana, it’s time to do something. Like call HR?” Andrew followed me to our bedroom like a lost puppy, where I neurotically tore off my blue maternity scrubs and searched for an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. The desperate need to be comfortable, pronto, to process this latest blow was the first step to figuring out what action to take … if any.

  “If you refuse to quit after Calla is born, you need to fight this.”

  “Layoffs, Andrew. We’re having layoffs. I got the email today. Jeff gets to fill out some survey on me. You know I’m gone.”

  Staring off into space, I calculated the weeks remaining. My chest tightened as I realized Calla was due merely weeks after the layoff.

  Please, God, don’t let me have a panic attack.

  The cascade of angry tears that followed was unfortunately familiar. Shaking so hard that standing was challenging, I waved an “I’m sorry” apology to Andrew, who stared at me while he helplessly wrung his hands behind his neck. I nearly fell as I stormed inside the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “You don’t have much time, Jana. Will you talk to HR?” He would not give up.

  What did I do to deserve this? I thought bitterly as I contemplated his question. All I desired was to win company trips, help patients, make love to my husband, go baby shopping with Grace, and bask in the glow of new motherhood.

  Everything will work out …

  I sighed. I hope that whisper is you, God, and not just my hormonal imagination.

  “Okay, Andrew.” I closed my eyes and leaned against the bathroom door, feeling his unwavering presence behind it. “I will.”

  BREATHE, JANA. BREATHE.

  Never mind that scheduling a meeting only weeks before downsizing was senseless. Morale was shot to death, but welcome to Corporate America … our regional meeting ended after two grueling days of bullshit. As luck would have it, my flight was canceled due to an engine malfunction (glad I dodged that bullet), and the next option was delayed for three hours. My region’s human resources representative, Kevin Matthews, waited on his delayed flight in the terminal next to mine after gracing our team with his presence at our meeting to discuss retirement plan changes.

  My collection of documentation rested in my rolling bag, and I re-read through each record as I eyed Kevin nervously. Wondering if I were insane for opening my mouth, I hoisted myself out of the uncomfortable chair I’d benched next to the restrooms, my home away from home during trimester three when urine flowed freely.

  “Hi, Jana,” Kevin greeted with charisma, politely assisting me as I took the seat beside him. “What’s up?” Maybe forty, Kevin resembled Matthew McConaughey, but shockingly single and never married.

  “Kevin, I need to discuss something with you in confidence.” I didn’t feel much like small talk. “Do you have time?”

  Please don’t tell Jeff. He will make my life even more miserable, I pleaded silently.

  Kevin’s eyes communicated that he wanted to decline, but he was trapped.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, a knowing look spreading across his rugged features. “What do you need to discuss? Our conversation stays between us.” Sensing I meant business, he reluctantly tucked his Golf Digest in his Covington Company backpack.

  “After doing everything I can to rectify the situation, I need to report that I am being discriminated against,” I spoke slowly, concentrating adamantly to keep my tone emotionless. “My manager flat out suggested that my position may not be best for me now that I am becoming a parent…”

  Kevin broke in. “Whoa. Could this be a misunderstanding?”

  Regroup, Jana. Regroup.

  “No,” I replied. “There’s a lot more—you’ll see when I explain…”

  “Okay, go on.” I wondered why he wasn’t taking notes or something. His iPad lay dormant in his lap.

  “Despite my best efforts to perform exceptionally, Jeff constantly gives me ‘needs improvement’ ratings, which I never received prior to my pregnancy. I am currently ranked number six of seventy.” It dawned on me that he still wasn’t writing or typing. “Jeff said that if I got a severance, that meant more time to spend with my baby.”

  “Do you really think your pregnancy has anything to do with this conflict?” Kevin asked warily. He darted his baby blues around the airport, as if worried someone were listening.

  Are you serious? Are you even listening? The throbbing headache that entangled my thoughts must have resulted from my blood pressure skyrocketing.

  “Yes, I do. I never had these ‘issues’ in my previous position, prior to my pregnancy.”

  “You have not been in your position long.” Kevin’s tone reeked of something almost cheerful. “I think this situation will improve.” He diverted his attention back to the calorie information on the back of his smoothie.

  Improve? When? I’m going to get the axe in a few weeks!

  Swallowing the escalating agitation that threatened to break free, I continued. “My customers have informed me that Collin and Jeff indicate I won’t be back after I have the baby. I’ve never mentioned quitting and don’t intend to.”

  Kevin’s silence was deafening. After an eternity of awkwardness, he spoke slowly and corporately … once again refusing to truly address the issue. “A ‘needs improvement’ is not necessarily negative. Things will improve.”

  Yes, you SAID that.

  “Kevin, perhaps I’m not making myself clear.”

  I proceeded to explain in detail the events of the past few months, outlying recorded dates and times of
specific instances.

  Kevin straightened his tie and looked me in straight in the eye as our conversation became more uncomfortable. He tried really hard not to let his eyes wander to my chest, still boasting their estrogen-induced D-cups accentuated by my sundress. I figured I would enjoy them before breastfeeding sucked the life out of them.

  He cleared his throat and gave his best effort to convey authority. “We certainly do not want you to feel as if you have to document everything that’s going on. We value our employees, and that’s not the culture that we want to create here at Covington.”

  “I don’t want that either. I could determine no other action to take at this point…”

  A curly-haired baby, probably nine months old, screamed at the top of his lungs behind us. The poor mother, her hair sticking out at unnatural angles and her Old Navy shirt littered with baby’s leftovers, tried desperately to hush the child by patting him on the back. Kevin and I both whipped our heads around at the interruption. He furrowed his brow and scowled.

  The young woman shrugged helplessly, apologizing with her eyes.

  I granted her a sweet smile. “It’s okay, really.”

  Relieved, she returned my smile.

  Kevin swiveled around quickly as the baby’s screams downgraded to muffled sobs, his eyes falling to my humongous abdomen. I could hear his mental jargon, likely agreeing with Jeff that mothers should stay home with their babies. Out of the workplace, and preferably absent from public places like airports.

  “Now, a ‘needs improvement’ mark really isn’t bad,” Kevin continued in a patronizing drawl that prompted an urge to slap him, which I fought off. “After all, we all have things to work on.”

  My heart sank and my relentless heartburn, a gift of pregnancy, worsened as my suspicions were confirmed that he was simply another member of the boys’ club. This was not his first rodeo. Without a doubt, management dealt out “Needs Improvement” ratings to get rid of their latest targets, and Kevin knew it.

  This is pointless. I might as well have flipped him off and comforted myself at the Cinnabon within walking distance.