The Broken Road (The Broken Series) (5 page)

I
paused briefly to consider additional pieces of legislation.

Charlie’s
voice rolled over me. “We have one hour to evacuate Sun Haven, Kri. The power
lines feeding that facility were downed in that snowstorm last night, and their
generator just broke. We need all hands on deck. Now.”

I
turned in my chair. Charlie was gone. His last sentence echoed down the hall.

I
hastily explained the situation and offered my apologies to the interview team.
Then I grabbed my legal pad and ran to the conference room. I wasn’t even sure
I had hung up the phone.
An evacuation. All those people. In one hour. How
are we going to pull this off?

*
* * * * *

There
were so many moving pieces and everything happened so quickly that I wasn’t
quite sure how we did it, but we did. We evacuated one hundred and sixty-five
nursing home residents in one hour. It was an unbelievable accomplishment.  

I
had just settled back in at my desk when Kimme sashayed into my office. She
dumped a pile of chocolate on my desk as she settled into the chair across from
me. Not just any chocolate, Ghirardelli’s dark with sea salt and caramel
.
My favorite. “So, how’d it go?”

“The
interview?” I asked, not quite sure what she was referring to. Kimme had a bad
habit of starting discussions somewhere in the middle of the conversation.

Kimme
tore into a chocolate square. “Well, yeah, what else?”

I
shrugged. “Good, I think. We were cut short because of the evacuation. I tried
to sound half-way intelligent when I answered their questions, but I was a bit
distracted. They didn’t want to reschedule, so I guess they felt like they had
enough information to make a decision about me.”

“What
are you going to do about Justin?” Kimme asked in a soft, sympathetic tone.

I
glanced nervously toward the door. I lowered my voice as my eyes met Kimme’s. “I
don’t know what to do, Kimme. What he did was unforgivable. I don’t want to be
anywhere near that guy, and Charlie wants me to work with him on the benchmarks
for next year.” Suddenly, the chocolate scattered across my desk didn’t look so
appealing.

Kimme’s
eyes widened. “You haven’t told Charlie?”

“No…
and no way am I telling him. What Justin did was seriously messed up, but I
don’t want him to get fired for it. I just have to find a way to work with
him.” That was easier said than done. Every time I was around Justin I had to
fight the urge to throw up.

Kimme
scowled as she leaned forward in her chair. “I think the guy should get fired
for what he did at that leadership training. He pinned you to the wall, shoved
his hands under your shirt, and squeezed your breasts. The guy’s a creep.”

“Kimme,
we were in the gym working out
after
the training… not in the actual
meeting when he did it… so it’s not like we were at work. And you know he’ll
deny it. It’s going to boil down to a ‘he said/she said,’ and I’m going to end
up looking like a liar or something far worse.” Making my accusations public
was about as appealing as shoving my face in a meat grinder. I thought Justin
was my friend. We worked out at the gym together for months. I went hiking with
him and his wife. I
trusted
him.

Kimme
crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest. “Well, technically, I think you
were at work. You were out of town, holed up in a hotel with the guy for the
leadership training. You were working out in the hotel weight room. You
wouldn’t have even been there if it hadn’t been for work.”

I
shook my head. “I don’t think it works like that, Kimme. I think management
would say it happened outside of work. Look, Justin insists I’m reading too
much into this. He claims he was only rough housing and trying to tickle me. He
said he thinks of me as his little sister. He claims he isn’t the least bit
attracted to me, and he assured me that he’s happily married. I don’t think
it’s going to happen again. I just need to move past this so I can work with
him again.”

Kimme
rolled her eyes. “That’s sick. I’d hate to be his little sister if that’s the
way he treats her. I still think you should tell Charlie. I overheard Betty and
a few other people in the office talking about how rude you’re being to Justin.
They have no clue why. You could end up being the one who gets in trouble.
Besides, what if he does it to someone else?”

Before
I could answer her question, my computer beeped, signaling a message in my
inbox. I glanced briefly at the screen to make sure it wasn’t something
important. “Oh, great… a message from Michael.”

Kimme
chuckled as she ripped open another piece of chocolate. “I think you have a
loser magnet embedded in your forehead, Krissy. You really need to get that
thing removed.”

“So,
what does Michael have to say?” Charlie inquired from the doorway.

Oh
crap.
It was my turn to reach for the chocolate. I
grabbed two pieces. The moment definitely called for two pieces. “Good afternoon
to you too, Charlie.” I gave him my best smile. Then I shoved an entire square
of chocolate into my mouth so I wouldn’t be expected to speak.

Charlie
didn’t smile back. “Not going to work. Open it.”

My
cheeks flushed red. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was read some
pining e-mail from Michael to my boss. Groaning, with the chocolate still in my
mouth, I opened the message and read it aloud. “
Je
ne peux pas
respirer
sans toi
.
Tu es mon
air,
ma vie
,
mon amour
.
Tu
es à moi
. Tu m’appartiens.
”
 

Kimme
was practically plastered against my computer screen. “What the heck does that
mean?”

I
shrugged. “I don’t know. My French is pathetic.” I was secretly relieved. If I
didn’t know what the message said, then I didn’t have to decipher it for Charlie,
who was now towering over the top of my chair, peering around Kimme at the
computer screen. Not like this was my office or anything.

Kimme
shoved my hands away from the keyboard and began typing. “Google Translate…
that will tell us!” She was practically sitting on my lap as she took over my
computer.

I
was seriously reconsidering our friendship.

Kimme
read the translated text. “I cannot breathe without you. You are my air, my
life, my love. You are mine. You belong to me.” Kimme sighed. As she shot out
of my lap, she smacked her head against Charlie’s chin.

Charlie
stepped back. An inch.

Kimme
rubbed the side of her head as she settled against the wall. “Well, that’s kinda
romantic actually… in a slightly crazed Neanderthal kind of way.”

Charlie
didn’t think it was romantic. “He’s violating the restraining order.”

I
wasn’t sure what to think. All this drama was making my head hurt, and everyone
was
crowding
me. “All righty then. I’m not going to respond. I’m just
going to sit here and pretend I never read this.”

“But…”
Kimme objected

I
lifted my hand, effectively throwing a stop sign at her. “No ‘buts.’ I’m not
responding. I’m going to behave like a responsible employee and get back to
work. So… get out. Both of you. Now!” I threw the remaining chocolate at them
as they hustled out of my office laughing.

How
much drama can there be in one day?
I looked at the clock
on my computer. Two o’clock. I groaned loudly as I slid down my chair and
contemplated hiding under my desk for the rest of the day.

*
* * * * *

Eight
days later, I found Charlie sitting behind my desk…
in my
chair.
He
was slowly tapping an ivory linen envelope against his left hand. He didn’t
stand or offer me my chair. He didn’t even smile. He just handed me the
envelope.

I
eased into the chair across from my desk and looked at the envelope. It was
already open. I knew what it was. In my heart of hearts, I knew. From the
moment Charlie had walked into my office with an answer to my prayer, I knew
this letter was coming.

“Take
a deep breath,” Charlie encouraged softly as he stood.

I
did. I took two… and slowly turned the envelope over. It was from the John
Heinz Foundation. Tears pooled in my eyes before I removed the letter from the
envelope. As much as I tried, I couldn’t even read the writing. Tears splotched
the linen stationary as I peered down at the letter through watery eyes.

Charlie
gently squeezed my shoulder. “Looks like you’re going to DC, kiddo.”

I
couldn’t help it. I knew I should be happy. I knew it was an honor to be one of
the few people chosen for a personal interview, but I felt so conflicted. All I
could do was cry.

*
* * * * *

The
first leg of my flight literally flew by. The Chatty Cathy sitting in the seat
next to me saw to that when she ignored the iPod I came armed with, evidently
not realizing I was wearing it so I could avoid talking to people like her. A
lot of good that did me.

The
second leg of my flight was a bit more…
eventful
. I was seated next to a
well-dressed business man with brown hair and warm brown eyes. He appeared to
be Italian and about fifteen years older than me. He, too, managed to work up a
conversation by asking whether I was traveling to DC for business or pleasure.

Having
lived in DC for some time, he enlightened me about the lesser known benefits of
living in Northern Virginia. We talked about vineyards, apple orchards, and
Great Falls Park… all things a girl from Montana would find infinitely more appealing
than the monuments. Then he bled on me.

“Oh,
God! Please take this!” I shoved my pashmina at him as I twisted frantically in
my seat in search of a flight attendant. I was hoping it would stem the flow of
blood that was pouring from his nose before anymore got on my clothes. It was
the only thing within reach. The fasten seatbelt sign was on, and the flight
attendant was nowhere to be seen. Big surprise there.

The
nose bleeder insisted he make it up to me. “Let me buy you dinner while you’re
in DC. It’s the least I can do. Please, let me make this up to you.” He looked
mortified.

I
negotiated him down to lunch, but I eyed him skeptically as I handed him my
business card. I wondered if he hadn’t somehow managed to make his nose bleed
on purpose.

I
made it through Reagan National Airport relatively unscathed. I was a little
surprised that no one inquired about the ridiculous amount of blood on my
clothing. Possibly, walking around in blood soaked clothes was a common
occurrence in DC. Not that this would warrant a strike against DC. It wasn’t
all that uncommon in Montana either, especially during hunting season.

I
had never flagged down a cab before, so I wasn’t quite sure how it was done.
Still, I was determined not to appear to be a small town girl in a big bad
city, so I steeled myself as I exited the airport. With a completely unfounded
air of confidence, I strode to the curb and attempted to hail a cab that was
parked near the end of a very long line of cabs. I threw my left hand up and
everything. A fellow traveler quickly set me straight. Evidently, there was a
line.

The
cab ride proved even more interesting than my flight, although, I think it
unnerved my cab driver a bit when I jumped into his front passenger seat. Still
uncertain about proper cab etiquette, I may have mistakenly assumed the rules
about riding shotgun still applied. Then I decided to chat him up. I figured
the cab driver could give me the dirt on DC, more so than the elegantly dressed
nose bleeder.

My
cab driver’s name was Habib. He was from Afghanistan. I spent some time
seriously contemplating that fact. I was quite certain that among the 890,000
people living in Montana, there was not a single soul from Afghanistan. Habib
was…
interesting.
He was deeply tan with warm brown eyes, a kind face,
and an easy smile. He didn’t wear any kind of head scarf, which surprised me.
Habib politely answered an endless stream of questions about DC and Afghanistan.
When we arrived at the Marriott Hotel in Crystal City, he gave me his business
card for Arlington Blue Top Cabs and encouraged me to call him for a ride to my
interview the next day. So I did.

The
interview was a lot less intimidating than I expected. I met with the same
three people who interviewed me on the phone. After hearing about the previous
fellows’ accomplishments, I gained new insight into the opportunities the
fellowship presented and just how great an honor it would be to be offered the
position. By the time I walked out of the interview, there was a small part of
me that really wanted to be awarded the fellowship. I just wasn’t ready to
admit it yet.

When
Habib picked me up from the interview, he offered to drive me around the
monuments.

I
silently questioned whether he was trying to earn more cab fare or if he was just
being thoughtful.

Habib
drove straight up Pennsylvania Avenue. Then he looped around the Capitol.