Page 9 of When Sinners Fall
I silence the phone and walk into the coffee shop. It’s been a long day, and while caffeine at this hour isn’t advisable, I just can’t be bothered to care.
I order and find a seat near the window to wait, staring back out towards the direction I came in.
Those eyes.
For a split second on that street, I was thrown twenty years back to a childhood that showed me life wasn’t all fairy tales like the grownups pretended. Maybe that’s where my tendency to play pretend and make up worlds comes from because the fantasy books I read when I was little weren’t nearly as tortured as they are in my head now. The bad and the ugly experiences back then seeped into my very soul and tainted my outlook as I fought for my friend and watched what the other kids did to him. I felt helpless at times to do anything to stop them.
Dante Cortez was always kind to me, but he was the one with the black eye or cut cheek, scrapes on his knees or palms. I knew it wasn’t because he was the bully.
School didn’t get better for him.
And his eyes were always sad.
A crash of china meeting the floor startles my trip down memory lane, and I see my coffee waiting for me on the table. I grab it and go, choosing the long way home, which may or may not happen to pass the street where I thought I saw a ghost from my past.
The traffic’s still busy, but I pay attention and scan the area this time, looking for anyone that seems familiar.
Nothing.
As I look up and down the street, my feet stall. I take a sigh, and head in the direction of my current abode.
As expected, when my folks visited the apartment, they disapproved, citing the size, space and rent as reasons I should be at home. My age, independence and bank balance did nothing to sway their judgement, or rather Mom’s.
But, for now, this is home.
It isn’t in a managed building like back in Seattle, but that doesn’t matter. The apartment in Southtown has character. It's been converted from an older-style house and divided up. Easy walking distance to the office, or at least in my terms, and it's clean and tidy with a room I can work in as well as a sizable bedroom.
With a flick of my ankle, my heels clatter to the ground the minute I close the door behind me. I might tolerate the height they afford me in public, but bare feet on the cool, ceramic floor feels too good when I'm home. In my eyes, the tailored suit and the heels are all part of the job, and they’re a small part I'm prepared to compromise for in this world.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I dig to retrieve it.
“Ms Addison.” I smile around my greeting and fall onto the small sectional in the open living-dining area.
“Why haven’t you been reachable today?”
“I’m sorry, I missed one call when I left the office today after we'd already talked for nearly thirty minutes.” Stating the facts, I keep my eyes locked on the piece of abstract art hanging on the wall.
“Well, I was under the impression you were available at all times.”
“It’s been under an hour. I can’t provide a guaranteed twenty-four-hour access. We are nearly a year out from your wedding.”
“But my mother called with an option for a venue, and I need you to look at it.”
“That’s fine. You can email me, and I’ll look into the details and arrange a visit and get back to you.”
“We have to move quicker than that,” she snips.
“Ms Addison.” Give me strength. Give me strength. “It’s Tuesday night. It’s after six. I will be in the office early tomorrow morning, and it will be my number one priority.”
“Well, yes, I expect it will.” She hangs up, and I roll my eyes, tossing my phone onto the sofa.
~
True to my word, I’m in the office early the following day, but the reason isn’t Ms Addison. I’m meeting three new clients today, and along with the final meetings I have scheduled in the coming week, I will have booked the biggest share of my time. I have to limit what I can take on. Two clients are new to the company, and two are ones I’ve worked with before.
“Penny, will you keep the coffee coming this morning? It’s going to be a long day.” I breeze past her and head to my desk, keeping my eyes hidden behind my aviators.
I smile as I see the arrangement sitting on my desk. After Ms Addison’s snub to the colour black, I made a request to one of the florists on the books. A stunning centrepiece of black roses, dahlias and tulips now showcases just how splendid an unusual colour can be. The staggered height and original assortment looks more sophisticated than any of the other vases or collections in the office, and it keeps a smile on my face all day.
