Page 49 of Reckoning

“Don’t.”

“—just as much as I love her. Please give her that letter, and read yours. But don’t read hers. It’s not for you.”

My short nails dug into my palm, but the pain wasn’t enough to take me out of this hell. I nodded, eyes back on my desk. That much I could do.

She exhaled in a sigh. “Thank you, Meyer.”

I couldn’t watch her leave. Not again. I only looked up when the door clicked closed, and then it was only to throw everything off my desk.

“Jessica!” I roared, and my assistant flew into the room a moment later.

“Mr. Schaf, I’m so sorry, she said—”

“Get me a new computer, and then clean out your desk. You’re fired.”

She opened her mouth to argue with me, then thought better of it. She nodded and went out. I sank to the floor, sifting through the papers, searching for the letters lost among the debris of my desk. I clasped both envelopes to my chest, biting my lip so hard I tasted my blood. I couldn’t do this. There was no way out for me. Even the woman who had loved me unconditionally when all I’d ever known was pain and fear was against me now, because there was no way I was giving Madeline this letter.

My assistant reappeared with my new laptop, placing it on my desk silently and walking swiftly back to the door.

“Jessica,” I muttered, “you’re not fired. Cancel all my meetings today.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Mr. Schaf. Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be nice.” After a moment, I added, “Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

I set about gathering my things, setting my desk to rights, and booting up my new computer. It was going to be a pain in the ass to get everything transferred over, and I didn’t even feel any better. Mumbling under my breath, I didn’t bother to look up when I heard the door open.

“Please tell me that’s a double,” I said.

“Glad to see you decided to join us.”

My shoulders tensed, and my teeth began to grind once more. I definitely needed coffee if I was going to deal with my father. “Sorry I was late. Had some trouble early this morning.” I swiped the letters to my lap and then to the ground beneath my chair, out of sight. “I have a lot to catch up on. I’ll be unavailable all afternoon.”

“Hmm.” Conrad leaned against the desk, mimicking Eva’s posture from only minutes before. Did he really not know she’d been here? “Having any problems at home?”

Jesus, how long was he going to pester me? I just wanted to do my work! “Things are fine!” My fist hit the desk, jarring my laptop once more. “Can’t you just trust me to do what we talked about?”

My father’s hand struck out faster than I could react, wrapping around my tie and dragging me halfway across my own desk. His spittle flew in my face as he spoke.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, boy. You will show me the respect I’m due!” He let go only to slap me clear across the face, then stood back and straightened his jacket. My eyes focused down, the right side of my face burning from his hand, but I knew what I would see if I looked up. My father, red-faced and sputtering, fists clenched as if just barely holding himself back from punching me—because he was. If we were at home, I’d be bleeding by now. I knew better than to yell at him or try to push back. It would have been better for me to stay quiet, play him off, and maybe make up something I’d done to Madeline to make him happy. I must have still been reeling from the previous night, fighting off the last of the pills as well as the alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” I gritted out.

“Damn right, you are.” Conrad’s breathing was even again; I watched him relax out of the corner of my eye. “Don’t be late again this week. You have an image to maintain here.”

“Of course.”

“Very good.” He turned on his heel and left with no goodbye, no apology. Not that I expected one. As the door clicked shut behind him, I let my head drop onto my desk and let loose a wracking sob. Just one. That was all I ever allowed myself. It was all I could allow myself. My world allowed no room for any type of weakness, but I’d learned long ago that if I kept it all inside, I ended up in a hospital room after searching for an end to the brutality that plagued my every waking moment.

My performative grief over, I straightened my back too quickly, stars spinning in front of my eyes, and dragged my hands across my sore face. Copper burst in my mouth; he’d drawn blood after all. I picked up my desk phone and rang Jessica.

“Bring me an ice pack too. I slammed my knee on my desk.” Hanging up before she could ask any questions, I opened my broken laptop for the first time that morning. Jesus, I’d been here for an hour and managed to get assaulted by my past and my father in one go. Jessica entered moments later and placed a tall coffee near my right hand and an ice pack by my left.

“For your knee,” she said softly. She turned to go without waiting for a reply.

“Thank you,” I said again, two words she wasn’t used to hearing. Her footsteps paused, the short carpet crunching beneath the soles of her shoes as she turned back toward me.

“You’re welcome,” she said after a pause, then left once more.

I set about installing the necessary apps on my new laptop before I dared to look at the old one. The screen was shattered, but it still functioned, and I pulled off a few documents I had saved to my local drive before calling Jessica in to dispose of it. I checked every email, even the ones I normally would have sent straight to the trash, and micromanaged more than usual. My schedule was cleared for the day, and I immediately blocked it off with random appointments, discussions with my favorite project managers, and a happy hour with Shawn to get me out of the office early. But by the time Jessica finally brought in my lunch at one o’clock, I couldn’t ignore the envelopes anymore.

The paper slid beneath the rollers of my chair as I slid back to retrieve them, wincing at the black scuff marks that marred Eva’s handwriting. It looked a lot like mine. I stood and walked to my paper shredder, flipping the switch to turn on the machine but paused a moment before sliding them inside.

You don’t owe her this. You don’t owe her this. But still, part of me couldn’t bring myself to destroy her letters. In all the years since she’d walked out on Conrad and me, she’d never sent me anything. Everything she’d touched, every piece of paper with her handwriting was destroyed. What could be expected after he made me kill a puppy? But now I’d seen her twice, and I held something of her in my hand. Something for me.

I flipped off the shredder and drifted back to my desk, then slid both envelopes into the inner pocket of my bag.

---