The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

  “What?”

  “I don’t trust Derrek Wright, Al. I don’t. I never have. This is not about me and you. It’s about you. He’s . . . I just . . . There’s a snake factor with him, I know it. Just be careful, okay?”

  “I know you don’t believe like I do, Kayla, but this truly is God. He’s in this so strong and so clear, I can’t not do this.”

  They walked back inside, picked up their unfinished paintings, and tried to make small talk as they shuffled back out and made their way toward their cars. In the parking lot they both cried and hugged, but the hug was quick and Allison knew it was a perfunctory gesture at best.

  Allison pushed through her front door at nine thirty-five and went to find her mom. Not in the guest bedroom, which would be her mom’s room till she literally got back on her feet. Not watching TV. Had to be in the kitchen. She was, reading a book about how to grow lush gardens in tiny spaces.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How’d it go?” Her mom took a sip of what smelled like pumpkin spice tea.

  “It went.”

  “That bad?”

  “It will be okay. I hope.” Allison poured herself a cup of tea and joined her mom at the table.

  “Why do I feel like the bad guy? It was God who did this. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his.”

  “When do you start with the new company?”

  “It’ll take at least three days to wrap everything up with clients, and with Kayla.”

  “No chance for a little time off in between?”

  Allison laughed. “Unless Dad’s business pals want to stop the clock, I’d say no.”

  nine

  MONDAY MORNING, TWELVE DAYS LATER, Allison came downstairs and looked in the mirror. Dark straight-legged jeans, black ankle boots, her mom’s oversize gray cashmere sweater, and a long necklace with a Tree of Life emblem—which Parker had bought for her twenty-fifth birthday. She adjusted the sweater slightly and gave a quick nod. Perfect.

  She went into the kitchen to say goodbye and found her mom staring at her plate, hands in her lap.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t have to pretend with me, Mom. Right? Tell me, please.”

  “Worried. I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I told you that yesterday morning. And the morning before that.”

  “You did, but you can tell me again and again.” Allison sighed. “Are you going to finish my world-famous mushroom-and-spinach omelet?”

  “Sure.”

  She’d taken only two bites and hadn’t touched her toast.

  “You have to eat, Mom. I know your stomach is busy getting itself tied in knots, but you have to, okay? For both of us.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re going to get you through this. I promise.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ally.”

  Allison tried to laugh. It came off weak. “Then it’s a good thing you decided to have me thirty-four years ago.”

  “Have you and Derrek finished your partnership agreement yet?”

  “Soon. We’re going to get it done soon.”

  “Good. And once you do, and once we get things paid off, I’m going to pay you back. You know that, right, Ally?”

  “Yes, Mom, I know.” She backed away. “I gotta go, Mom. Don’t want to be late.”

  Five minutes later Allison inched down the on-ramp that fed I-90 and would take her to Wright Architecture. Day nine of her new adventure. For the most part it had been good. The fourteen staff members seemed friendly. The only person she didn’t click with was Linda, Derrek’s longtime executive assistant, but one out of fourteen wasn’t bad.

  She glanced at her watch—eight twenty already—then at the cars in front of her. Puget Sound gridlock. One of the downsides of partnering with Derrek: her commute time had tripled. And with an accident like the one showing up on her GPS? Forty minutes to travel sixteen miles. Two more cars ahead of her waited for the metered ramp stoplight to flash from red to green.

  A few seconds later her phone buzzed. A text from Linda.

  Where are you, Allison? What are you doing? Derrek would like to meet with you. I’m quite surprised you’re not at the office already, or at least let us know where you are and what has caused your delay. Our workday starts at 8:00 a.m.

  Eight? Good to know. As if she hadn’t been able to figure out what time the office officially opened. Where was she? The same place she’d been every morning that week. Getting her mom ready for a day without assistance. Making sure she had her medication and a charged cell phone. Wrapping up niggling details with Kayla so she wouldn’t have to do it at her new office.

  What was she doing? Feeling guilty when there was no reason to feel guilty. Trying to figure out how to respond to a scolding from a woman who unofficially was Allison’s employee but acted like she owned the company.

  Eight fifty came and went before Allison pulled into her spot in the parking garage in the heart of downtown Bellevue. She got out and jogged across the gray concrete, lugging her light tan briefcase, which felt heavier now than it should, and passing pricey late-model cars. The kind Derrek had promised her but hadn’t mentioned since their meeting at The Vogue. She didn’t really care. Would it be nice? Sure. But the rest of the agreement was what mattered. Today she would get him to finalize it. She had to.

  She slipped into the elevator just as the doors slid closed and faked a smile for the two ladies and a man who hadn’t tried to catch the door for her. She forced herself to settle into long breaths in and out before the elevator reached the twenty-third floor. Get out, get into the office, get your game face on.

  ten

  AS SHE STEPPED THROUGH THE door into the offices of Wright Architecture, Linda glanced up from the copy machine and drilled her with a look that said, I’ve got you now.

  “Good morning, Linda.”

  Linda leaned to her left, pulled the copies out of the tray, and lined them up. Glanced at her watch, then cocked her head. “He’s waiting for you in his office.”

  Allison dropped her coat and briefcase off in her office first. Her office was next to Derrek’s, and in a bit of creative construction, there was open space six inches wide that ran from the ceiling to halfway down the wall, which allowed her to hear Derrek’s conversations. Her hearing was exceptional—family and friends had always joked about her ears having nanotechnology—and in this case it allowed her to stay on top of the ebb and flow of the office without having to meet with Derrek every few hours.

  She made her way into his office and stepped to the center of the room. Derrek’s focus was on his laptop, fingers pounding the keyboard, his ever-present Bluetooth earpiece over his right ear. Allison studied his wall-to-wall shelves full of books, photos with the important and powerful from the Seattle area and beyond, and exotic trinkets from Africa, Rome, Thailand, and Antarctica.

  Three minutes slipped by. Five.

  “Be right with you, Allison.”

  Seven. Ten.

  “You want me to come back, Derrek? I can—”

  “No, no. I’ll just be a few more seconds. Thanks for your patience.”

  A few more seconds slipped into a minute, two minutes. Three.

  “There!” Derrek tapped the mouse pad on his laptop with a flourish, turned to Allison, and motioned to the seats in front of the desk.

  Allison sat in the chair closest to the door.

  “Well then. Good morning, Ms. Moore.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Do you have time to chat about a few things?”

  No. She didn’t. She had an email she had to send out by nine thirty that she’d be done with by now if she hadn’t just burned fifteen minutes standing in Derrek’s office. Plus, two proposals that needed to get out by noon.

  “Sure.”

  “Good.” Derrek leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. “As you’re aware, we’re trying to inculcate a certain decorum in our office. An attitude, a stateme
nt, an ambience of professionalism.”

  Allison nodded.

  “To achieve those things, a certain standard is required. To be specific, our dress needs to communicate that standard. To be even more precise, I’d like you to start wearing business suits.”

  “What?”

  Derrek smiled.

  Allison frowned. “We’re not a law firm, we’re an—”

  “Yes, I understand that, and you’re going to say your style is more casual, and that’s the way you did it at your old company.” Derrek chuckled. “But I’m not interested in one of us being the straight man and the other being the cool gal who dresses so casually our clients think she’s trying to be hip, which they perceive as a veiled statement about our creativity. Our creativity is demonstrated in our designs, not our dress.”

  “I dress well. Casual, but sharp.”

  “I know you do, and if it were just me, I’d have no problem seeing you here in shorts and T-shirts every day.” Another throaty chuckle. “But we have clients dropping by from time to time, and we need to be battle ready at all times.”

  “That means?”

  “As I just said, business suits. Skirts. On rare occasions slacks and blouses.” Derrek released his hands behind his neck and leaned forward in his chair. “At some point we might move a few inches more casual on Fridays. But for now this is the way everyone in the office will continue to dress.”

  Unbelievable. Allison hadn’t worn skirts or formal business suits—except for weddings and funerals—for five years. Even at the company where she and Kayla worked before starting their firm, the dress had been smart but relaxed. Where was Derrek living? In the fifties? Formal wear at work? Yes, business suits and skirts did send a message. A message that Wright Architecture was as stiff as Sheetrock.

  Derrek turned to his laptop.

  “Anything else other than the dress code, Derrek?”

  “Um, I think Linda already addressed our arrival time, didn’t she?”

  “Arrival time?”

  “We start at eight.”

  “Yes, and we end at five. And I’ve been working past seven every day since I started, and working at home as well. One of the perks of being a partner is the freedom to come in when I need to and leave when I need to.”

  “I know, I know. I understand.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Of course you can come and go as you like, but since Linda is the office manager, out of respect for her, and to set a good example for those working for us, what do you say? Can you make a concentrated effort to be here by eight?”

  “Sure, Derrek. No problem.”

  “Thank you, Allison, I appreciate it.”

  He turned back to his laptop.

  “Anything else on that?”

  “No.” Derrek smiled with a twinkle in his eye that said they were done.

  “Then can we talk about finalizing the details of our partnership?”

  Derrek looked up, but his fingers stayed on the keyboard. “Thanks for bringing that up, Allison. I’d like to, and I know you’ve been patient in regard to that subject, but—”

  A voice from the doorway interrupted him.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Derrek, but can I ask Allison a quick question?” Linda stood just inside the door, a plastic smile at the corners of her mouth.

  Derrek raised his eyebrows to Allison, who slowly nodded. Linda. Perfect timing. Not the first time this kind of thing had happened. Think positive thoughts. Try to believe it’s a coincidence. Allison gave Derrek a weak smile and twisted in her chair. Linda strolled into the room, her maroon skirt long and pressed sharp, arms cradling a stack of yellow file folders. When she reached Derrek’s desk, she leaned against it and cocked her head.

  “What was so important that you came in late, Allison?” Linda tapped her fingers on the files. “It’s not a serious issue. I’m simply curious.”

  “It was . . .” Allison stared at her, trying to keep her frustration in check. She wanted to describe Linda’s eyes as kind, but they weren’t. The first layer maybe, but there was ice underneath. A cruelty. The kind that forces a child’s hand onto a hot stove to teach her not to touch and justifies the action when the behavior changes.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us, Allison?” A half smile now only made her eyes colder. “I think Derrek might like to know as well. Because as Derrek just alluded to, we have a policy around here of being on time. Every day. And this is the second time you’ve been late since you started working for Derrek. And that’s only been nine days.”

  Allison almost laughed. Working for Derrek?

  Linda didn’t want to know why she’d been late. Didn’t care. Was just trying to make her squirm. Allison glanced at Derrek. He was buried in his laptop as if Linda and she weren’t there.

  “I saw a homeless man who looked painfully thin. I pulled off and bought a breakfast sandwich and gave it to him. I’m sorry that made me late.”

  “Really? That’s what you did, Allison?”

  “No.” Allison stood till she was eye to eye with Linda. “You know that’s not what happened, Linda.”

  “What is the truth then?”

  “That it isn’t an issue you need to be concerned with.”

  Linda pulled her files tight to her chest and glared. “Let’s be on time from now on, shall we, Allison? To set a good example for the staff.”

  Allison offered nothing more than a thin smile.

  Linda sat, crossed her arms and legs, and stared at Allison with eyes that said, Leave now.

  Allison leaned in toward Derrek.

  “When are we going to finish our conversation about the partnership?”

  “Soon. Let’s set a goal of having that discussion before the end of next week, if not before. As I mentioned, I know we need to get the details finalized.”

  “Can we set up a time?”

  “Yes, I’d like to, but right now I need to meet with Linda on a few things about the company structure.”

  “I should be here then.”

  “No, it’s nothing major that would require your input. I’ll call you if needed. Thanks, Allison.”

  The rest of the day moved by with enough demands to keep Allison’s mind occupied, but as she left the office at five that evening, only one thing filled her mind. The fact that Derrek had once again pushed their partnership into the depths of the forest where the sun didn’t shine. But late that evening, as she glanced at her Tree of Life necklace, another thought jockeyed for position. The man she’d seen at The Vogue, and his gorgeous journal that had somehow fully captured her imagination.

  eleven

  FIVE DAYS LATER, ON SATURDAY afternoon, Allison blew out a long, low breath as she dropped two dollars in the tip jar and picked up her vanilla latte at The Vogue. Now to find a quiet spot to think, to journal, to figure out how she could speed up the partnership process with Derrek. Or maybe take the easier route and get in good enough shape to run a sub-three-hour marathon.

  “Allison?”

  Allison turned back to Marque, the young gal who had started nine months ago with no experience but already made the best drinks in the shop.

  “Yes?”

  “You doing all right?”

  “Sure. Yes.”

  “Okay, jus’ checking. Your smile’s been hiding a little lately.”

  “It’s still here.” Allison pointed at her mouth and smiled. “It’s just that work is super stressing me right now. And having my mom living with me is stressing me. You know, life.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “You? How are wedding plans?”

  “We should have eloped.”

  Allison laughed. “I hear it’s a lot easier.”

  “Without a doubt. Thanks for asking.”

  She turned to go.

  “Hey, Allison, almost forgot.” She spun back as Marque went to the back counter, picked up a nondescript box, and brought it back to Allison.

  “Here.”

/>   “From you?”

  “No.”

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know. Mike told me to give this to you.”

  “Mike?”

  “You know . . . Mike.” She waved her hand in the air. “The guy who owns this place.”

  “Right.”

  Marque pointed at a folded piece of paper on top. “Looks like he wrote a note. That might explain it.”

  “Mike wrote it?”

  “No idea. Like I said, he just told me to give this to you.” Marque smiled and motioned toward the espresso maker. “Sorry, gotta go.”

  Allison worked her way to the back of the shop, sat at her usual table, and set her satchel on the floor. She leaned against the dark maroon wall. She placed the small rectangular box on the table, took a sip of her drink, and opened Mike’s note.

  Hi Allison,

  Apparently this is yours.

  Mike

  Allison set the note aside, lifted the cover of the box, and gasped. Inside was a leather-bound journal. The one Western Washington Sweatshirt Guy and Richard had talked about. Allison lifted the journal out of the box as if it were a parchment from a thousand years ago and set it on the table. She slid her fingers over the leather. Softer than she’d imagined. A texture that came from years, maybe decades of use. The surface felt warm.

  She stared at the cover. Gorgeous. The image of a tree was carved into the leather. An image she knew well. The Tree of Life. Allison ran her fingers over the image of the tree, and as she did, a sense of peace swirled around her mind. An urge to open the journal swept over her, but she gave a tiny shake of her head. Of course not. It wasn’t hers.

  After staring at the journal for more time than seemed appropriate, Allison stood and walked to the front of the shop. She caught Marque’s eye a few minutes later.

  “Did I mess up your drink?”

  “Never.” Allison held up the journal. “This is what was inside the box. It’s not mine.”

  Marque blinked. “Beautiful.”

  Allison nodded.

  “I think I know whose this is. I mean, I don’t know him, but he had it the other day when I was in here. I don’t think he’s a regular, but do you guys have a lost-and-found in case he comes back? I think this is something he’d come back for.”