Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
I’m quickly reminded of one thing that bugged me all night. “Did Justin get fired?”
Surprise filters across her face. Mary’s not one to gossip, but she looks over her shoulder to check that we’re alone. “I believe so, but I don’t have any details.”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
I probably sit for thirty minutes before I send my chair rolling backward and stalk down the hall to Laurie’s office. I hear Juni answering the phone when I pass the corner that leads to the elevators. I keep going, getting madder with every step I take closer to that asshole’s cubicle . . . former cubicle.
After I knock twice, I hear, “Come in.” Laurie stands when she sees me. “Yes, Andrew?”
Although she gestures for me to sit, I close the door and remain standing. “I heard Justin was fired.”
“Ah.” She sits back down and tucks her legs under the desk. “He was. He’d been warned twice prior. That was his third—”
“Why are we waiting for someone to commit three offenses against one of our other employees before it’s handled?” I like Laurie, so I put my hands in my pockets, hoping it makes me appear less intimidating. Not that she ever has been, but by how she’s exhaling so slowly, she appears to be trying to settle her nerves.
“That’s standard practice, sir.”
It was a simple answer and a great reminder. “We don’t want to be standard. We want to be exceptional. I understand policy and procedure, but we also owe our employees a safe environment. Look into updating the policies and get with legal. Modern times call for change. Please have something on my desk by the end of the day.”
“I’ll get with Joseph right now.”
“One more thing.”
She asks, “Yes?”
“What exactly did Justin say to Ms. Jacobs?”
16
Juni
Two days later . . .
Oh crap!
I drop to my knees, which is something I think I’m getting a little too good at lately. Shoving the chair out of the way, I scurry under the desk and attempt to tuck my limbs under, hiding from view. Sitting as still as I can, I try to eavesdrop.
The squeaky door Gil said he would oil last week is now my saving grace. I have a marker and steady my breath as I wait to hear the muffled footsteps of those familiar Italian leather shoes.
“Good evening, Mr. Christiansen.”
“Good evening, Gil,” Andrew says as soon as his shoes hit the marble floor of the lobby. “Do you ever take a day off?”
“Usually two days a week, but since Mike broke his leg last month, Pete and I are working overtime.”
From the distance of his voice, I’m guessing he’s a good ten feet from the desk, but I’m nervous that he’s stopped to talk. And don’t think I don’t notice that Gil isn’t moving him along in a hurry.
Andrew asks, “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you ever make it out to the games?”
Oh God, no! Andrew’s found Gil’s sweet spot. I’ll be stuck under here all night if he gets Gil going.
Gil chuckles, and I know it’s not because the conversation is so amusing. He finally says, “Ju—one of my residents gave me season tickets once. I felt bad for missing so many games because of work, but it was the best gift I ever received.”
I’ll just be here wishing I could hug him right now. Gil’s the best. I’ve been fortunate to have him in my life all these years. I have a lifetime of memories in this building. As an only child, if I got bored upstairs with my grandparents, I would come down here and watch cartoons with Gil, or old sitcoms after school on the black and white screen TV. The Yankees playing were the soundtrack while I anxiously paced, waiting for my parents to pick me up after one of their research trips.
I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes until I hear Andrew speak. “I grew up going to a few Dodgers games. My dad worked a lot, so my mom would take my brother and me sometimes.”
The sunlight slips back into my life, and I loosen the hold on my knees. He continues, “We were rambunctious boys, so she had us playing all kinds of sports to help burn through our energy.”
Gil says, “I bet it didn’t help.”
“Not much, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She had us take cooking lessons, we joined a painting club, learned to mow the grass. Anything and everything. She believed it was good for the soul.”
“Sounds like she kept you busy and minds open to new things.”
“She sure did.” There’s a pause, and then he chuckles lightly. “But we have a two-acre lot. Mowing was a full-time job when I was thirteen.”
They share a good laugh, but their footsteps aren’t moving away from me. Instead, they’re coming closer. Ugh!