I’d ever have Billy Sims in the first place, and I couldn’t stand to lose him. So I wasn’t going to speed it up, nor do anything different. I couldn’t. I didn’t close my eyes that whole night long. Finally I just punched in the alarm thing before it went off, and waited for dawn to come. I made Billy a pan of biscuits to eat when he got up.
“Y OU DIDN’T .” L OIS R UBIN quits writing at this point. “Weren’t you angry ?”
A NGER HAD NOT YET occurred to me.
That morning I went on to work as usual, and five more weeks passed by. I was holding my breath the entire time. Billy took me and Debbi out to the lake twice, and we also went overnight to a Garth Brooks concert in Lexington. I even got Billy to go to the church homecoming with me. I took two pans of my three-cheese lasagna, by popular request.
Then — now this is yesterday, of course, Monday morning — I had no sooner got to work and watered my African violets and sat down at my desk than here came two of my lawyers, Mr. Martin and Mr. Perkins, into my little office. They knew. It was written all over their faces. “Dee Ann,” Mr. Martin said, “this is terribly hard for us.” He looked like his heart would break. “You have been a valued employee, as you know. The best we’ve ever had. But on last Friday afternoon, after you left, I had occasion to check the George Pendleton trust account, and I was most dismayed to find that no deposit had been recorded this month.”
“It hadn’t?” I’d kept the check, of course. But I couldn’t believe that I had failed to write it in the book. It was my own dumbmistake. If I’d done it right, Mr. Martin never would have known the difference. He’s an egghead intellectual, not a practical bone in his body. But this time he fooled me.
“So I decided to check on some of the other trusts,” he said. “I took the books home with me this weekend, Dee Ann, and finally ended up calling Longstreet” — he pointed his long bony finger at Mr. Longstreet, who looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here — “and as nearly as we can figure, you’re into us for about six thousand dollars. Would you say that’s fairly accurate?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Actually it is $13,825.
“We realize you have had some difficult circumstances in your personal life, Dee Ann, so perhaps we can work something out here, among us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Embezzlement is a felony offense,” Mr. Martin said kindly. “But perhaps it need not come to that. What would you say if we worked out some sort of a repayment schedule . . .”
“No,” I said. “I could never make it. I can’t make it now. Go on and do whatever you have to,” I said. “I’m through with the whole thing.”
Mr. Longstreet Perkins raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “In that case,” he said, “I’m afraid we’ll need to walk down the street to the police station. I’m so sorry, Dee Ann. Do you want to call Billy first?”
“Hell, no,” I said, surprising myself. “He doesn’t deserve me.”
L OIS R UBIN FLINGS DOWN her clipboard. “Damn straight!” she says.
“Listen,” Sam Hicks says, “there is some men, myself included, that prefers a large woman.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” says Lois Rubin.
T HE OLD LAWYERS STOOD there looking at each other. “Well, then,” Mr. Martin said. I stood up behind my desk and looked them both in the eye, first one, then the other. I’m as tall as they are. I knew they hated this. They hated that I had done it, they hated having to turn me in. And in Mr. Longstreet Perkins’s eyes, there was something beyond that even. He understood that anybody could have done what I did in the name of love, anybody at all, that he could even have done it himself. “Ah, Dee Ann,” he said.
“Listen,” I said. “It’s all right.”
And it was. It is. As we walked down the street, my heart got lighter and lighter with each step. I was glad to be caught! Mr.
“Y OU DIDN’T .” L OIS R UBIN quits writing at this point. “Weren’t you angry ?”
A NGER HAD NOT YET occurred to me.
That morning I went on to work as usual, and five more weeks passed by. I was holding my breath the entire time. Billy took me and Debbi out to the lake twice, and we also went overnight to a Garth Brooks concert in Lexington. I even got Billy to go to the church homecoming with me. I took two pans of my three-cheese lasagna, by popular request.
Then — now this is yesterday, of course, Monday morning — I had no sooner got to work and watered my African violets and sat down at my desk than here came two of my lawyers, Mr. Martin and Mr. Perkins, into my little office. They knew. It was written all over their faces. “Dee Ann,” Mr. Martin said, “this is terribly hard for us.” He looked like his heart would break. “You have been a valued employee, as you know. The best we’ve ever had. But on last Friday afternoon, after you left, I had occasion to check the George Pendleton trust account, and I was most dismayed to find that no deposit had been recorded this month.”
“It hadn’t?” I’d kept the check, of course. But I couldn’t believe that I had failed to write it in the book. It was my own dumbmistake. If I’d done it right, Mr. Martin never would have known the difference. He’s an egghead intellectual, not a practical bone in his body. But this time he fooled me.
“So I decided to check on some of the other trusts,” he said. “I took the books home with me this weekend, Dee Ann, and finally ended up calling Longstreet” — he pointed his long bony finger at Mr. Longstreet, who looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here — “and as nearly as we can figure, you’re into us for about six thousand dollars. Would you say that’s fairly accurate?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Actually it is $13,825.
“We realize you have had some difficult circumstances in your personal life, Dee Ann, so perhaps we can work something out here, among us.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Embezzlement is a felony offense,” Mr. Martin said kindly. “But perhaps it need not come to that. What would you say if we worked out some sort of a repayment schedule . . .”
“No,” I said. “I could never make it. I can’t make it now. Go on and do whatever you have to,” I said. “I’m through with the whole thing.”
Mr. Longstreet Perkins raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “In that case,” he said, “I’m afraid we’ll need to walk down the street to the police station. I’m so sorry, Dee Ann. Do you want to call Billy first?”
“Hell, no,” I said, surprising myself. “He doesn’t deserve me.”
L OIS R UBIN FLINGS DOWN her clipboard. “Damn straight!” she says.
“Listen,” Sam Hicks says, “there is some men, myself included, that prefers a large woman.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” says Lois Rubin.
T HE OLD LAWYERS STOOD there looking at each other. “Well, then,” Mr. Martin said. I stood up behind my desk and looked them both in the eye, first one, then the other. I’m as tall as they are. I knew they hated this. They hated that I had done it, they hated having to turn me in. And in Mr. Longstreet Perkins’s eyes, there was something beyond that even. He understood that anybody could have done what I did in the name of love, anybody at all, that he could even have done it himself. “Ah, Dee Ann,” he said.
“Listen,” I said. “It’s all right.”
And it was. It is. As we walked down the street, my heart got lighter and lighter with each step. I was glad to be caught! Mr.
Similar Books
