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Authors: Christine Ardigo
Tags: Fiction
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spent the last seven hours cleaning what you demolished over the weekend.”
“So this is my fault? Don’t blame this on me, you messed up.”
“I scrubbed the entire house, didn’t you even notice?”
“How can I? All you do is clean. What’s the difference between one piece of dust and three?” He plucked a Heineken out of the fridge and cracked it open with his bottle opener. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll go back out and drive to the deli and buy it myself. I wouldn’t want you to spend your money on anything but another fuckin’ pocket book.” Peter slammed the door behind him.
Catherine shuddered, then trudged over to Emily who tried to attach the Mouse Trap slide to the stairs but it refused to connect. Emily ripped it apart and chucked it across the room. The slide slammed into the back door. Her crooked smile let Catherine know she heard the entire argument. Again.
Chapter 9
Victoria
Victoria slumped in her chair and listened to Jean drone on about how the Director of Communications complimented her on the Family Practice Physicians luncheon on Saturday. Jean obviously chose Monday morning for meetings to personify the “I hate Mondays” mantra.
“I’m quite brilliant, you know. It must be hard for the three of you to work under me. I can’t help it if I’m an A+ employee while you linger around the C mark. If you stopped coming up with your useless, lame ideas and paid attention more, maybe you’d be successful like me.”
Victoria hid her yellow note pad, the blank one that only contained five more pages. The rest disposed in various garbage pails. The pages ran out along with her ideas.
The conversation redirected to Catherine and Victoria cringed.
“Can you explain yourself? This entire report is incorrect.” Jean threw the mass of stapled papers at Catherine hitting her in the mouth. Catherine wiped her lip and then glanced at her fingers.
Heather snapped up and glared first at Jean but longer at Catherine. Victoria knew why. Say something, will you?
Nothing.
Catherine leafed through the papers, her puzzled mien surfaced. “I’ve never seen these before.”
“Of course you haven’t. Lydia typed them up.” Saliva sprayed from her lips with each breath.
“Then how could I—”
“You gave me this information.”
“On refrigerator temperatures?” Baffled and trembling, the words barely materialized.
“I looked like a fool in the Infectious Disease meeting! How dare you!” Jean held up a fist and crushed her chunky fingers into a tight ball. Her face furrowed until she looked like she sucked a dozen sour lemons.
Heather straightened and clasped her hands in front of her. “When have the dietitians ever recorded fridge temps?” Her strong nature worked against the group at times. Better to take Jean’s abuse than add more momentum to an already doomed situation.
Jean’s Grand Canyon forehead relaxed, but only for a second. She wheezed, as if asthma consumed her, then smiled in a chilling manner. “On another note, I submitted the proposal for the cardiac rehab center to hire its own dietitian. They loved my ideas and appreciated my honesty.”
Victoria’s head jerked back, but unable to speak she clutched her throat. Her oatmeal curdled in her stomach. Jean’s snub melted what little self-worth she retained.
“I proposed that idea,” Victoria mumbled.
“They’re looking into it and if they hire their own, well then you’ll have me to thank for it.” Jean propped her chest out like a proud rooster and grinned.
“I recommended that and you said it was ridiculous, that they’d never hire another dietitian. You said– ”
“Of course, your work load will be lessened which means you will have to take on more responsibilities.”
Heather shook her head and scoffed at her delusion. “The whole point was that we had too much work to do because we were constantly helping them.”
Victoria abandoned her dispute, pointless. Jean was a
“So this is my fault? Don’t blame this on me, you messed up.”
“I scrubbed the entire house, didn’t you even notice?”
“How can I? All you do is clean. What’s the difference between one piece of dust and three?” He plucked a Heineken out of the fridge and cracked it open with his bottle opener. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll go back out and drive to the deli and buy it myself. I wouldn’t want you to spend your money on anything but another fuckin’ pocket book.” Peter slammed the door behind him.
Catherine shuddered, then trudged over to Emily who tried to attach the Mouse Trap slide to the stairs but it refused to connect. Emily ripped it apart and chucked it across the room. The slide slammed into the back door. Her crooked smile let Catherine know she heard the entire argument. Again.
Chapter 9
Victoria
Victoria slumped in her chair and listened to Jean drone on about how the Director of Communications complimented her on the Family Practice Physicians luncheon on Saturday. Jean obviously chose Monday morning for meetings to personify the “I hate Mondays” mantra.
“I’m quite brilliant, you know. It must be hard for the three of you to work under me. I can’t help it if I’m an A+ employee while you linger around the C mark. If you stopped coming up with your useless, lame ideas and paid attention more, maybe you’d be successful like me.”
Victoria hid her yellow note pad, the blank one that only contained five more pages. The rest disposed in various garbage pails. The pages ran out along with her ideas.
The conversation redirected to Catherine and Victoria cringed.
“Can you explain yourself? This entire report is incorrect.” Jean threw the mass of stapled papers at Catherine hitting her in the mouth. Catherine wiped her lip and then glanced at her fingers.
Heather snapped up and glared first at Jean but longer at Catherine. Victoria knew why. Say something, will you?
Nothing.
Catherine leafed through the papers, her puzzled mien surfaced. “I’ve never seen these before.”
“Of course you haven’t. Lydia typed them up.” Saliva sprayed from her lips with each breath.
“Then how could I—”
“You gave me this information.”
“On refrigerator temperatures?” Baffled and trembling, the words barely materialized.
“I looked like a fool in the Infectious Disease meeting! How dare you!” Jean held up a fist and crushed her chunky fingers into a tight ball. Her face furrowed until she looked like she sucked a dozen sour lemons.
Heather straightened and clasped her hands in front of her. “When have the dietitians ever recorded fridge temps?” Her strong nature worked against the group at times. Better to take Jean’s abuse than add more momentum to an already doomed situation.
Jean’s Grand Canyon forehead relaxed, but only for a second. She wheezed, as if asthma consumed her, then smiled in a chilling manner. “On another note, I submitted the proposal for the cardiac rehab center to hire its own dietitian. They loved my ideas and appreciated my honesty.”
Victoria’s head jerked back, but unable to speak she clutched her throat. Her oatmeal curdled in her stomach. Jean’s snub melted what little self-worth she retained.
“I proposed that idea,” Victoria mumbled.
“They’re looking into it and if they hire their own, well then you’ll have me to thank for it.” Jean propped her chest out like a proud rooster and grinned.
“I recommended that and you said it was ridiculous, that they’d never hire another dietitian. You said– ”
“Of course, your work load will be lessened which means you will have to take on more responsibilities.”
Heather shook her head and scoffed at her delusion. “The whole point was that we had too much work to do because we were constantly helping them.”
Victoria abandoned her dispute, pointless. Jean was a
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