Something Like This (Secrets) (9 page)

If only I had known that my father was walking out of my life, that he was abandoning me, that he didn’t love me anymore, and that everything he had told me was a lie.

My father was a good man, a good father despite what Mami would say about him. They split up when I was about eleven years old. I don’t know the cause of their separation, but I remember the day it happened. Mami had locked him out of our apartment and he had banged on the door for so long and so hard I thought our neighbors were going to grab him and kill him. People had been murdered in our building, and I was convinced my father was tempting anyone who was waiting for an excuse to take out his frustrations on another human being.

“He’s gone crazy,” Mami had said to me as she pushed me under the bed. “You have to hide. If he knocks the door down, he might hurt us. I have to protect you.”

My father had never hurt me. Ever. He had never raised his voice to me, even during times when I quite deserved it, like the time I had lifted the toilet tank cover because I was curious about what was inside, and because the cover was so heavy and I had the puniest four-year-old arms in the world, I had let go of it and it had crashed to the floor and broken in half.

My father should have yelled at me then, but he didn’t. He kept calm and told me never to do that again. I did it again one week later. He didn’t yell at me, but that time, he warned me that if I did it once more, he would stop buying me my favorite cereal. The thought of never tasting Lucky Charms again nearly sent me into hysterics. But his threat worked because as far as I know, the toilet tank cover remained in its place from then on.

Yes, my father was a calm man. Yet on the day my parents separated, Mami hid me under the bed and my father banged on the door until the cops came and made him stop. I never found out what happened that day to make my parents stop loving each other, just like I never found out why my beautiful father eventually abandoned me.

“I’m still mad at you,” I said, stepping out of the car on the day my father gave me my silver bracelet.

It would be four years before I would see him again.

***

T
uesday morning arrived in a hurry. A Post-it note taped to my computer monitor with the words, “Come join me in the conference room when you get in,” greeted me when I arrived at work. It was signed, “—Tom.” Even though the note itself was rather obnoxious (he wasn’t my boss!) for some reason, the dash in front of his name annoyed me more. Who signed their name with a dash in front of it? Yes, I was being nitpicky, but this guy got under my skin and so did his stupid dash.

I crumbled the note and threw it in the trash.

Minutes later, Mr. Walker came out of his office. “Oh good, you’re here. Tom is waiting for you in the conference room. He wants to go over some manuscripts with you.”

“I got his note and was getting ready to head over there.”

I’d had no intention of moving from my desk. But here was my boss, clearly wanting me to join Tom for a manuscript review session.

“Let me know how it goes. Tom thinks there are a few good ones I should look at, but he wanted to get your thoughts first.”

I grabbed a notebook and pen. “I’ll come see you when we’re done.”

“And bring Tom with you,” he said, going back into his office.

I slapped my forehead.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the conference room door. There was Tom, leaning back in a chair, his feet kicked up on the table, a pen behind one ear, a manuscript in his hands. I wanted to laugh out loud at the cliché in front of me.

“Wow, you’re not wasting any time, are you?” I asked.

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

“You look so serious and focused and comfortable in your surroundings...”

He took his feet off the table. “I suppose I got a little too comfortable. I tend to do that when I’m reviewing a good manuscript.”

“So, what’s it about?” I asked, sitting across from him.

“It’s a political thriller.” He took the pen from behind his ear and put it down on the table. “The author has quite the imagination, and the novel isn’t even finished yet.”

I sat back in my chair. “If it’s not finished, why are you taking the time to review it?”

It was Mr. Walker’s policy never to represent a new client whose manuscript wasn’t complete. Too much risk involved. If the writer ended up not finishing the manuscript, Mr. Walker would find himself stuck with a flaky writer whose work he couldn’t sell.

“Because what I read so far is brilliant...I couldn’t stop reading.”

“Mr. Walker won’t take on a new writer with an unfinished manuscript,” I said.

“When did I say I intended to pitch this writer to Mr. Walker?”

“What’s your plan, then? Wait, you’re not planning on...you couldn’t actually be thinking about taking on this writer yourself, are you?”

Sighing, he said, “Of course not. But I am planning on coaching her. She’s good, really good, and there’s no way I’m letting her end up at some other agency after she finishes it—or worse, self-publishing it.”

“That good, huh?”

He nodded and then stood. “Mind keeping this to yourself?”

I sighed. Was he really asking me to keep something from Mr. Walker?

“Look, I don’t care what you do, but I can tell you right now I’m not about to start keeping secrets from Mr. Walker.”

“So you’re going to tell, then?”

“Pretty much,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I thought we were bonding,” he said, staring at me as if he meant to strangle me.

I laughed. “You’re funny, truly, truly funny. Why are you so afraid to talk to Mr. Walker about your brilliant writer? What am I missing?”

He sat down. “The truth?”

“Yes, please.”

“Mr. Walker didn’t really poach me from another agency.”

“Go on.”

“I got in trouble with my old boss...I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say I was on my way out when Mr. Walker approached me for this job. My old boss promised not to tell Mr. Walker about my rather embarrassing situation,
if
I promised to behave over here. He felt sorry for me and decided not to get in the way of my second chance, a chance to redeem myself.”

I frowned. “I see, so you’re not a rising star after all, but rather one that has already fallen and is looking for a way out of the mud it’s stuck in.”

He stared at me. “Are you going to tell?”

“I don’t trust you.”

He bit his upper lip. “Are you going to tell?”

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I walked out of the room and headed straight to the bathroom.

After splashing some water on my face, I dried off with a paper towel. Poor Mr. Walker was being used.

I should go into his office right this minute and tell him about Tom. Mr. Walker gave me a job, a chance to make something of myself. I needed to remain loyal to him, despite his eccentricities.

I pushed open the door, determined to march right into Mr. Walker’s office and tell him what I had just learned.

His office door was open and I could hear Tom’s voice. I could have come back later, but I knew if I chose not to go in right at that moment, I would end up getting cold feet.

I cleared my head and decided to interrupt their meeting. “Excuse me,” I said, standing at the door. “May I come in?”

“Come on in,” Mr. Walker said.

Tom was sitting on the couch. “I wasn’t sure where you went.”

“Have a seat,” Mr. Walker said, sitting in an arm chair across from Tom.

“I can come back later,” I said, a case of chicken feet suddenly hitting me.

“I was just telling Mr. Walker about our meeting,” Tom said.

I swallowed. Here we go.

“Please sit down,” Mr. Walker said.

I took a seat next to Tom. My stomach immediately started hurting. What was Tom up to?

Mr. Walker crossed his legs and said, “I’m proud of you, Jadie. Extremely proud.”

“About what?” I asked, my stomach hurting even more.

“Tom told me about what happened earlier.”

I nearly bit my lip. “He did?”

“I was testing you,” Mr. Walker said.

“What?”

Tom placed his hand on my knee and squeezed it. “I hope you’re not too upset.”

I brushed his hand off. “I’m not understanding. Was I set up?” I looked directly at Mr. Walker.

I had once again boarded the crazy train. Seems I’ve pretty much spent my whole life aboard it, with only a few glimpses at the normal train, here and there. I gave a quick look to the ceiling.
You watching this, Mami? You always said you wanted more for me, a chance at a normal life. Well, was this what you had in mind?

“In a way,” Mr. Walker said.

“Why?” I tried my best to keep calm. I wanted to let both Tom and Mr. Walker have it. I wanted to stand up and smack them.

Mr. Walker sat back in his chair. “I need loyal people working for me. If I can’t trust you, then I can’t have you working here.”

Tom coughed. “I told Mr. Walker about how you didn’t even blink regarding whether or not to tell him I was thinking about coaching a new writer without his knowledge.”

“This is ridiculously stupid,” I said.

“Maybe, but it worked,” Mr. Walker said. “And now I know where your loyalty is. I know I can trust you.”

I wondered if I should call Mr. Walker, the Godfather from that moment on. Was the All Write Literary Agency a front for some illegal operation? I was exaggerating, I know, but Mr. Walker was off his rocker a tad bit. First, he sent me on some secret mission which he then had me back out of, and now this.

I had a choice to make. I could get up, gather my things and walk out the door. And that would be that. I’d be looking for a new job tomorrow.

“Should I kiss the ring?” I asked.

Mr. Walker laughed. “Come now, don’t be silly.”

As I sat there, pondering what to do next, I realized that I didn’t want to quit. This was the first job that challenged me. The first job to which I actually enjoyed going. My instincts told me to stick it out. They told me that although Mr. Walker was odd, he was a good person. Even so, his little trick wasn’t appreciated in the least bit.

I stood and said, “May I take an early lunch?”

“How about I take you to lunch?” Tom asked, also standing.

“Oh, no, not a chance.” I made for the door.

Tom followed me out.

I walked past my desk and into the hallway.

Pushing Tom, I said, “What the hell is wrong with you and Mr. Walker?”

“For the record, it was his idea, not mine. He sees something in you. He thinks you’re smart. And, yes, he’s a bit nutty, I’ll grant you that, but like I said, he sees something in you.”

“What about the other stuff? Did you make that all up?”

“No. I really did mess up at my other agency. Mr. Walker doesn’t know about that.”

“I was going to tell him,” I said.

“I know.”

“Were you going to try and stop me?”

“I thought about it. But then, I’m not really sure why I told you in the first place. I didn’t have to. I think I told you because I wanted to tell someone and you seem like a good person, someone who gives people the benefit of the doubt.”

“I can still tell him. He’d fire you on the spot.”

“Yes, he would,” he said, his gaze on the floor.

“He thinks I’m loyal so as a loyal employee, I need to tell him.”

Tom grabbed my arm. “Please don’t.”

“Let go of me.”

He released his grip. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Don’t ever put your hands on me again.”

“Look, please, I’m begging you, don’t tell Mr. Walker. I need this job.”

“How do I know this isn’t another test?”

He looked away for a moment. “It’s not. I swear it’s not. I shouldn’t have told you, but at that moment, I don’t know, I just felt I needed to confess. I had to tell someone the truth.”

I thought about my own secret. I was ashamed. Here I was judging Tom about his secret when mine was quite possibly worse than anything he had done at his previous job.

“What did you do? Tell me.”

Rubbing his forehead, he said, “I’m too embarrassed to tell you. I can’t tell you. You’ll think I’m the lowest kind of person.”

I sighed. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business, really.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“I didn’t say I understood. I just said it’s none of my business.”

“Look, if you feel you need to tell Mr. Walker, I won’t try and stop you,” he cleared his throat, “but please give me a few minutes notice before you do, so I can gather my stuff and leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, fine, I won’t tell him.”

He exhaled a long sigh. “Thank you. I owe you.”

“Oh, please, get over it. I won’t come looking for a favor from you, trust me.”

To my surprise, Reece came around the corner.

Was it too late to run?

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I managed to say.

“I texted you.”

“I didn’t get it. I haven’t checked my phone in a while,” I said, really hoping he hadn’t detected the tension between Tom and me. “This is Tom.”

“I’m Reece, nice to meet you.”

Tom nodded. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted,” Reece said.

“We were just finishing up,” Tom said.

“Yeah, okay, we’ll discuss the manuscripts later,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Okay, sounds good, I’ll see you later,” Tom said

“You two always have your meetings in the hallway?” Reece asked once Tom was gone.

I laughed. “Of course not...we were just coming back from another meeting.”

“So, this was your after-your-meeting meeting?” he asked with a huge grin.

“I guess it was.”

“I missed you. I couldn’t stay away.”

“I missed you, too. What are you up to today? Well, besides missing me.”

“I spent the morning writing.”

It occurred to me that I didn’t really know how Reece spent his days. He had never mentioned a day job so I assumed he didn’t have one. He drove a BMW and lived in a really nice condo in a nice part of town. Clearly, he had money.

“A new novel?”

“Yeah, I figured it was time to move on. No one is interested in my other one.”