Finally, jaw clenched and the mouse in a death grip, he clicked open the e-mail. He read it, re-read it, then read it a third time. Preston didn’t like to fight, but if he found out someone in the company was playing a joke on him, they would get a bloody nose right before being kicked out on their gluteus maximus. Because this was one sick joke.
If it was a joke.
If you want to keep your job, meet me at six o’clock p.m. in one week at the abandoned warehouse on the west side of St. Peter. Be ready to make a serious compromise. And don’t show this e-mail to anyone, or else.
Compromise? What did that mean? And who on earth would be threatening his job?
Preston studied the sender’s e-mail address carefully, but could make neither hide nor hair of it. It couldn’t be from Guy or any of the company leaders. Or, could it? Had someone changed his mind about Preston’s culpability in the soup incident? Perhaps the person disagreed with the other leaders and believed that Preston should be dealt with in another way.
Preston leaned back in his chair, wide-eyed and heart racing. Whether it was the CEO of Delico, or someone who just decided not to like Preston for some reason, the e-mail sender clearly meant to cause Preston trouble. Show up, and keep your job. Don’t, and lose it.
His first instinct was to show the e-mail to Guy. But what if Guy had sent it? Preston pressed a hand to his forehead. Now he was losing it. He’d watched too many spy movies. However, the longer he thought about it, the more strongly he felt that he shouldn’t share this e-mail with anyone. The “or else” clearly implied danger for Preston, but what if it meant danger for anyone else who knew about it, as well?
This had to be some kind of prank. It had to be. After several minutes of mental tumult, Preston hit the “spam” button, then worked the rest of the day to forget that he’d ever read it.
Chapter Fourteen
On Tuesday, Preston, at Guy’s urging, took a field trip out to the plant. Despite Kelly’s cheerful outlook and encouraging words, several employees had approached him and confessed that if they could find another job, they would think about leaving. Even though Guy had publicly stated on television last night that the soup analysis had been a mistake and that Delico would never let any subpar product get out the door of the local food processing plant, rumors were flying that the company was already in financial trouble and layoffs were imminent.
Would Preston go down and give all the factory workers a pep talk, and ensure them that all was well with the company? As tempted as Preston had been to argue, his position being much higher than Kelly’s he knew his word would carry more clout with many of the employees.
He walked in the front door at eleven-thirty and was mildly surprised to see a black-haired, olive-skinned woman at the reception desk. Then he remembered that Kelly had hired a new “temporarily permanent” receptionist. If Marge decided to stay at home with her child, this woman – Hispanic, didn’t Kelly say? – would likely be there awhile.
Preston pasted on his professional smile and walked over to the woman, who appeared to be busy studying some papers. She looked up at him and smiled. “Hello. Welcome to Delico Foods. How may I help you today?”
He reached his hand out over the desk. “My name is Preston Brenner. I’m the regional V.P. of the company.”
The woman’s eyes widened as she stood up and took his hand. “Oh, my. Well. I’m very pleased to meet you. Today’s my second job, I mean day, and I hope – “
Preston laughed. “No need to get nervous, Ms….”
“Perez.”
“Perez. Yes. I’m not here to evaluate you. Kelly told me you come with fine references. I’m here to talk to the factory workers today. Would you be so kind as to let Kelly know I’m here?”
His little lunchtime speech went over well, he thought, and that was confirmed later that day when Kelly e-mailed to tell him that three of the formerly fearful employees had returned to tell them they would stay on, after all. Now all he had to do was to think of a proper speech to give to a certain ten-year-old girl tomorrow night, so he could have half a chance with her mother.
**********
“Larry, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to use that sign.” Cynthia spoke as politely as she could while seething inside. She thought she had made it clear that no food company names were to be mentioned in any way during any of the demonstrations.
The short, rotund man frowned. “Listen, lady, we gotta hit ‘em where it hurts. I don’t want my kids ending up like your daughter did, or worse. We need to show these people we mean business!”
Cynthia pushed back a tendril of hair that had escaped from under her hood. “I understand your frustration, but if you end up getting sued for libel, or we’re made to stop protesting because someone accuses us of…”
“What happened to free speech?” Larry threw down his sign. “Fine. I’m going home. Anybody else?”
Cynthia felt utter relief as all the other parents stared him down. Larry stomped away, red-faced, like a child who’d just been told to go to his room without supper. She then raised her voice to address the rest of the group. “Please, everybody, keep the goal in mind: healthier food for our children, not making accusations.”
“The newspapers and T.V.’s doin’ that for us,” Faith said with a wry smile.
Cynthia glanced at her. “And not necessarily waiting until they have the full picture before they do so.”
Faith nodded in agreement, picked up her sign, and began the chant. “Ban bad food!”
The demonstration in front of Harriet Elementary brought some onlookers, but no media, and no school staff. Cynthia might have gone home disappointed, but for two things. First, she had too much work to do. Second, when her mind wandered for a few seconds away from the web design project she was working on, it inevitably settled on her and Melissa’s date with Preston tomorrow night.
But even that thought rarely had a chance to squeeze into her consciousness for the rest of the day, she was trying so hard to make up for today’s lost work time, as well as tomorrow night’s. She was beginning to question the wisdom of taking on the role of Anti-Processed Food In Schools Leader. It wasn’t that she didn’t have time to get her web design work done on demonstration days, but that she had very little down time then. She felt like she had to be in constant motion on those days, scrambling to meet her business work goal for the day before Melissa got home, get dinner on the table, and help Melissa with her homework.
And today, she had an extra interruption. Just as she and Melissa were sitting down to supper, the phone rang. Usually, she ignored the sound when they were having a meal. But she had talked to her current client twice already today about some changes he wanted to make, and didn’t want to put him off until tomorrow if it meant she would present him with a draft that he wouldn’t be happy with.
So she answered the phone, so certain of who it was she didn’t even check the caller I.D. When Lucy’s voice greeted her, she blinked in surprise. “Oh, hi, Lucy. We were just getting ready to eat.”
“No problem.” Her voice was cheerful, as usual. “I just wanted to tell you real quick that I got to meet the vice president of Delico today. Okay, not the vice president, the regional one, but he’s almost the top person in a five-state area.”
“That must have been…exciting.” Cynthia didn’t even try to feign enthusiasm. She’d had a busy day, and was facing a busy evening. She wanted Lucy to take the hint and hang up.
Instead, she said, “But that wasn’t the half of it, Cynthia. He is a handsome, and I mean, handsome man. I felt like a silly schoolgirl for a minute. Afraid I acted like one, too. And he didn’t have a ring on his finger, either.” She spoke these last words in a conspiratorial tone.
Cynthia got her drift. “Lucy, first of all, married people walk around all the time without their wedding rings on. Second, I am not interested in a man who works for a food processing company. I still wonder at you for having taken that job.”
&nb
sp; “Nobody can say he’s gonna stick around at that place forever,” Lucy persisted. “I just wanted to let you know, for future reference.”
“Mom, why is your face all red?” Melissa whispered from beside her.
More irritated than she’d been after her meeting with Dr. Munger that one time, Cynthia waved the question away impatiently. Should she just tell Lucy she already had a man in her sight?
The thing was, Lucy was acting like they were best friends, when the truth was they’d only spoken a few times, and had the one dinner together. They weren’t best friends – Cynthia’s had died four years ago, and she had yet to find another woman who could replace him – and so she felt in no way obligated to reveal all her secrets to Lucy.
Taking a deep breath to help her maintain an even voice, she said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, our supper’s getting cold.”
She turned off the cell phone and slid it vehemently to the middle of the table. It probably would have gone over the side if Melissa’s glass hadn’t slowed its momentum.
She closed her eyes and took another deep breath, and when she opened them, found Melissa staring at her.
“Mom?”
“It was Lucy. She wanted to tell me…about something that happened on her job today.”
Melissa’s eyes brightened. “Did she find out something dirty?”
Cynthia shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”
Her daughter frowned. “Then why did you get so mad?”
“I wasn’t mad.” She smiled sheepishly. “Okay, I was a little mad. It’s just that…she…I’ve had such a busy day, and I didn’t want our nice evening to be interrupted.”
The frown deepened. “But I thought Lucy was your friend.”
Cynthia sighed. “She is.” Just not that good of a friend. Yet. “I just have a lot on my plate now, that’s all.”
Melissa’s eyes flitted to the dish in front of Cynthia. “Actually, Mom, you don’t have anything on your plate right now.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes as Melissa grinned.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday after work, Preston would have broken the speed limit if traffic had allowed. He had to work hard all day to make sure he’d be able to leave in time, and then still ended up stuck at the office an extra thirty minutes. He almost hadn’t stopped by the florist, but remembering the conciliatory magic the last bouquet had produced, he wanted to try the method again.
The air was icy but fresh when he got out of his car in front of Cynthia’s house. What few stars the city night sky allowed to be displayed twinkled brightly, harbingers of a sunny, snowless – albeit cold – day ahead. He should have felt less nervous than he had on Saturday, but if anything he felt more so. Funny thing was, his anxiety had little to do with Cynthia and mostly to do with her daughter.
And that confused him. Until recently, he had sworn off any women who came with kids attached. Now here he was, desperately trying to insinuate himself back into the good graces of a ten-year-old so that he would feel free to date her mother. Crazy.
He walked up the sidewalk toward the door, a bouquet of pink roses in one hand and a small pot with a single iris growing out of it in another. He’d reasoned that Cynthia might want something that wouldn’t fade and have to be thrown away after a few days.
And he had to admit to himself: he wanted her to have something that would keep reminding her of him.
He hadn’t even reached the door when it flew open. Melissa’s blonde head appeared with a broad smile. She turned, yelled into the house, “He’s here!”, then offered to help him with the flowers.
“These are for you.” He handed her the roses.
“Ohhh,” she breathed. “How beautiful.” She sniffed the bouquet. “Thank you. Come in.”
He followed her in, to find Cynthia standing nearby in the living room, looking beautiful in a pair of black jeans and a red sweater. For a moment, he lost his powers of speech. Had she any idea how alluring that color combination was on her? It made him want to call the babysitter and get Melissa out of the house for a while.
On the other hand, it was a good thing Melissa was there. Preston did not want this relationship to be based only on physical attraction. The presence of a child would go far to help him behave himself.
“Preston. We’re so glad you came.” Cynthia stepped toward him tentatively.
It took everything within him not to set the pot in his hand down and embrace her. But he was a good boy, and simply handed her the flower. “An iris. The florist says it’ll bloom late every winter for about a month.”
Cynthia’s eyes danced with delight as she took the pot. “Oh, thank you! It’s beautiful.”
“I have more flowers than you do,” Melissa teased as she disappeared with her bouquet.
“This will look great on the table.” Cynthia turned. “Come on in.”
Preston shrugged off his coat and hung it on a hook on the entryway wall. Now that he was not distracted by her looks, he noticed a delicious aroma in the air. “What’s for dinner?” he asked as he followed her into the kitchen.
“Vegetarian,” Melissa announced brightly, waving her arm with a flourish toward the stove. “I sauteed garlic, onion, and celery, and then added water and quinoa. We just learned how to sprout lentils, so we’re going to have raw sprouted lentils with it, and a salad.”
Preston arched an eyebrow. “You cooked this?” He also wanted to ask what the heck quinoa was, and why would anyone want to eat lentils raw, but decided to reserve all judgment of the meal until he’d tried it.
The girl nodded proudly. “Mom fixed the salad, but anybody can fix a salad.”
While Cynthia gathered up a potholder and the pan holding the quinoa, Preston approached Melissa and squatted down to look her in the eye. “Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked quietly.
Melissa’s face sobered, and she nodded. “I wasn’t really mad at you. I think I was madder at Mom for being such a drama queen.”
Preston laughed loudly.
“Am I missing a joke?” Cynthia called from the dining room.
He winked at Melissa conspiratorially. “Just an inside joke between friends.”
After they began eating, Preston waited for Cynthia to be done with her first mouthful, then asked, “So, why vegetarian?”
Cynthia’s gaze fell to her lap, and she shifted uncomfortably. When she looked up again, she had a wry smile on her face. “I’m really not sure. My friend says that if we don’t have an ethical problem with eating meat, it’s not unhealthy to eat as long as it’s raised ethically and naturally and is cooked the right way. But a lot of other people have a different opinion.”
She scooped up more quinoa, which Preston had found had a delightful nutty taste and fluffy texture, with her fork. “This is definitely cheaper than eating meat. But then, I’ve read bloggers who are adamant that we shouldn’t have any grain in our diet, even if it’s gluten-free.”
Which was exactly why Preston had ignored all the pleas from health nuts – particularly his sister – most of his life. There was too much controversy, too much disagreement.
Cynthia shrugged. “We’re just trying to feel our way around this whole-foods eating thing.”
He spent a few moments thinking how to frame his next question, determining to keep his tone light so that Melissa wouldn’t get upset. “What in the cafeteria food do you think made Melissa sick?”
“I’m a big girl.” Melissa looked at him pointedly, but without reproach. “You can ask me that question directly.”
Her mature manner tempted Preston’s lips to curl upward, and he had to fight to keep a serious expression on his face. “Okay then, what in the cafeteria food do you think made you sick?”
Melissa had just taken a bite of salad, and waved her fork around several times to indicate she wanted him to wait for her answer. After swallowing, she replied, “The doctor said my blood had a lot of MSG and other food additives in it. Mom says packaged food ha
s a lot of other hidden ingredients that are bad for you, and the only way to make sure we don’t in…in…what’s the word, Mom?”
“Ingest.”
“Ingest them is to eat foods in their most natural state possible.”
There was a pause. Then, “Nutrients,” Cynthia prompted.
“Oh, yeah.” Melissa’s face shone with excitement now, as if she were presenting her master’s thesis to a group of professors. “Processed food isn’t very nutritious, either. But,” she glanced at her mother, lowering her voice, “I don’t remember exactly why.”
Preston shifted his gaze to Cynthia, who smiled approvingly at her daughter before looking at him. “High heat, chopping and grinding, and adding chemicals strip food of its nutritional value. When food manufacturers say they add vitamins and minerals back – which they sometimes blatantly lie about on the label, I’ve discovered – the nutrients are in a synthetic form the body doesn’t recognize and so has trouble assimilating.”
Preston had just forked up some quinoa, but now froze with it halfway to his mouth. If what they were saying was true, then he’d been sold a bill of goods. Plus, deceived himself his whole life thinking he was making a positive difference in the world by helping to run Delico Foods.
“You look like a deer in headlights,” Cynthia teased. “Have we overwhelmed you?”
He put down his fork. “Frankly, yes. This is a hard bit to swallow.” He gestured to his plate, smiling. “Not this. This is surprisingly delicious.” It was the kind of food the doctor had ordered. He had no idea healthy food could taste so good. He was considering asking them how to sprout lentils. “I mean, how do you know all this about the nutrition and the chemicals?”
Cynthia met his gaze, her eyes flashing with challenge. “If I give you a book to read, would you promise to read it?”
Preston thought about his busy schedule, how tired he was after work. But he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t have time. “I suppose I can give up a few nights of television to read it.”
Cynthia smiled. “Just a second.” She vanished into a room he supposed was her bedroom, and returned with a paperback with a green cover.