“Ah, just in time to save the day, thank you.”
She steps forward and moves to set the tray on my desk, knocking my stapler over the side of it with a crash as she does.
“Oh, shoot!” She bends down, scrambling to grab it. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fowler.”
I chuckle at her use of ‘shoot.’ It sounds so innocent coming from her mouth, it’s kind of sweet.
“It’s fine, it’s just a stapler, not the cure for cancer.”
I move to stand, and catch her flinch at the movement. Just a microscopic reaction – so small it wouldhave been easy to miss. A distant alarm bell rings in my head, setting me on alert.
“But if I’d broken it—”
Cutting her off, I tell her, “Then I would buy a new one.”
“But—”
“Rowan, it’s fine.” I pick the stapler up from the ground and turn it over in my hand. “See? Not a scratch on it, and even if there were, it’s a piece of cheap plastic. It could have been replaced.”
She seems to take a steadying breath before straightening her spine. “Right. Sorry.”
I set the stapler back on the desk and reach for her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stop apologizing.”
Offering me an embarrassed smile, she reaches for the tray of coffee and plucks one out of it’s holding place, offering it to me with a trembling hand.
“Black coffee, one sugar, and a double shot of espresso.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as I take the coffee from her hand.
My fingers brush over hers and a flush creeps over her cheeks before she walks out of the office, leaving that flinch replaying in my mind. The way that such a small thing seemed to shrink her down four sizes. The tremble in her hands that sent the sparkle away from her eyes.
I’ve seen employees afraid to piss off the boss or make a massive screw-up at work, but this was different.
Someonedidthis to her.
I want to know who made her feel so small, so insignificant.
FOUR
Rowan
Tapping my fingers against the handle of the fridge, I purse my lips and try to think up a creative recipe for what we have in there. We had spaghetti the last three nights in a row, and we barely had enough sauce to make it through last night, so that’s off the table.
I close the fridge door and pop the freezer open, and my eyes land on a chicken breast. Perfect; I can fry that up and put it over some rice, and we’ll have a decent meal. I grab the chicken and carefully close the freezer door, trying not to make much sound with it, and my fingers graze over one of the nine strategically-placed magnets stuck to the doors.
Those damn magnets.
I gently slide one of the brightly-colored novelty prints away to reveal the dent beneath it, a permanent marking left from my dad’s drunken rages, and my chest tightens.
Each of them carry their own story, none of which I like to look back on, and this one is the most recent. This is the one that scared me the most. I was sure he was finallygoing to haul off and hit me – or even worse, Macie. I screamed as his fist made contact with the door, but god, I was so relieved when the pain of the impact stopped him in his tracks.
Macie had climbed into bed with me that night after having a nightmare, and I held her tightly to my chest all night, keeping myself awake and on alert to protect her until morning.
I shake the memory off of me, slide the magnet back into place and give it an apologetic pat, then I move to start boiling some water for the rice.
A little over forty-five minutes later, I throw the rice onto two plates and top it with the crispy, breaded chicken, finishing it off with a squeeze of lemon over the top. It’s nothing fancy, but it will do.
While we eat, I check over my sister’s homework and start up a grocery list. Tomorrow is pay day, according to my calendar, and we need some groceries. I promised Mace I’d take her shopping on Saturday, too, so even though the money comes in in the morning, by Saturday, it will be gone.
