The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

“Have you considered that this might be a very, very good circumstance for you, Allison?” Derrek stared at her, a somber look on his face.

  “How could this possibly be a good thing?”

  Derrek picked up a Bible off his desk and set it on his knee. “God’s Word says that he works all things together for good. It also says we are to count it all joy when we go through trials and testing. If you are going to consider this a trial, then you might also consider looking at this temporary condition as joyful even, and trust that your heavenly Father knows what he is doing.”

  She stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say why, but reducing the salary we agreed on is not an option. I must have that money.”

  “Be patient, Allison. God is at work.”

  He turned to his laptop and began to type.

  “Derrek, this is wrong. You know it.”

  He looked up. “Perhaps you don’t trust me. That’s fine. But make the choice to trust God. Provision is coming. Soon. I promise. We will find you other accounts. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work that must be finished.”

  Allison staggered back to her office, her mind reeling. How could she fight this? Once again Derrek had played the God card. If God had told him to do this, then how could she argue against it? It was brilliant in its simplicity. Despite how obvious the ploy was, if delivered with deep conviction, she could play no trump card against it.

  And yet the blaze stirring inside shouted the truth. She could speak out against what Derrek had done, right now, God or no God, but once again she hesitated and soon convinced herself the time for that wasn’t now. But at her core, she didn’t believe the lies she told herself.

  Allison stared at the drawings she needed to review without an ounce of strength to do so. But she had to. Deep breath. Move forward. After reviewing the drawings faster than she liked, she sent them off and slumped back in her chair. Allison glanced at her watch. One forty-three. Still a long slog till the end of the day. She had to get out of this office, get some fresh air, clear her head. Ask God if he really was in the business of stealing money out of her paycheck.

  thirty-two

  AFTER HER MOM WENT TO BED, Allison watched TV, trying to get her mind off the money, and even more, trying to get her mind off Derrek and Linda. But she couldn’t ignore it forever. She needed to get her thoughts down, try to make sense of nonsense. She pulled the journal onto her lap, opened it, and began to write.

  Tuesday, June 4th

  What are you doing, Lord? What the hell is going on? Is this the mountain I have to climb? I’ll keep climbing, believe me. I won’t give up, but this is insane. I need answers. Now.

  My checks are going to be even less now? Because of someone else’s idiocy?

  In these quiet moments in the stillness of late night, I wonder why I’m working so hard. The things I wanted—the freedom to enjoy my life, the ability to free Mom—will those things come? Doesn’t look like it. I don’t know how much longer I can be caged at work. Always looking over my shoulder. Getting antsy taking two extra minutes in the morning because I’m not getting there early. Feeling like I’m punching a clock when I’ve been working so many hours already. Warned not to let lunches with friends go too long. All the things I got away from when Kayla and I started our firm, and now I’m back in them. I’m stressed. Stressed because I’m tired of waiting. I don’t want to be resentful of Derrek, but it’s hard. Money for other people’s mistakes comes out of my paycheck? Are you kidding? This job is a roller coaster where there are no seat belts and I could go flying out of the car at any moment. Derrek gives me an account and the next moment I’m losing all I’ve gained and more.

  Life has been tougher these days than I thought possible. I struggle to see the light in all of this. All I see are shadows. I’ve never been under this kind of stress. Why are you taking me through this? Why? I don’t understand. I want to embrace it, believe good will come out of it, but it is not easy. I’m burned out. How can I reconcile what Derrek promised Wright Architecture would be and what it has become? Putting off and putting off and putting off the partnership?

  I don’t want bitterness to take hold, but it is beckoning me. Is suffering all life is? Is it only pain and disappointment till you die? Enduring till the end? And even if I could escape Derrek, do I truly want to? As strange as it seems, there’s still part of me that believes in him, believes in what we could accomplish together. Believes the partnership is finally going to be finalized and we will do amazing things. Am I crazy? Probably.

  I have to find a way out, but there isn’t one. Would Derrek sue me for breaking the noncompete? Yes. Without question. Apparently he did it to someone else a month before I got there with little cause. So I’m stuck there. What would happen to Mom and the debt then? Not good. But something has to change. My home equity loan money is running out. Unless July decides not to show up this year, we’re going to be in serious trouble. I’m just praying Parker’s job works out and that the payment when he’s finished is big. Has to be.

  I need to see some changes in the journal this time, Lord. Show me. I need some hope. Please. I’m believing, I’m pressing in, but where is the path? Show me!

  In the morning Allison checked the journal, but there was no change, which was the perfect intro to a day where Linda was on her case from the first moment she stepped into the office. By the time Allison pulled into her garage early that evening, all she wanted was a hot bath, hot tea, and sleep. Lots of sleep.

  She stepped through the door from the garage into her house and stopped. Faint voices, her mom’s and two male voices she didn’t recognize, came from the living room. Mom hadn’t said anything about guests, and given the fear in her mom’s voice, these were not friends. She closed the door softly behind her, pulled her cell phone out of her purse, punched in 9–1–1, and slid it into the front pocket of her slacks. Just in case she needed to dial it fast if things went south. Then she lifted her gun out of her purse and flipped off the safety.

  She eased forward, listening. The voices grew louder, and her mom grew desperate. Time to move. Allison strode into the living room and stood strong, feet shoulder-width apart. Arms at her sides, gun in one hand.

  She found herself staring at a man sitting in the center of her couch, legs crossed, arms spread out on the cushions, a soft smile on his face. He was late middle age, attractive—not like the models in older singles ads, but the kind of man who didn’t care if he was handsome.

  Another man sat in one of the two chairs on either side of the couch. Her mom sat in the other. Her eyes went wide when she saw her daughter, a combination of relief and fear.

  “Allison!” her mom sputtered.

  “Ah yes, Allison.” The man on her left smiled and gestured to her mom. “Your mother has been telling us about you.”

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

  “It’s okay, Allison,” the man said.

  “No, it’s not.” Allison stepped forward. “Are these friends of yours, Mom?”

  “No, they’re—”

  “Since you’re not a friend of mine or of my mom’s, you’re going to get up and get out of my house. Right now.”

  “True. Not friends.”

  Allison raised her gun slightly. The man glanced at the gun and smiled.

  “We’ll leave shortly. Just need to take care of something first.”

  “You’ll leave now.” She raised her gun slowly and gripped her wrist with her other hand.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced at the man on the couch, then at the other man, who had a look of amusement on his face.

  “Is this the moment you tell me you know how to use that gun since your dad trained you for hours and hours?”

  “Do you know how many cops love our family?”

  “My dear Allison, let’s clear up an obvious misconception right away. We have no intent
ion of hurting your mom or you. None at all. We didn’t force our way into your home. Your mother let us in. We are not interested in violence. We are interested in getting our money.”

  Allison motioned to her mom. “Why don’t you come join me here?”

  Her mom rose slowly and shuffled over.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her mom nodded, eyes still full of fear. Little doubt the men had threatened her before Allison arrived. She turned her attention back to the man on the couch and glared at him.

  “So you’re the loan sharks.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me ask you again. What are you doing here? We’ve been paying. On time. Which means there’s no reason for you to be here. So get out. Now.”

  “Have been? Yes. February, March, April. And we got that nice lump sum a short time ago from the sale of your mother’s house. But we applied all of that to the principal as your mom requested. Which means we still needed a payment for May.”

  “We sent—”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  Allison turned to her mom. “Mom?”

  “Honey, I’m sorry . . . I just—”

  “No need for apologies,” the man said as he waved a check in his hand. “We’re fine now. Your mom has us all caught up. But of course you understand why we were concerned. Who knows, your mom might have held back some of the funds from the sale of the home and disappeared. It’s happened, as you can imagine. Plus, we hadn’t met your mom yet and thought it past time we did.”

  “Get out.”

  The man stood, buttoned his suit, and sauntered to the front of Allison’s home. The other man lumbered after him. Before opening the front door, he turned and smiled at Allison.

  “Thank you for your time, ladies.” He paused. “One more quick little detail.”

  “What?” Allison growled.

  “We wanted to make sure you understand your payments are going to increase starting next month. Fourteen thousand.”

  “What?” Allison strode toward him. “We’re giving you $12,000 a month! That’s not enough?”

  “No. Even as poor at math as I am, I know that $12,000 times twelve equals $144,000. And your mom still owes us $400,000. That will take almost three years to pay off. Too long. And of course with—”

  “Shut up. I read the entries. He only borrowed $550,000 from you. We’ve already paid $200,000. So you’re right, you aren’t good at math.”

  The man picked at his fingernail. “Interest.”

  “It’s only been six months!”

  “The contract said he would pay it back in six months. If he didn’t, then a more aggressive interest rate would kick in. If you did indeed read the history of the transaction, you know this to be true.”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “No. It’s business. It’s all in black and white. It’s a loan. Nothing illegal about it. You might call it unethical, but your father agreed to it.”

  The man wiggled his thick fingers at his partner, who handed him a packet of papers. He opened them and turned to the back page and held it out for Allison. Her father’s signature was on it.

  “Let me see the papers.”

  The man handed her the packet. No. Not good. Right there in black and white. Stupid! Why hadn’t she studied her mom’s copy of the document more thoroughly? Because she’d been so caught up in getting her mom moved in and paying these thugs on time and getting a home equity loan and establishing herself at work—it was a poor excuse. She should have gotten a full understanding of what her dad had done. But would it have made a difference?

  “You’re trying to destroy my family.”

  “No, we are not. We are in the business of making money. Your father had a hobby that was about spending it. We worked with him for a number of mutually agreeable years. Now? We are simply collecting on his debt.”

  “I’ve given you all my savings. I took out a home equity loan, and every month we’re turning over as much of our salaries as we can.”

  “Then I’m sorry. You’re in a difficult situation. But that’s not my problem. Please don’t make it my problem by not meeting the terms of the agreement.”

  Allison jabbed her finger at the front door. “Get out of my house, now!”

  She didn’t sleep well that night—no surprise—and woke early. She would get into the office early and make final preparations for a lunch meeting she and Derrek had that day. The account could be huge, and now she had even more motivation to bring business into the company: commission. This could be the client that kept her and her mom afloat. They could replace the money being taken out for others’ mistakes and handle the payment increase. Today would be a make-or-break lunch.

  thirty-three

  WHEN ALLISON CAME DOWNSTAIRS SHE found her mom’s school bag packed and sitting by the front door.

  “Mom?”

  Allison found her in the kitchen finishing breakfast.

  “Are you going somewhere today, Mom?”

  “To work.”

  “Work? You’re teaching today?”

  “Yes. Lois is picking me up and I’m going to school. She’ll be here any second.”

  “But—”

  “I didn’t have a heart attack, Al.” Her mom stood, lifted a bag off the table, picked up her crutches, and made her way toward the front door. Allison followed her.

  “It’s only been—”

  “It’s been six weeks. I’m fine. I don’t even really need the crutches anymore. I’m feeling great, so I’m going to finish out the last couple weeks of school. Every little bit is going to help us right now, so I’m going to help.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” Her mom’s jaw was firm. “Absolutely I do.”

  Allison drew her mom in for a long hug. “We’re going to get through this.”

  “And you’re going to get that client today. I can feel it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You’ll let me know?”

  “Right away.”

  Ten minutes later Allison was on her way to work, praying as hard as she had in years, for her pitch later that day to be a success.

  The client lunch had been going well when a tingling sensation started in Allison’s feet. No, not exactly a tingle. More like a vibration, almost electric, that gave her feet and legs the sensation of being squeezed, then released, squeezed, then released.

  The feeling moved up to the top of her legs, over her hips, into her stomach, then around her chest like a cobra. Then the snake slinked away, replaced by a claustrophobic fog that settled into her marrow and screamed at her to move! She had to leave. Get up. Get out of the booth. Now!

  “Allison, do you agree?”

  Derrek turned to her, a studied look on his face that she knew was an act. The same concerned act he put on in front of all their clients.

  “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

  Derrek chuckled. “Allison has been a sensational part of my team for a while now, but every now and again her mind wanders off into design mode.”

  Part of the team? What happened to partner? The last time they’d been to lunch with a prospective client, he’d introduced her as his partner. Allison stared at the wall over Derrek’s head. Was it getting darker? It was. No, couldn’t be. Unless someone had dimmed the lights. Then the walls of the restaurant moved toward her. She glanced at the ceiling. It sank toward her. Or was the floor moving up? No, all in her mind.

  She had to get a grip! This was not the time or the place to lose it. The walls continued to draw closer. Allison grabbed her water glass and took a drink. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. It was in her head. Allison stared at the potential clients. Calm, bored even. They weren’t seeing anything. She stared down at the table. Hadn’t moved. Had it?

  No, of course not. This was all in her imagination, but it didn’t matter. The pressure of the seat underneath her, the back of the booth shoving her forward, the wall to her right pressing in . . . Derrek’
s tall, thick body pressing in from the other side. And the air! Not enough of it. Thin, as if she stood on top of Everest, sucking in breaths with all her strength, but getting far from enough.

  Derrek was asking her the question again, wasn’t he? She saw his face, his mouth moving, but the sound was light-years away. She blinked rapidly. Sweat seeped from her body. Cold. In her head, not real. Imagined. Not real. Not real! Plenty of air to breathe. But the feeling was real. More real than the booth she sat in.

  She had to get up, get outside. Find air! No, had to stay here. Make a good impression on the client. Answer whatever question Derrek had asked her. Close the account. Get them to sign the deal. Get more commission, more money trickling into her bank account. Had to close this. She had to take the lead. If Derrek asked the closing question, he would claim the account. Just the way he played the game. Had to be hers. The lunch was almost over. Stay with it. Come on! Another fifteen minutes. That’s all it would take.

  The rational side of her brain calmly told her with soothing tones that there was no reason to be feeling this way. It was okay, would be okay. She could make it.

  Her hands tingled. The air grew still thinner. Derrek on her left, closing in, scooting right up next to her. Too close. Edge of the table pressed against her blouse. Her heart shifted into double time, then triple.

  “Ex . . . excuse me . . . Derrek, can you move for a moment? Please?”

  “Are you quite all right, Allison?” He stared at her but remained fixed in his seat.

  “Yes, I’m fine . . . I just need to . . . I have to get up.”

  “We’re in the middle of a meeting, and I think we can all respect that fact. Can this be postponed for a few minutes?”

  She stared at him as short, rapid breaths puffed out of her and she tried to speak. “I . . .”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but reached into her leather folder and pulled out her copy of their proposal, then slid it to the center of the table. “As you can see, this is a deal-point memo that covers the major items we’ve just discussed. I’ll give you a moment to look it over and then answer any questions you might have.”