Page 69 of The Surrogate Mother
“Listen,” she says, “I want to talk to you about this in person. We need to strategize how we’re going to handle this situation, and your help would… well, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yes, of course,” I breathe.
“Could you come to the office tonight?”
“Sure. What time?”
“Eight o’clock will be fine—you know everyone will be gone by then.” I can almost hear the smile in her voice. “Those slackers are always gone by seven.”
I remember all the late evenings in Denise’s office with a feast of Chinese food spread out along her desk while we worked. “That’s for sure.”
“So I’ll see you tonight?”
“I’ll be there.”
Denise hesitates for one more moment before saying: “Don’t worry, Abigail. We’re going to make this right.”
_____
As soon asI got off the phone with Denise, I made excuses to Gertie and got out of the café. My mind was spinning.
Of course, maybe my mind was spinning because Monica had been slipping amphetamines into my coffee.
When I got home, I sent off a text to Sam:
We need to talk when you get home.
He wrote back:
Okay.
I wanted to relay to him everything Denise had told me, but not over the phone. I wanted to tell him to his face. Except by seven-thirty, Sam still wasn’t home yet. I didn’t know where he was. I didn’t want to think about where he was. I figured I’d deal with him after my discussion with Denise.
I need him to believe me. More than anything.
It’s nearly eight when I get to the office building, and most people have gone home for the day. It occurs to me for a moment as I hover outside the building that since I was escorted out by security, there may be some sort of note not to let me in. And on top of that, I’m not really dressed for work. I’m wearing a nice shirt and slacks, but it’s not a typical Abby Adler power outfit.
Oh well. Here goes nothing.
I stride into the building confidently. Like I’ve said, confidence goes a long way. I immediately recognize Patrick from all my late nights at Stewart. He’s the security guard on most nights—a gangly guy with an easy smile. I wait for him to challenge me, but instead he flashes me a big smile.
“Hello, Abby!” He waves to me. “Working late again, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” I say.
He winks at me. “Well, don’t staytoolate.”
I used to think Patrick had a crush on me, back before my self-confidence was shattered by the woman trying to steal my job and my husband. Maybe I can get it back though. Denise is finally on my side again for the first time in a very long time. I’ve got hope I might come out of this with my career and my marriage intact.
When I get up to the floor for Stewart Advertising, it’s very quiet. Everyone has gone home for the day, which is no surprise. As she pointed out, Denise and I were the only two people who regularly worked late. My heels click against the ground as I make the familiar journey to her corner office.
The door to Denise’s office reads “DENISE HOLT” in shiny gold letters. I usually keep my door partially ajar, but Denise always keeps her door shut tight. So I knock.
No reply.
She wouldn’t have left, would she? No, never. If there’s one thing you can say about Denise, she’s conscientious. She wouldn’t tell someone to show up for a meeting and then flake. That wouldn’t be like her at all.
On a whim, I try the doorknob—open. She probably went to the bathroom. I push the door open to wait inside.
