properties.
I pulled his lower desk drawer open and thumbed through every file, but I saw nothing of importance. Searching the remaining drawers, I rifled through old photos, envelopes, paperwork from the last ten years of tax filings, and a set of car keys. I slammed the last drawer shut and puffed.
My eyes wandered over to the file cabinets along the left wall. I started with the highest drawer in the cabinet closest to the back wall and searched for anything pertaining to properties, commercial or otherwise. I began to feel possessed. Every time I shut a drawer, I stifled a sob. Each drawer was slammed harder and harder. Only one cabinet wouldn’t open.
While searching through the last drawer my hands began to shake. Upon finding no suspicious evidence or anything related to Mr. Dawson I kicked the drawer shut, causing the cabinet to rock back and forth.
“AGH!” I stomped, balling my hands into fists at my sides.
I paced in a small circle for a minute, and then made my way to the desk chair and collapsed. A small bronze frame sat to my left. It was of me and Jack when I was about four years old. We had gone on vacation to the Grand Canyon and I had fallen. I looked closer to verify my bandaged knee and smiled. I was sitting on my father’s lap; he had just finished cleaning up the dirt and blood and used a colorful bandage from my mother’s purse. He kissed my knee and told me that it was all better, and even though the sting remained, I nodded my head in belief.
The colors were all so vivid, as was my memory. My eyes filled with tears and I looked around, horrified that I was in Jack’s office and at what I was doing there. Mr. Dawson, a complete stranger, had made me doubt my father. I wiped my face and quickly straightened his desk. The door slammed behind me as I quickly descended the stairs.
“Miss Nina?” Agatha called after me, but I raced past her, too intent on escaping the shame that I felt.
I yanked my BMW into gear and flew down the driveway into the street. Tears streamed down my face and I felt my body shudder in the same sobs I had worked so hard to rid myself of. Too many questions and no answers, everything that had made sense died with my father.
The flickering street lamps flew by as I sped down the road. As I passed the bus stop where I’d first met Jared. I noticed someone sitting on the bench and slammed on my brakes. I jerked the gear into reverse and my car made a grievous whirring noise as I back-tracked. My tires screeched to a halt straight across from where Jared sat.
Shoving my way out of the car, I stomped to the middle of the street. “Are you following me?”
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern overshadowing his flawless features.
“What are you doing here, damn it?” I yelled.
He stood up and held his arms out to me, but I shook my head. He stopped and furrowed his brow. “Nina, come here.”
“I want answers, Jared. You show up in my life, tell me you have these feelings for me. You won’t give me your number, and you all but refused mine.” I took a step toward him, and he a step toward me.
“Nina, I know you’re upset, but it’s going to be okay.” His voice was calm and soothing, almost too much so, as if he was trying to talk me down from a ledge.
“I’m standing in the middle of the street bawling my eyes out and yelling at you, Jared! Why aren’t you asking me what’s wrong? Why don’t you ever ask me questions?” Jared thought for a moment, seeming surprised at my observation. He took another step toward me with outstretched arms, begging to hold me.
“Is it feelings you have for me? Or are you just following me around because you feel sorry for me? Is it because I’m some tragic, fatherless basket case that you’ve decided to make a charity project out of?”
His eyes turned angry and his arms lowered. “You know that’s not true.”
As he took another step, his face for once didn’t try to hide emotion. His eyes ached for
I pulled his lower desk drawer open and thumbed through every file, but I saw nothing of importance. Searching the remaining drawers, I rifled through old photos, envelopes, paperwork from the last ten years of tax filings, and a set of car keys. I slammed the last drawer shut and puffed.
My eyes wandered over to the file cabinets along the left wall. I started with the highest drawer in the cabinet closest to the back wall and searched for anything pertaining to properties, commercial or otherwise. I began to feel possessed. Every time I shut a drawer, I stifled a sob. Each drawer was slammed harder and harder. Only one cabinet wouldn’t open.
While searching through the last drawer my hands began to shake. Upon finding no suspicious evidence or anything related to Mr. Dawson I kicked the drawer shut, causing the cabinet to rock back and forth.
“AGH!” I stomped, balling my hands into fists at my sides.
I paced in a small circle for a minute, and then made my way to the desk chair and collapsed. A small bronze frame sat to my left. It was of me and Jack when I was about four years old. We had gone on vacation to the Grand Canyon and I had fallen. I looked closer to verify my bandaged knee and smiled. I was sitting on my father’s lap; he had just finished cleaning up the dirt and blood and used a colorful bandage from my mother’s purse. He kissed my knee and told me that it was all better, and even though the sting remained, I nodded my head in belief.
The colors were all so vivid, as was my memory. My eyes filled with tears and I looked around, horrified that I was in Jack’s office and at what I was doing there. Mr. Dawson, a complete stranger, had made me doubt my father. I wiped my face and quickly straightened his desk. The door slammed behind me as I quickly descended the stairs.
“Miss Nina?” Agatha called after me, but I raced past her, too intent on escaping the shame that I felt.
I yanked my BMW into gear and flew down the driveway into the street. Tears streamed down my face and I felt my body shudder in the same sobs I had worked so hard to rid myself of. Too many questions and no answers, everything that had made sense died with my father.
The flickering street lamps flew by as I sped down the road. As I passed the bus stop where I’d first met Jared. I noticed someone sitting on the bench and slammed on my brakes. I jerked the gear into reverse and my car made a grievous whirring noise as I back-tracked. My tires screeched to a halt straight across from where Jared sat.
Shoving my way out of the car, I stomped to the middle of the street. “Are you following me?”
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern overshadowing his flawless features.
“What are you doing here, damn it?” I yelled.
He stood up and held his arms out to me, but I shook my head. He stopped and furrowed his brow. “Nina, come here.”
“I want answers, Jared. You show up in my life, tell me you have these feelings for me. You won’t give me your number, and you all but refused mine.” I took a step toward him, and he a step toward me.
“Nina, I know you’re upset, but it’s going to be okay.” His voice was calm and soothing, almost too much so, as if he was trying to talk me down from a ledge.
“I’m standing in the middle of the street bawling my eyes out and yelling at you, Jared! Why aren’t you asking me what’s wrong? Why don’t you ever ask me questions?” Jared thought for a moment, seeming surprised at my observation. He took another step toward me with outstretched arms, begging to hold me.
“Is it feelings you have for me? Or are you just following me around because you feel sorry for me? Is it because I’m some tragic, fatherless basket case that you’ve decided to make a charity project out of?”
His eyes turned angry and his arms lowered. “You know that’s not true.”
As he took another step, his face for once didn’t try to hide emotion. His eyes ached for
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