Where Rivers Part (19 page)

Her exit loomed ahead. After putting on her blinker, she turned onto a side road leading to her neighborhood. On second thought,
perhaps she'd better keep her budding misgivings to herself. At least for now.

In the midst of these snarled thoughts, a sad realization moved to center stage. Over only a couple weeks, she'd managed to sour her love life. Her personal life was a mess, and now her professional reputation was fast crumbling at her feet. At times like these, her mother would provide much-needed support.

But she was gone.

In the short time since her mother's funeral, Juliet had barely allowed herself to grieve. Instead, she'd been immersed in an outbreak of foodborne illness that in some ways offered up an opportunity to hide from the real fear she couldn't yet face.

She'd never entirely bought in to the fact there was some guy upstairs orchestrating all the events on earth. If there were, why would he allow her mother to die when she was most needed? Or let innocent people fall victim to food pathogens?

Why would he let her career falter, sending all her hard work down the drain?

In so many ways, it would be easier to erase the notion of a supreme being from her reality, to completely give in to the notion there was no God.

Unfortunately, that truth was impossible.

She needed to believe. Because she needed little MD and the others to get well. And without a heaven—forever was a very long time to be without her mom.

At home, she folded onto the sofa with a cup of chamomile tea, hoping the warmth would quell her racing mind and allow her to doze off. She could afford only a few hours before she had to get back to her research, needing to retrace her steps just in case she'd missed something.

Juliet rested her head against the stack of pillows, remembering
she and her mother used to sit like this, hands wrapped around steaming teacups, talking about everything, and at times nothing at all.

What would her mom say if she were here? If she knew her bright and focused daughter had skidded off her carefully planned career path?

Juliet had disdained so many of her mother's choices. Her simple faith, her steadfast commitment to a man who didn't deserve her loyalty, her willingness to empty her own dreams to fill the needs of others. In return, people had packed a church to pay their final respects and say goodbye.

Her mother was loved.

Carol Ryan hadn't strived for success, yet her life mattered.

With her mother gone, Juliet meant to need no one, but now the emptiness of that decision haunted her. She'd scoffed at her mother's morals and literally slept with the enemy. Her reputation as a food scientist was in severe jeopardy. Her career potentially over.

Juliet's self-awarded trophies for studying the hardest, working the longest, and garnering respect in a field dominated by self-important men were quickly sliding off the shelf.

The façade was crumbling.

Worse, she was alone at a time when she needed someone the most.

Tears, warm and salty, slid down Juliet's cheeks. She fumbled and slid her cup onto the coffee table, then quietly moved into the bedroom, where she opened a drawer and retrieved her mother's Bible from beneath a silky folded nightgown.

In her mind, she could see her mother in her robe and slippers at their old kitchen table, underlining text with unexplainable confidence, despite the late hour and her husband still not home.

Juliet pulled the worn leather volume close to her chest, sheltering her heart from waves of disappointment and longing crashing against the walls of her soul.

The events of these past weeks had thrown some rip currents,
left her a bit shipwrecked. Frankly, she didn't know if she could swim against the current and land safely on shore.

Perhaps she was simply overtired, worn out, and not thinking with a clear mind. But Juliet couldn't help but ponder an idea she'd never dared to consider.

She was definitely sailing without a rudder. What would it be like to face what was ahead with her mother's quiet strength?

Juliet opened the volume to a well-worn page in Isaiah and noticed that her mother had highlighted verses.

Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you go through deep waters, I will be with you . . . For I am the L
ORD
, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

In the margin, her mother noted the date and a single word.

Nancy.

Juliet's heart thumped painfully.

For a long time, she'd thought if her mother ever found out about that one, she would fall to pieces. But she'd not only known about Nancy, she'd forgiven him even that.

Juliet sank to the floor and cast her head back against the thick carpet. Covering her eyes with her forearm, she conjured the smoothness of the skin on her mother's face, her eyes that expressed love without restraint. Somehow her mother had been released from the need to paddle, even in the worst times. Nothing, it seemed, could sink her boat.

She'd never known a woman with more strength, more dignity.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind form another memory—her mother's hand closing over her own, her practical short fingernails lightly spattered with paint from her latest project. Juliet's nostrils drew in air, easily recalling her mom's fragrance hinting of lilac and clean laundry.

God, if you are there—tell her
I miss her.

 29 

L
indsay looked up from the receptionist desk. “There you are. The meeting's been changed.” She pointed to the executive wing. “Her office.”

Juliet nodded and headed that direction.

Lindsay seemed on edge, like everybody else around here in the past days. No employee escaped feeling the heat of working for a company in the glare of the public spotlight. Worse, they knew even if the company survived with their brand intact, the financial strain from this outbreak would likely mean future layoffs.

Her staff was particularly unnerved. Since the outbreak had been pinned on Larimar Springs, her lab techs' chins had dipped to their chests as if they couldn't quite bring themselves to hold their heads up, their disorientation nearly palpable. Especially Malcolm Stanford, who answered her questions in monosyllables and kept his eyes drilled to the floor. She wondered if, like all the others, her QA supervisor blamed her for this fiasco.

As she neared her own office door, she handed off her purse and attaché bag to Angela, keeping a single file tucked beneath her arm. “Any updates from Tavina?”

The temp shook her head. “No, not this morning.”

Juliet took the stack of mail Angela offered. “Thanks. And could
you pen me out this afternoon for a couple of hours? I want to go to the hospital and check on little MD, and see if Tavina needs anything.” She turned to head to the meeting, moving several yards before Angela dropped her proverbial bomb.

“Uh—I won't be here when you get out of the meeting. And I won't be back.”

Surprised, Juliet whirled around. “What? Why?”

Angela shrugged. “Got word this morning that I won't be needed anymore.” She pointed down the hallway to Fred Macklin's assistant. “I was told to hand off my work to Alva Jacobs. So I guess I'll catch you later.”

Juliet couldn't help but turn and stare in the direction of the woman who was nearing retirement age. Not only was Alva known for snooping through people's desks, but she refused to use a computer, clinging to her IBM Selectric typewriter from the seventies. The polyester-suited woman still wore support hose and refused to use a cell phone. “Why should I when I have a perfectly good telephone on my desk?” she was often heard explaining.

Rumor had it the guys in the mailroom were directed to print out all emails and place them on Alva's desk no later than ten a.m., and then again at two in the afternoon. Even more puzzling was that she wore an elastic coiled bracelet with a tangle of keys dangling from her wrist. Funny she kept her own files locked up when she felt so free to open other people's desk drawers uninvited.

Yes, Angela was pushy and difficult to warm up to, but Juliet would choose the temp over Alva Jacobs any day. Based on the way Alva stared back, she wasn't terribly keen on the idea either.

Though pressed for time, Juliet quickly returned to Angela's desk and shook her hand. “Thank you for filling in, especially during . . . well, all this.”

“Yeah, y'all got your hands full at this place, I'll give you that.”

Minutes later, Juliet headed for Alexa's door, first passing by her assistant. Muriel Parke stood and shuffled a stack of papers
into a neat pile, a scowl painted across her colorless face. “Don't you carry your cell phone anymore? Alexa's been calling you.” Her features reminded Juliet of a pit bull with Ringo Starr's haircut from the sixties.

“Sorry.” Juliet moved past, not bothering to offer any further explanation. A fact Muriel didn't care for, based on the way she huffed.

Under normal circumstances, she'd maintain the politically correct stance with the old battle-ax. Despite the overblown sense of power of some in this group, Juliet knew the expediency of keeping on the assistants' good sides. Lately, however, no amount of deference seemed to matter. Their chatter silenced every time she entered the break room to fill her coffee mug. Overheard whispers in the cubicles included words like
blame
,
incompetent
,
bungled
. The staff's cold stares said everything—she'd been iced out.

She didn't have many fans on the executive team either.

Around the small granite conference table in the corner of Alexa's office sat Dale Frissom and Fred Macklin. Greer was perched on a small sofa over near the windows with his arm thrown over the back, chatting about reactions to their press conference with Ellen Shaffer, who seemed to be embracing his smooth and polished charm.

Everyone stopped talking and stared when she entered the room.

She checked her watch despite knowing what time it was. “Sorry I'm a bit late.” She moved to the table and took her place by their chief financial officer. “I understand we'll be sharing an assistant going forward.”

Typical of his gruff, outspoken approach, he simply blew out a puff of angry air. “Don't look at me. Wasn't my idea.”

She turned to Dale, wondering if he'd take the opportunity to defend his decision since the human resources area reported to him. He said nothing. Instead, he kept his focus on the loose papers in front of him.

Alexa walked into the room then. Instantly, she took control. “Listen up. We have a lot to consider this morning.”

Dale sat expressionless as Alexa dropped her bomb. “Since QA was unable to provide adequate documentation for an outdated pallet found in the warehouse, the CDC believes there may be additional tainted product in the marketplace. They are threatening to go public.”

Juliet's fists locked in anger.
That weasel.

Using every bit of self-control she could muster, she repressed any reaction, instead forcing herself to remain stone-faced despite the fact she was seething mad.

She'd been sold down the river so Dale could reach shore in this deal. No doubt he'd painted the scenario in his highest favor.

While clinging to her threadbare composure, she struggled to form a strategy to restore her own credibility.

Alexa opened her leather portfolio. “We need to give Dale credit for convincing them to push the pause button. Because of his efforts, Dr. Breslin felt confident that if he gave us another twenty-four hours or so, Dale could connect the dots and shed light on why his warehouse was holding an outdated pallet without shipping manifests.”

Everyone turned their attention to Dale, who still wouldn't look her in the eye.

“Uh, yes—we committed to investigate further,” he said, his voice unnaturally high.

Alexa sat with her fingers steepled, deep in thought. “We need to get to the bottom of this,” she said. “This company will never win if we're forced to keep playing defense.”

Fred threw up his hands. “I don't understand how you people could miss such critical facts.” He grabbed a wad of financials in his fist and shook them. “We're losing hundreds of thousands daily. Do you understand what is at risk?” Clearly, he referred to his retirement as well as the company's P&L position. And
you people
meant Juliet.

Ellen Shaffer stood, her face composed and silky hair loose on her shoulders. “I probably don't need to remind you that Larimar Springs has already used up all its markers with the public. If you ever want a chance of regaining customer confidence, you'd best find the answers before the CDC.”

From the sofa, Greer leaned forward and tugged on his shirt cuffs. “I don't mean to stir the pot here, but perhaps it would be advisable to appoint a company liaison with the CDC.” His gaze drifted in her direction. “Someone who has less personal stake in the information flow.”

Juliet's jaw clenched. “What you are implying, Greer?”

“Let's not let emotions supersede our judgment.” Alexa rubbed across her lips with her forefinger. With the other hand she tapped her Montblanc pen on the tabletop several times. Finally, she lifted her chin. “Under the circumstances, perhaps that's a good idea.”

The decision kicked Juliet's gut. Her boss's directive cemented the notion she'd lost all confidence within the company at every level. Juliet's career here was over. The best she could hope for was to salvage her image as a professional who wouldn't melt under the heat.

“Again, I don't believe that move is necessary. But I'll concede and work to dispense my duties in the way you see fit.” The words stuck in her throat as she said them. She could play the puppet, if that was what they wanted, in the short time she had remaining in this position. In any other situation, she wouldn't accept this blatant shift in confidence from her superiors. She'd resign and move on. But there would be time to focus on getting some semblance of a career back on track later. The main thing was to make certain the company complied with the CDC investigation to facilitate efforts to end this outbreak as quickly as possible. For everyone's sake.

Alexa turned to Greer. “Who do you suggest?”

“Well, clearly Dale and Juliet are out of the question, and Ellen isn't an officer for the corporation. That leaves Fred or me.”

Fred immediately appeared uneasy. He held up his open palms and shook his head. “No thanks. Leave me out of this. I'm the numbers guy, that's all.”

Alexa lifted her chin. “Then it's settled. We only have one option, really.” She stood and moved to her desk. “Besides, Greer can hardly direct a sales or marketing effort while the company is struggling through these issues. So, looks like you're the point person, Greer.”

“Happy to,” he said, giving Juliet a look that radiated superiority.

“Another thing. No—and I mean
no
—information is to be disseminated to the public or to Cyril Montavan or our bankers without first going through me. Is that understood?” She waited for everyone to nod. “Okay, meeting over.”

Fred and Dale stood and collected their papers, then headed for the door.

Ellen, recognizing the shift in power, coyly smiled at Greer. Following her lead, he awarded her with a smile of his own and followed her out the door, listening intently as she gave pointers on how to remain noncommittal when providing information.

“Juliet, could you stay? I'd like a word—privately.”

She raised her eyebrows and glanced at her boss with caution. “Uh . . . sure.” Maybe she wasn't going to be given the opportunity to stay after all.

Alexa moved for the door.

Despite preparing herself for this eventuality, she felt her heart race. She had hoped this company needed her, would use her expertise to maneuver the outbreak. Given that Alexa had just seen the need to appoint a babysitter of sorts, now she wasn't so certain.

After closing the door, Alexa moved to the sofa. She patted the place next to her, inviting Juliet to join her there. “I want you to understand my position.”

Juliet took a deep breath and sat next to the polished and confident woman she'd so admired. From the outset of accepting employment
with Larimar Springs, she'd viewed Alexa Carmichael as the epitome of everything she longed to be. Which made her boss's decision to appoint Greer to play liaison stab deeper. Juliet vacillated between anger and dismay that the target of her admiration no longer trusted her to do what was best for the company.

“You may have misunderstood what just took place.” Alexa's face grew sympathetic. “That decision was made to protect you.”

“Protect me?” she murmured, a bit confused.

“Don't think people haven't tried to step on my back the times my career hit a low,” Alexa confided. “Weak managers always dispel blame by pointing at others. Recently, I've come to realize it may be time to realign my . . . support system within the company.”

Juliet felt baffled by these new pronouncements, and said so.

Alexa patted Juliet's knee, her eyes steady. “You handled yourself well today. Let Greer shadow you. It'll do no harm and will protect you from rumor and innuendo. Besides, sometimes the greatest show of power is to let others think they've won.”