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“There what?” I try to retort, but my relaxed tone doesn’t quite convey annoyance.
“There you are.” I want to scoff, but I can’t. I feel more grounded in my body than I did this morning.
17
JACKSON
The afternoon light pours in through the sunroom windows, casting a bright glow across the space. This room still smells like her—cherry blossom, faint but everywhere, like she claimed the air itself.
Three loud knocks pull me out of my reverie. Opening the door—the brass knocker Phoenix and I put in together—I find Beth on the other side.
“Uh—hello, is everything alright?” I ask, looking around to see if anyone else from the office is with her.
Looking me up and down, pursing her lips, eyes boring into mine, she gives me the distinct impression she finds me lacking.
“Is everything alright?” she spits, shaking her salt-and-pepper hair out of her face and shifting the box higher on her hip over her light gray cardigan. “What are you doing at Phoenix’s place? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
How does she even know about us? I guess the annihilation of her presentation wasn’t a far leap to assuming something was going on.
“Working from home this morning. And I am not sure what you mean, but I am Phoenix’s … tenant.” I stop myself from using a stronger word for us than a contract term.
“Uh-huh, sure you are. Anyway, on my lunch break and wanted to bring Phoenix her stuff. Assandra was about to throw away her things. To make space for ‘dedicated employees.’” She scoffs. “Like anyone is more dedicated than her. She puts in more hours than anyone else in that place, running herself ragged. Isabella slipped in—after hiding all the non-dairy creamer from Assandra—and packed her stuff.”
Dedicated. That wasn’t the word I used in my reports when I documented her burnout symptoms. I wrote efficient. Organized. Headaches she rarely mentioned.
Beth hands me the white cardboard box. Inside are her framed law degree, an ergonomic mouse, her favorite pens, a few personal items, and the vase I gave her. Next to it, I see a stack of familiar pieces of paper and grab one.
Freesia — innocence and trust. I thought you should have both in your office. —J
She kept every note I left.
Beth eyes me warily as she sees my fingers gently trace the outline of the notes. She sighs loudly, her small frame relaxing a half-inch.
“Look,” she starts, placing a hand on her hip. “I know more about what goes on in that office than most.”
I cock an eyebrow, questioning where she is going with this.
“Yes, you young big shots like to think you have this whole thing down.” Her laugh is forced. “What a joke. You couldn’t keep the lid on your overflowing pot of chili if you tried.”
My shoulders tense. “Look … I have been meaning to speak with you.”
Beth’s phone chimes and she ignores me as she glances at the message.
“Gotta go, see to it that she gets her stuff.” She moves her spectacles down her face. “In one piece.” Then she sidles off toward her champagne Lexus.
Moving back to Phoenix’s old sunroom, I answer more emails and review two more contracts when I hear a car door close out front. Navigating to the living room, I gently crack the window to let the air in and potentially hear the conversation outside. Dual-purpose.
“I’m good, Nessa, really. I have everything I need already moved downstairs. I can be on my own, promise,” Phoenix cajoles.
“You’re sure? What if you can’t reach something? Or what if you run out of tea? Let me go in and check you have enough,” Nessa mothers.
“Nessa, I am still mostly in boxes. I can reach it all. And I have enough tea varieties to last me a year. I am good, really. But”—she hesitates—“thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Seriously, please don’t. My horoscope today said I need to focus on giving for the sake of charity, not praise. So you saying anything would mess it all up,” Nessa muses.
I smile at their dynamic, loving that my girl has people like this in her life. One’s willing to drop everything for her. She didn’t have enough of that growing up, and she deserves it all.
I wait until I hear Nessa drive away before grabbing her office box and heading over to her side. I tell myself I’m rushing so she doesn’t sit down first, so she doesn’t have to get up again. But really, it’s because there have been too many hours since I had my eyes on her.
