The Promotion

by Laura Domino

  “Yes. I see you’ve recovered from the grueling meeting we had.”

  “They didn’t send me the Friday report.”

  “You are correct. I’m going to double-check their work and then send it. You’ll get it within the hour.”

  “Robert’s team sent me the report thirty minutes ago.”

  Was Mr. Casey grooming her to take over his department here in Texas or preparing her for the promotion? Or did he even believe she could move up in the company at all?

  “So you just got off the phone with Robert. My guess is my flawless Friday report will be in your inbox before he sends his corrected copy.” Boldness was rewarded in her company. Casey saw it as a strength.

  “It better be flawless. I’m expecting a lot from you. Don’t let me down.”

  She hung up the phone and put the flash drive in a port on her laptop. Casey always pushed her. Part of it was his crabby demeanor, but it was more than that. He didn’t see her as a dainty little feminine wage earner. He saw what she could do. Maybe he was hoping she would win the promotion. But he’d just said the higher-ups would be making the decision, not him.

  In her department, there were no women to break through the barriers for her. She had to do it. Against all odds, she was energized toward success.

  If she spent a little more time at work today, Monday’s work could be half-done by the time she began the new week. Her efforts to be the obvious choice for every promotion that came available had given her a good name in the workplace and a reputation for excellence. She had the respect of her coworkers and Mr. Casey. Her struggle was not to be good at her job but to be the engine that drove her department and maybe the company one day, if she got that far.

  Her computer showed new emails, but a calendar notification had popped up on her screen. Benita squinted, trying to focus. Still so much to do.

  Her nemesis burst into her office. “Benita! It’s the weekend!”

  She jumped, and then she rubbed her temples. His masculine, yet slightly high-pitched voice annoyed her. Even when he was being nice.

  “Robert. What’s a weekend?” Her voice, although not as loud, mocked his.

  He looked like he had the upcoming promotion already in hand. Robert was likable and smart, his wife and kids were supportive, and his team at work seemed to like him. If the higher-ups were looking for someone to represent the company in Spain, he was the perfect candidate.

  But she was ready to fight for her promotion. Whatever it took. Doing a better job than everyone else required putting in more hours. A lot more hours.

  “Come on. You can’t sit there all day.” He started with the dancing again, like he did every Friday. “It’s time to party. Are you going out? Are you going dancing? No?” He stopped and smiled. “It’s time to go home.” His dark eyes seemed relaxed. It was so weird how he acted like they were friends. They might be able to be friends if it weren’t for the promotion they both wanted.

  “I am home.” For her, work was still going on.

  He laughed. His tall frame curved as he put his hands in his pockets. “No. You don’t live here. Go home.” He smiled and stood like a matador whipping a red cape at a bull.

  Chapter 3

  Adam let his iPad slip to the tan carpet beneath his bed. It was close enough to the wall that he probably wouldn’t step on it.

  His abs hurt. And his head. Had he been in a fight last night? Or was he sore from exercising? Right. Good one. He chuckled. Ow. Even that slight movement was a bad idea.

  What had happened last night? His memory banks were low on funds. Unable to recall, he tried reasoning. Exercising sure wasn’t what made his abs hurt. Everybody loved him, so no fighting. Did he fall on something hard to make his middle so sore?

  He moved his hair off his forehead again. How many times in a day would he have to do that before he’d finally get a haircut? He’d actually shaved last week when his mom invited someone over. But he got sick to his stomach and had to spend the rest of the day in his room, rather than visiting with them.

  Where was his charger cord? He looked around for it. It wasn’t on his bed. He slowly sat up on his bed with his feet on the floor.

  His body silently grumbled at the movement. The pain made him want to go back to bed, but that wouldn’t fix anything.

  Where was that iPad charger?

  He slowly scanned the mess of car magazines on his built-in desk on the opposite wall. Most of them were a decade old. One of them he’d bought Thursday at Cook’s Book Nook after following a woman inside. The store was big enough to lose the best-looking thing he’d seen in a while, but he found a wall of magazines while looking for her. The car magazines reminded him of the collection he already had. The collection he’d keep forever.

  Magazines seemed to last forever. But people went away.

  Three beer bottles sat next to the magazines on Adam’s old desk. He slowly rose, standing with hands at the ready in case he became dizzy. He took a breath and headed across the room. One foot at a time, he made it over to the beer bottles. The cord of his decades-old electric clock got his attention. A white cord on top of color-splashed magazine covers. He followed it to the clock hiding under the latest magazines. Shoving the magazines aside, he looked at the display.

  Friday. Two forty-three. It was almost time to get off work and have a beer. Too bad he didn’t have a job.

  He had money. It grew without any effort from him. Now that his mom had set up his brother’s investment money to be automatically deposited into Adam’s account, work never even crossed his mind. He could do what he wanted.

  That reminded him. Beer bottles. The one closest to him was empty. The next was empty. The third had most of the beer still in it. It was open and warm. That didn’t matter. He took it and headed back to the bed.

  On his way, his foot landed on something hard and bulky. The sharp edge of it sent him to the floor. Not sharp as a knife, but sharp enough to send him sprawling. His abs gave a silent scream. He groaned.

  Adam pushed himself upright. Being still for a moment helped him to catch his breath. He checked the level of his beer. Didn’t spill much.

  The underside of his foot complained like an old girlfriend. He could easily shout improper language, but he’d hear his mom’s voice inside his aching head reminding him not to use weak words.

  The image of his brother came to mind, and he smiled. Mom had once heard him and his brother cussing at each other in a hideous fight. She broke up the argument and sat them down for a lecture on the power of words. “Weak people use weak words.” She meant to encourage them, telling them they were too smart to not take advantage of an extensive vocabulary.

  After that, their thesaurus came in handy in their fights. Mom wasn’t completely happy, but they had fun with it.

  Adam turned his attention to his floor. What had he stepped on?

  Of course. The charger for his iPad. Now he didn’t feel like plugging it in. “Stupid charger. Dang stupid thing. Hurt my stupid foot.” Imbecilic words were the only ones that came to mind at the moment. His vocabulary was rusty—his brother wasn’t around anymore to challenge him in word battles.

  He took a sip of his beer. Flat and tasteless.

  Fighting against his mom’s ways was a pathetic thing to do, even if he was being a harmless, brainless drunk. He knew better. Pain made a man do senseless things.

  Pain. Self-hatred. It was a heavy load, but he carried it wherever he went. He was tired of it weighing him down and wearing him out. Wanting that heavy load to stop ruling over him only added to the frustration.

  He got off the floor and took another gulp of the beer. What time was it? He might have time to get back on the iPad before showering and changing for lunch. He looked at the ticking pistol-shaped clock on his wall. The wooden gun clock, a gift from his dad the year he was into John Wayne movies, was a reminder of his losses. Only Mom and he were left. He finished off yesterday’s six-pack of beer and looked at the clock again.

&nb
sp; After three? Really? Okay, so lunch was over. It would soon be time for dinner. Today, he would eat at a Mexican restaurant. Again. Which one this time? While showering, he could think through his options. He’d have a decision by the time he put the key in Trusty Rusty, his 1977 Malibu Classic. A real golden oldie. He had kept it maintained very well for years. The only rust was around the edges of the doors and on that one spot on the back right panel where he found that scratch. And on the dent in the driver’s side door. As much as he and that car had been through together, it had held up well.

  From the available clean options in his bedroom closet, he picked out a navy collared shirt and some old tan shorts. From the stack of towels in his bathroom closet, he grabbed the faded blue one he had been using since high school. Nothing wrong with it. It was just old like everything in his bedroom and bathroom. He rolled his eyes and threw back the shower curtain covered in brightly colored lizards. Mom needed to redecorate.

  XOXO

  Adam drove past all the fast food restaurants, looking for a place where he could be with friends. Finally ending up at Jose’s Beans, he ordered a beer at the bar and asked if Jose was in town.

  After a brief wait, the man himself came to the bar and patted Adam on the shoulder. “How are you, my friend?”

  “I’m dying.” He laughed at himself and his uncomfortably morbid humor.

  Jose didn’t ignore him or mock him. He was a friend. But better than that, he owned a bar. And a restaurant. But he always made time to sit at the bar with Adam whenever he was there.

  Jose laughed with him, but he shook his head. “You’re not dying.” He looked him over. “Well, not right now anyway.” Jose tapped on the bar and got the bartender’s attention. “One beer. On me. After that, water.”

  One beer with several water chasers made Adam’s skin itch. It was like crawling out of the desert asking for water and being given one single cup followed by only sand or gravel after that. He tried to joke away his discomfort.

  “Or milk or prune juice or whatever I want. Thanks. Awfully nice of you, Jose.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “When I’m gone, will you rename your bar after me?” That would be the perfect memorial for him. Everyone would see the bar’s new name and remind each other of how great Adam was.

  “What would I name it?”

  “Dead Adam’s Bar and Grill.” Beautiful. He’d be the town’s favorite celebrity.

  Jose rolled his eyes. “Great name.”

  No. The way Jose said that, he wasn’t getting it. “Jose, will you please rename your bar?”

  He shook his head. “Not Dead Adam’s Bar and—”

  “Anything will do. It’s not that I don’t like beans…” Jose’s Beans could be the name of a coffee shop or even a cafe, but it was obviously not a good name for a bar. “You’re committing a crime. Do you hear me? It’s all-out war against common sense. You can’t run a bar named after beans. Change the name, Jose.”

  “No.”

  “The name, Jose.”

  “No.”

  The guy next to him stopped sipping his beer and put it down on the shiny wooden bar. “I don’t care what the name is as long as you serve good beer.”

  Jose pointed at the guy. “Thank you for making my point.”

  “Shut up. You don’t want to get into a bar fight with me.”

  “Adam, stop.” Jose voiced his disappointment in a high-pitched tone. And then spoke to the stranger next to him. “I’m sorry. He’s never like this.”

  Adam turned to the man. “I’m sorry.” He cringed at his own aggressiveness. There was no reason to make the guy uncomfortable. “I’m never like this.”

  Jose’s eyes bore a chastising weight that Adam hadn’t seen in a while.

  “So maybe just the one beer today. Okay?”

  “Okay, Adam.”

  “Jose. Change the name.”

  “I’m walking away. Have a good evening. Enjoy your food.” He stopped walking away and came close to Adam’s barstool. “Adam, have some guacamole. Do you like guacamole?”

  “I haven’t finished my beer yet. Give me some queso with that beer.” He pointed at the bartender. “And chips.” When Jose leaned in close enough to smell his breath, Adam stopped talking, hoping he didn’t reek of yesterday’s beer. Or today’s.

  Jose shook his head and walked away.

  XOXO

  “Have you eaten dinner yet, Adam?” His mom’s voice rang out as soon as he entered the house. She must have heard the car pull into the driveway.

  Adam stumbled from the driveway all the way to the kitchen. The wide hall connecting the two also served as the laundry room and the cleaning supplies closet. Since it led from the kitchen to the cars, it was probably the most used hallway in the house. Its dirty tan walls almost matched the light-colored floral wallpaper in the kitchen. “Yes. I was at Jose’s. He said hello.”

  “Oh. How nice. He’s a sweet one.” Mom looked up from making homemade biscuits for the morning. Her face lost its content smile in favor of a grimace and heartrending disappointment. “You look horrible. You didn’t drive, did you? Tell me you didn’t drive. God have mercy.”

  “I drove. I’m fine.” He rested his elbows on the counter and watched her prepare the same biscuit recipe she’d been making since she was twelve. He shuffled to the oven to see what was inside.

  “It’s Friday night. Meat loaf day. Help yourself.”

  “I know what day it is, Mom.” It smelled as good as anything Jose’s place offered. She could work for him. “Not really hungry, but thanks. Where’s the grocery list?” He looked at the fridge where it normally was. No luck there.

  “Start a new list. No alcohol this time. You’re done with it.”

  “I’m a grown man, Mom. I can drink if I want to.”

  She smirked. “You? You’re a grown man. Right. Living at home with his mommy.”

  “Mom.”

  “I don’t mind helping you get out of this terrible state you’re in. I love you, but I won’t be a party to your self-destruction. I’m not having any more of it.”

  “Mom, listen to me.”

  “No, you listen.” Hands on hips, she gave him the stare. Eyes really were the window of the soul. Her soul was so wounded that she regularly balanced half a spoon of tears on her lower lids. “I lost him too. He was my baby. I loved him. Having you two boys was my dream come true.” She couldn’t speak. Turning her head, she wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve. “I know how you hurt.”

  He shuffled over to her and held her while she sniffed. “Mom?”

  She raised her head off his chest. “Yes, Adam?”

  “I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “I know you don’t.” She stepped out of his embrace and lifted her chin. “I think it’s time for you to get your own place.” She wiped her cheek with her hand. “And a job. And if you can pull it together, maybe a wife? And no alcohol. If you keep going down this road, this horrible, dark road… There you’ll be, right along with him.”

  “Mom.”

  “Adam, I can’t take it. I’ve lost a husband, and now a son. I can’t sit here and watch you do this to yourself.”

  “Mom.”

  “What, Adam?” She stared at him through the pain of her brokenness, tears flowing.

  He’d seen it so many times before. He reached to her face and wiped it with his hand. “You have flour on your cheek.”

  She turned away and found a box of tissues to use.

  “Mom, I feel awful.”

  “Ha. You feel awful.”

  “I hear you. I know you love me. I love you too. I don’t know what to do.”

  She faced him. “It’s time you went back to church.”

  His chin dropped to his shirt collar. Not that again.

  “The difference between me and you, Adam, is that I know what to do. But you won’t listen to me, will you? No. I say to go to church and stop drinking. You won’t listen. I sa
y to try a better attitude with people or at least with yourself for once. But you’re stuck in this rut that is quickly becoming a hole in the ground. Keep it up, Adam, and you won’t be able to get out.”

  XOXO

  Benita slid into her navy lightweight jacket before she left her apartment and enjoyed the walk to the library. The Saturday morning breeze was just cool enough for the jacket to be comfortable on her way. The library opened at nine o’clock, and she planned to be one of the first to step inside.

  Quickly learning Spanish would help her chances of beating Robert. She could do it, but she would have to work hard and fast. After yesterday’s announcement, she walked home from work using her phone and earbuds to listen to voiced commands in Spanish.

  So in went her earbuds again on her brisk morning walk. She listened again, repeating some of the easier words aloud. The harder ones didn’t slide out of her mouth so readily.

  What if she couldn’t learn the language faster than Robert?

  A man stood in front of her, leaning in with his hand out. “Man, I really could use some help. Just a little.”

  “Of course.” She pulled a fast food gift card from her jacket pocket. “Here. You can use this today. I can make myself a sandwich instead.”

  After entering the library, she pulled off her navy jacket and looked around at the gold mine of information. Hanson Memorial Library was her happy place. All she had to do was check out a book and enjoy the feeling of knowledge in her hands. She loved coming here, being surrounded by books.

  The internet would help her with pronunciations, but the books gave her that special feeling of confidence. She needed both. Having an ability to pronounce the words didn’t mean she could remember them or their meanings or be able to use them in a sentence. The words she listened to on the translation screen on her phone seemed common enough, but there was so much work to be done before she could really speak Spanish.

  She approached the library’s information desk and waited for the thin, young, bookish boy to look up from the stack of books he’d carried over from a cart. When he noticed her, she raised her chin and gave a pleasant smile. “I wonder if you might have a list of tutoring resources for people who are learning a new language.”