And yet, here he is, greeting me, intentionally placing himself in my path. “Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say tentatively, really not sure what to make of this encounter he’s forced.
“Listen,” he continues. “I just wanted to tell you, Neil’s a dick. Don’t let him get to you.”
My cheeks heat with the realization that he must have witnessed Neil confronting me Wednesday in almost the same spot.
“I don’t know him well,” I say, encouraging him to explain the “Don’t let him get to you” comment in more detail.
“I do,” he assures me, “and for ten years. Nothing is as bad as Neil makes it out to be. I promise. Hang in there.” He gives my shoulder a consoling pat. He might as well have given me a chuck on the chin.
“Thanks,” I murmur, but he’s already faded into the crowd, and now, like Jack, he is gone as well. Only Jack’s attention wasn’t about sympathy. It was about friendship. Wednesday I was not invisible, and the impact seems to be overflowing into the rest of the week, and not in a good way. The only time Akia ever noticed me was when I was humiliated. Akia’s attention, I fear, was all about pity. Now I’m wishing the quicksand would swallow me, but since that’s not happening, I rush forward, and my fate feels as if it’s hanging by a thread.
With my gaze down, hoping to avoid any further looks that might resemble pity, I travel down the same hallway I took to reach the presentation room Wednesday. Kara’s office is down the hallway to the right, and I find her door open. I knock on the doorjamb and peek inside. “Come in,” she encourages and stands to round her desk.
I step inside the doorway, and she adds, “Shut the door.”
My heart is now charging at such a pace that my hands tremble, but I manage to pull the door shut. Once I bring Kara back into view, she motions to the chairs in front of her desk. I’m surprised at how alert and good she looks. Her skin is a normal tone, not pale and washed out. Her hair is neatly styled. Her tan-colored dress well pressed. “You look so much better,” I say, claiming the seat.
“I had food poisoning,” she informs me, settling into the chair beside me, and I do like this part of Kara, the part that never places the desk between us. She’s not like Neil, who is always above us all and not just in his towering height.
“Honestly, I can’t believe how much better I feel,” she adds. “The hospital said I’d probably have lingering effects for days, but I think I’d already had it a few days before I crashed. Aside from a little dizziness here and there, I’m pretty darn good.” She waves off the topic of her health. “Enough about me. Thank you for doing the presentation Wednesday. I’m so proud of you for doing it.”
“Thank you? Are you serious? It was a disaster, Kara.”
“The board loved the bottom line,” she assures me. “And I think the way you handed out the physical presentation was a smart move. They had that to focus on during and after the meeting. The word I’m hearing is they are pleased with the income we’re delivering with the auditorium.”
“Neil told me the entire thing was a disaster—paraphrasing here, but that’s the general gist.”
She tuts and waves off that idea, just as she had her health concerns. “Neil overreacts to everything. And, on that note, or rather another note altogether as far as I’m concerned, I actually got you a little celebratory gift for making it through your first presentation.” She stands and walks behind her desk to the credenza, returning with a long Tiffany-blue box with a white bow. “I have a thing for vintage Tiffany items. I bought this a while back and thought I’d find the perfect reason to gift it.” She extends the box to me. “I do believe you finishing your very first presentation makes this yours.”
“I did a horrible job,” I say, holding up my hands in rejection of the package. “I don’t deserve this.”
“They liked the numbers. It’s always about numbers, Mia. That’s business. Take the gift.”
Reluctantly, I accept the box and pull off the lid. Inside is a long silver letter opener that glistens in the light. It’s simple and elegant, with “T & Co.” carved in the center. It’s also expensive. It’s Tiffany, after all. “This is too expensive, Kara. I can’t take it.”
“Nonsense. I want you to have it. I know you might not open a lot of letters with it, but I thought it would make a cool bookmark. And hey, you walk home, which often worries me. Stick it in a book but use it as a knife if you ever need it, Lord forbid. That’s a joke and a bad one. I hope you like the gift.”
“Of course I do,” I say, and with a forced serious voice, only a hint of laughter to be found in my words, I add, “Who doesn’t want a Tiffany letter opener for a bookmark and weapon?”
She smiles widely. “Exactly. Now I must go to my meeting. And you need to stop being so hard on yourself. I know floor three is your safe zone, but it can just as easily be the prison that holds you captive. And the worst kinds of prisons, Mia, are the ones we don’t know we’re in until we’ve escaped. Because we often don’t escape at all. Think about it.”
With her statement ringing with a little too much truth, I push to my feet as well and walk to the door, pausing with a thought. “Kara,” I say, turning to face her. “There was a man hanging around the library for a couple of days. He attended the presentation. He seemed important. Neil held the meeting for him. I looked at the board members’ photos, but he isn’t included. Neil mentioned budget cuts. Do you think he was some sort of outside auditor?”
Her brow furrows. “I don’t know who that would be, but I’ll see if I can find out. But, Mia, we are paying for ourselves with the auditorium. Think positive. Maybe he was here to learn how to do what we do in other places.”
I nod and exit her office with my silver Tiffany letter opener, in a long, pretty blue box.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Listen to the silence for it has much to say.
—Rumi
Present ...
There is silence all around me, hollow, empty, suffocating, as if I am in a box, a prison I am desperate to escape.
