exhaled and stared out into the darkened room.
I’d already made some big changes in my life lately. Maybe it was time to make some more. I poked my left hand out from under the blanket and held it up in the darkness. There was just enough light from the nightlight in the kitchen to dimly see my engagement ring. I’d been wearing it every day for the past eleven months, taking it off only to clean it when the stone had clouded from too much soap scum.
As I laid there in the dark, staring at the ring on my left hand, I wondered if it might not be time to take it off. It was a thought I’d fleetingly entertained before, only to reprimand myself for being irreverent. Surely there was a required length of time before such a thing was proper.
Was eleven months too soon?
Was it too long?
In wearing the ring, I was unwittingly making a statement: I was not free.
I reached my right hand out from under the covers and worked the ring off my finger as tears filled my eyes.
I wanted to be free.
Chapter 11
“Get these to Mrs. Green before noon so that she can get them all signed and back to us,” a voice barked at me without preamble.
The voice, hard-edged and gravelly from a twenty-year, three-pack-a-day habit, belonged to our office manager, Jane Warren. She punctuated her command by shoving a large stack of files at me.
“Good morning to you, too, Jane,” I muttered, looking up from the bank statements I’d been poring over all morning.
I capped my highlighter and flipped the cover of the top file on the stack, wondering what in these papers might be so pressing as to warrant Jane’s attitude and brusqueness. Not that anything actually ever had to have happened for her to act that way—that was Jane. Ever-poised and absolutely
dripping
with charm.
“No, it’s not a good morning.” she snapped, whipping around to head back to her office, leaving a thick layer of ice in her wake.
I pulled the stack of files toward me, shoving my previous project out of the way, and methodically made my way through the paperwork, signing and dating the necessary documents and affixing Sign Here flags at various points along the way.
Outwardly, I was calm and collected as I worked, silently determined in my task. Inwardly, though, I was seething. I was so sick and tired of Jane’s treatment that I could almost taste bile, the unreleased anger swelling so thickly in my throat that it nearly choked me. She’d been relentless in her imperiousness since the day I’d begun the job, and at that exact moment, it was more than I could take.
I needed to get out, needed to walk somewhere.
Anywhere. There were too many things going on in my head right now; and if I didn’t make my escape, everything would come tumbling out—and I had a feeling none of it would be pretty. Better to make a hasty exit, right? Even if I didn’t tell anyone where I was going or when I would be back. At least I wouldn’t have to do the same level of damage control I would most definitely have to do if I railed all over Jane the way I wanted to. Not that she didn’t have it coming.
I picked up the stack of files from my desk, walked determinedly to Jane’s cubicle, and silently handed them to her. I could feel the heat in my face from the unreleased anger.
“I need to step out a minute, Jane,” I said quietly.
She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“Just a few minutes. You can count it as my lunch break,” I said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t pry for details.
As office manager, she was entitled to know when everyone was coming and going, but Jane took it to the next level. She guarded the front door and the clock like a prison warden, the office bulldog even when there was no reason. For Jane, control was power, and she liked to lord it over everyone that she was the one who checked over the time sheets and kept close watch on every square of toilet paper that was used.
That was Jane.
And for some reason, she was allowed to call the shots.
Not
I’d already made some big changes in my life lately. Maybe it was time to make some more. I poked my left hand out from under the blanket and held it up in the darkness. There was just enough light from the nightlight in the kitchen to dimly see my engagement ring. I’d been wearing it every day for the past eleven months, taking it off only to clean it when the stone had clouded from too much soap scum.
As I laid there in the dark, staring at the ring on my left hand, I wondered if it might not be time to take it off. It was a thought I’d fleetingly entertained before, only to reprimand myself for being irreverent. Surely there was a required length of time before such a thing was proper.
Was eleven months too soon?
Was it too long?
In wearing the ring, I was unwittingly making a statement: I was not free.
I reached my right hand out from under the covers and worked the ring off my finger as tears filled my eyes.
I wanted to be free.
Chapter 11
“Get these to Mrs. Green before noon so that she can get them all signed and back to us,” a voice barked at me without preamble.
The voice, hard-edged and gravelly from a twenty-year, three-pack-a-day habit, belonged to our office manager, Jane Warren. She punctuated her command by shoving a large stack of files at me.
“Good morning to you, too, Jane,” I muttered, looking up from the bank statements I’d been poring over all morning.
I capped my highlighter and flipped the cover of the top file on the stack, wondering what in these papers might be so pressing as to warrant Jane’s attitude and brusqueness. Not that anything actually ever had to have happened for her to act that way—that was Jane. Ever-poised and absolutely
dripping
with charm.
“No, it’s not a good morning.” she snapped, whipping around to head back to her office, leaving a thick layer of ice in her wake.
I pulled the stack of files toward me, shoving my previous project out of the way, and methodically made my way through the paperwork, signing and dating the necessary documents and affixing Sign Here flags at various points along the way.
Outwardly, I was calm and collected as I worked, silently determined in my task. Inwardly, though, I was seething. I was so sick and tired of Jane’s treatment that I could almost taste bile, the unreleased anger swelling so thickly in my throat that it nearly choked me. She’d been relentless in her imperiousness since the day I’d begun the job, and at that exact moment, it was more than I could take.
I needed to get out, needed to walk somewhere.
Anywhere. There were too many things going on in my head right now; and if I didn’t make my escape, everything would come tumbling out—and I had a feeling none of it would be pretty. Better to make a hasty exit, right? Even if I didn’t tell anyone where I was going or when I would be back. At least I wouldn’t have to do the same level of damage control I would most definitely have to do if I railed all over Jane the way I wanted to. Not that she didn’t have it coming.
I picked up the stack of files from my desk, walked determinedly to Jane’s cubicle, and silently handed them to her. I could feel the heat in my face from the unreleased anger.
“I need to step out a minute, Jane,” I said quietly.
She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“Just a few minutes. You can count it as my lunch break,” I said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t pry for details.
As office manager, she was entitled to know when everyone was coming and going, but Jane took it to the next level. She guarded the front door and the clock like a prison warden, the office bulldog even when there was no reason. For Jane, control was power, and she liked to lord it over everyone that she was the one who checked over the time sheets and kept close watch on every square of toilet paper that was used.
That was Jane.
And for some reason, she was allowed to call the shots.
Not
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