Then again, he thought wryly, if the strange e-mail from Monday had not been a hoax, he was about to lose his job, anyway. He had no plans to show up at an empty warehouse alone for some bogus “meeting” which objective might be to blow his head off. And even if the e-mail had been some kind of sick joke, there was the book The Hundred Year Lie, whose powerful statistics and persuasive weaving together of connections between modern industry and health were absolutely convincing – and convicting. Preston was starting to wonder if he was young enough to start his career over.
The mid- winter air was a bit warmer than average, the sky mostly blue. Preston had to put on his sunglasses as he drove to the Delico Foods plant, so strong was the glare of the sun reflecting from the white snow. Not wanting to bother with the bulk of his winter coat, and not feeling that he needed it that afternoon, he left it in the car after parking in a spot marked “corporate officers” and went into the building.
Today, the cheerful, round-faced Hispanic woman worked alone at the desk. When she glanced up, she appeared startled, and was excessively effusive with her greeting. He smiled, not so much out of friendliness than humor. The woman apparently became unnerved in the presence of what his father used to refer to as “Big Shots,” his uncomplimentary term for anyone who made a lot more money than he did and must perforce be greedy and selfish.
Preston would be a big shot in his father’s eyes, were he still alive, and Preston wondered if it was just as well he was dead.
Guilt pricked his insides.
He forced himself to focus on the tasks at hand, the first one being to put Kelly’s new receptionist at ease. “Ms. Perez, good afternoon.”
She blushed under her tan skin. “Oh, please, call me Lucy. Everybody does. Unless you think – if it’s not – professional. Enough.”
He smiled more broadly as he stepped closer to her desk. “Ms. – Lucy. I assume you do not express this kind of agitation with Mr. Jackson?”
She bit her lip, looked down, and shook her head.
“Nor with the employees at the plant, or with strangers who come in off the street?”
Another shake of the head.
“Lucy, please look at me.” He kept his voice gentle. But for her south-of-the-border heritage, she reminded him a lot of his mother.
She looked.
“Do I intimidate you because you’re afraid I might fire you?”
She shifted her gaze sideways, down, then back at him. “Not really. Well, maybe. A little. It’s just that you’re, well, the vice president.”
Now he laughed out loud. The way she intoned his company title, he might have been the Vice President of the United States. Or her favorite rock star. “Lucy, first. Kelly – Mr. Jackson – is the one who hired you, and he is the one who will fire you, if he believes you are not doing your job. Second, I am only – wait. Your name is Lucy?”
Her left eyebrow arched. She nodded slowly.
Lucy. Cynthia’s friend was – no, that couldn’t be. Surely there was more than one Lucy in this city.
He huffed out a breath, irritated with himself for letting his mind go on such an irrational rabbit trail. “I’m sorry. Where was I?”
“The second reason I shouldn’t be intimidated by you.” She was smiling, although she still looked a little perplexed by his query about her name.
“Thank you. I am just another person. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, go to work, do my job, go home to an empty apartment, eat, watch some T.V., and go to bed.”
Why he threw in that bit about an empty apartment, he had no idea. Except that he had a feeling this woman was married, or at least divorced with children, and therefore deserved his envy, he thought, more than he deserved hers.
He extended his hand out to her. “Can we shake on not being nervous around me anymore?”
She took his hand, beaming. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
He supposed that was all he could ask. He did his best, too. His best to make sure this inspector was on the up-and-up, his best to make sure that the woman was not left alone for a single second, from her entrance into the main building to her exit back to the parking lot after she completed the inspection.
He also did his best, since he was there, to watch the machines for any sign of malfunction and the people for any sign of sneaky behavior. By the end of the inspection, he was satisfied that all was well with the plant, and the inspector had given Delico a tentative preliminary thumbs-up. “This is one of the cleanest operations I’ve seen,” she commented, “and as far as I can see you are in compliance with all of the relevant regulations.”
If only Preston could have had a television reporter standing next to them when she had made those concluding remarks. No matter. When the official results came back, he would be sure that at least the newspapers would vindicate Delico for the false accusations of the previous couple of weeks.
Saturday, he would have to work up his nerve to tell Cynthia the truth. She might at least be relieved to find out that Delico Foods had nothing to do with Melissa’s food-related trauma, even if she did throw him out on his ear.
Chapter Seventeen
“How was work today?”
“Fine.” Lucy tore off a piece of the corn tortilla with more vigor than necessary, then scooped up some guacamole with it. She was not going to let herself get excited and tell Mario everything. She was not.
Mario sighed and set down his fork. “You used to talk my ear off every night when you worked at the school.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said around the bite she had just taken, “and you didn’t like it, so count your blessings.”
Mario stared at her for several seconds. “I give up. What did I do?”
“You didn’t do nothin’.”
“Lucy.” He reached his hand over and gently took hold of her wrist. “I ain’t been married to you for all these years for nothing. When you don’t talk to me, you’re mad at me. Tell me what I did so I can make it right.”
“As if you don’t know.”
Mario’s next sigh was much louder. “I don’t know.”
Lucy shook her head and tried to pull out of his grasp. He tightened it. “Talk to me, mujer.” His voice was still gentle, but edged with frustration.
Lucy rolled her eyes and took her turn to sigh. “You don’t share my passion for healthy food, so it doesn’t matter.”
Mario looked like he’d been slapped. He opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently trying to decide how to answer, but finally just let go of her wrist and focused on his plate, devouring the rest of his meal as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
Lucy was glad Emma was staying at a friend’s house. She didn’t need to experience the tension that ensued, and hung thickly around the house for the rest of the evening like a wet blanket. She didn’t need to see her parents acting immaturely and modeling exactly how a loving couple should not treat each other.
Lucy knew she was being immature, but didn’t care. She was tired of being hurt by Mario’s indifferent attitude toward her interest in natural health and nutrition, and didn’t think talking to him about it would make things any better. In fact, she was pretty sure it would make things worse.
They ignored each other until bedtime.
“Lucy, sit with me a minute,” Mario urged her, patting the side of the bed where he sat in his nighttime shorts.
Lucy sat, back ramrod straight and eyes fixed on the closed bedroom door. She stiffened further when Mario’s arm went around her shoulders, but he didn’t let go.
“I miss you, baby,” he whispered.
Her resolve weakened, and she relaxed against him. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“I miss your talk. Your banter with me and Emma at the dinner table.” Mario rubbed her arm with his fingers. “It started when you got your new job.”
Lucy pulled away from him. “I got the idea you didn’t care about it.”
“I was only upset because you kept something important
from me.” His voice grew in volume and was fringed with frustration. “It made me feel more like a roommate than a husband.”
What did he think she felt like all these years, with him only going along with the changes she’d made to her family’s diet but never wholeheartedly buying into them? Did he have any idea how lonely it was when one spouse took an intense interest in something she believed to be vitally important, while the other cared little to nothing about it?
But she knew voicing these thoughts would do nothing positive for their relationship, so she simply said, “I already said I was sorry.” Get over it.
Mario reached for her hand, and she let him take it. “And I already forgave you. So why the silent treatment?”
She shot him a glare. “I’ve been talking to you.”
“Not much.” He squeezed her hand. “Yes, sometimes I have a hard day at work and the last thing I want is to hear about yours. But most of the time, I enjoy hearing your stories and opinions.”
Lucy snorted, pulling her hand out of his. “I’ve gotten the feeling my opinions don’t count for much.”
Mario stood up to face her directly, his eyes blazing. “Stick to the point.”
Lucy got up and brushed past him to get into her side of the bed. “Okay. Here’s the point. The point is you never did understand why Juan died. Why what you eat is so important. The point is that I’m tired of talking to a brick wall. No,” she added, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture toward Mario when he opened his mouth to respond, “I’m done. I’m not going to keep confiding in you when you think I’m half crazy. Good night.” She pulled the covers up so that they almost covered her face.
Mario always kissed her good night when they went to bed. But she didn’t expect it tonight. And didn’t get it.
In fact, without another word, Mario grabbed his pillow from the bed and left the bedroom, and didn’t return the whole night.
**********
Friday was no fun. No fun at all. Preston was the center of a conference call involving all the leaders in the company around the nation. While he wasn’t exactly framed as a bad example, he was used as an illustration for why the three other regional V.P.s and presidents, as well as their immediate support staff, should always keep careful watch because you never knew what kind of underhanded game your competition was going to play.
Because by now, the CEO, CFO, and several other of the national corporate leaders had become convinced that the soup episode, and possibly the tainted school food, had been a ploy by the competition to make Delico look bad.
Preston didn’t agree. The next largest major food manufacturer to Delico was much smaller, and had been around for less than half the time. And from all reports – Preston had done his due diligence and checked them out online – they were increasing their profits every year as well as holding their own in the stock market. They would be stupid to try to come against someone as powerful as Delico.
But Preston kept his mouth shut. He was quickly becoming aware that he was more of a cog in the Delico big wheel than anyone of any importance, despite his title and salary.
So, Friday turned out to be quite the miserable day for him. He couldn’t even get himself to pick up Cynthia’s book that evening, though he intended to finish it soon and discuss it with her.
Assuming she still wanted to see him after tomorrow.
Tomorrow came, and Preston was as ready as he was going to be. He fought hard to keep the memories of yesterday’s meeting out of his mind, because he planned today to be a special day, and wanted to be in the best mood possible. The girls were going out, but they didn’t know it yet.
By ten o’clock that morning, the anticipation of serving up a pleasant surprise had, for the most part, overshadowed the events of the day before. Now all he had to do was get down his hallway without Karen seeing him. As he had the past couple of days, he slowly opened the door of his apartment and peered up and down the hallway before swiftly exiting, closing and locking the door as quietly as he could, and going to the elevator as quickly as he could without making noise. The carpeting on the hall floor was an immense help.
He heaved a sigh of relief when he got off the elevator in the parking garage. He hated moving, but he was seriously considering doing so just to get away from that woman-girl.
Fifteen minutes later, he was approaching Cynthia’s door. This time, without flowers, because he didn’t want to overdo it and figured Melissa still might have her bouquet from Wednesday. Besides, his surprise for them would more than make up for any disappointment they might feel when he showed up flower-less.
He rang the doorbell, and waited. And waited. They were home, weren’t they? He had called and made the date Thursday night, and Cynthia had sounded excited about it. He was on the brink of pulling out his cell phone to call her when the door opened.
Preston took two steps back, his eyes widening as he felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. “Ms. – Lucy?”
Yes, it was. Kelly’s receptionist stood in front of him, looking as shocked as he was. But she seemed to recover more quickly, as a grin covered her face in the next instant.
“You’re Cynthia’s boyfriend?”
He felt heat creep up his neck and into his face. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
Before he could finish what he was going to say, Lucy whirled around.
Oh, God. She was going to tell Cynthia. She couldn’t tell Cynthia. If she did, he would lose any chance of being her boyfriend.
His heart thudded in his ears like a war drum. “Lucy,” he fired off in a fierce whisper, “please, you’ve got to pretend…”
But she was already several steps inside the house, too far away to hear, and shouting to Cynthia that she had a visitor.
He was now officially toast.
**********
“Cynthia, you have a visitor!”
She wondered at Lucy’s excitement. She had already told her she had spent a couple of evenings with a man that seemed interested in her. She also told Lucy that she was going to have to leave soon because they had another date today. So why would Lucy be acting like a giddy teenager when he shows up at the door?
But her own excitement at Preston’s appearance overwhelmed any wonder about Lucy’s behavior. Pulling on her sweater to smooth it out, and hoping the dry winter air hadn’t completely flattened her hair, she walked to the door, heart tripping. She shouldn’t feel this way about a man after just two dates, and two dates not even spent alone with him.
Then she laughed at herself, remembering that she was head-over-heels in love with Justin by the end of their third date.
Melissa, having emerged from her bedroom, was at the door, shaking Preston’s hand before Cynthia could get there. She had apparently invited him in, because the door was closed behind him. Lucy stood a little to the side, her eyes dancing, mouth curved up into a grin.
Cynthia once again wondered why she was acting like a child. More immature than Melissa. Much more so.
Her gaze went back to Preston. Although he had taken Melissa’s hand, he seemed to be barely conscious of it. His face looked stricken, as though he’d just heard some very bad news. Even when he looked at Cynthia, he did not smile.
This all happened within a space of a couple of seconds. Then Lucy stepped toward her and said, “Cynthia! You didn’t tell me you were dating the regional vice president of Delico Foods.”
Cynthia froze where she stood. Preston dropped Melissa’s hand, his face turning pale.
She glanced from one to the other, ending with Preston. “What?” She felt like a giant vacuum cleaner had just sucked all the air from her lungs in a single swoosh.
“Y – yes,” Lucy faltered, apparently picking up on the tension between Cynthia and Preston. “I – I’ve met him twice now at my job.” A pause. “Cynthia.”
She turned her head toward Lucy, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.
“Don’t tell me he didn’t…tell you.”
Cynthia
turned back to Preston, hoping, underneath her shock, that there was some kind of misunderstanding. “You – you told me you were part of a new distribution company.”
Preston fixed his gaze on the floor. Only for a few seconds, but long enough for Cynthia to realize the truth.
He had lied to her.
Now it all made sense. Why he had risen to the defense of Delico last Saturday. Why he had met her outside of the Special Services building the day of her first demonstration.
Then an invisible fist squeezed her stomach. Was he somehow in cahoots with that Munger idiot who had blown her off?
Suddenly, an idea hit her head so hard that it almost knocked her off balance. Is that why Preston had been trying to get close to her? To charm her into stopping her demonstrations and her research into processed foods?
Preston looked back up. “I was going to tell you today.” His voice was quiet, sorrowful. But it was just a show. A way to manipulate her further.
Clenching her teeth, she grabbed Melissa’s arm and pulled her away from him. “Get out of my house.”
“But I – “
“Now.” Her blood had never felt so hot, and she was in great danger of screaming and lashing out at him. She turned to Lucy. “You, too. You work for him. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”
Lucy’s face crumpled, and her eyes grew moist. But Cynthia didn’t care – couldn’t care – whether she’d hurt the other woman’s feelings. Her own heart felt like it was bleeding to death.
“Mom, what’s going on? Why are you so mad?”
Cynthia glanced at her daughter and saw confusion and pain mingled on her face. Another reason not to trust. She had a child to protect. “Let Mommy handle this, Melissa.”
As they had their exchange, Preston, crestfallen, opened the door and slowly walked out. Lucy followed. But when she got to the door, she turned around and said, “I promise, I ain’t never lied to you, Cynthia.” A single tear streaked her cheek.
Then, she was gone.
Fighting her own tears, Cynthia walked into the kitchen, where she had prepared another tasty lunch for the man she had hoped to have a future with. Melissa followed her.