morning. It’s amazing how busy deer are on Friday and Saturday nights. It’s almost like they’re the ones at the bar until all hours of the morning.
A burst of laughter told me that Armani had finally made it into work.
Not that there was anyone around to give her a hard time about coming in late. With Harry gone on his elopement adventure to Vegas, all of the other supervisors had declared it an “out of office meeting day” and had disappeared.
Half the workers who’d bothered to show up were milling around, drinking coffee and exchanging gossip instead of doing their jobs.
That left those of us who took our responsibilities seriously dealing with callers who were annoyed that it had taken so long to have their calls answered.
I don’t like Harry. He’s a letch who always smells like pepperoni, but at least he runs a tight ship. Usually, I hate his enforcement of policies and rules, but on a morning like this, when anarchy ruled, I missed him being a pain in the butt and keeping everyone in line.
When Armani approached me, I’d just finished up another call. This one with a woman who’d pulled right into the side of her garage. We get a lot of calls like that. At least she’d had a sense of humor about it, so taking the claim hadn’t been as unpleasant as they sometimes are.
Something about Armani was different. If she didn’t have a perpetual limp, I would have sworn there was a bounce to her step.
“Hey, chiquita,” she trilled.
I flinched. There was definitely an almost-manic joy about her. “Nice that you finally made it in,” I drawled sarcastically.
“All work and no play makes Maggie a grouchy girl.”
“Some of us take our job seriously,” I countered. “When the rest of you slack off, it makes more work for me.”
Resting her good hand on her hip, Armani considered me. “You trying to start a fight with me?”
I shook my head.
“Cuz you’re starting to sound like that uptight aunt of yours.”
I frowned, not relishing the comparison, but hearing the truth in it. “Did you want something?”
“Take a break with me.”
“I’m actually working.”
Armani looked around at our co-workers who were acting more like it was a party than a workday. “I’m betting you’re the only one.”
The phone beeped insistently in my headset reminding me that there were calls waiting.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I told her dismissively before answering the call. “Thank you for calling Insuring the Future. This is Maggie. How can I help you?”
Armani rolled her eyes at me before limping away.
As I finished the morning’s work, I thought about what she’d said. Was I turning into Aunt Susan? All work and no play. All responsibility and no fun? The idea worried me and I made a mental note to ask God about it.
When it was time for me to break for lunch, Armani was nowhere to be seen, so I took my peanut butter sandwich and went to sit at one of the outdoor picnic tables despite the fact it looked like it could rain at any moment.
I couldn’t help but think about the fact I’d been sitting in that very seat the first time I’d met Patrick Mulligan. My life had been a lot simpler then.
I stared up at the stormy clouds, thinking about how they matched my mood. I heard Armani limp up behind me before she spoke.
“I brought you something. Okay if I join you?”
“Seat’s empty.” It wasn’t actually a warm invitation, but it was all I could muster in the moment.
She sat down heavily on the bench opposite me. Without speaking (which is unusual for her) she rummaged in her lunch cooler and pulled out a jar, which she placed in front of me. “For you.”
“Most people offer a figurative olive branch,” I told her, picking it up and twisting the lid, which gave way with a satisfying pop. “They don’t give actual olives.”
“It’s not supposed to be an olive branch. It’s a thank you gift.”
I took one of the green, salty delights and popped it into my mouth.
A burst of laughter told me that Armani had finally made it into work.
Not that there was anyone around to give her a hard time about coming in late. With Harry gone on his elopement adventure to Vegas, all of the other supervisors had declared it an “out of office meeting day” and had disappeared.
Half the workers who’d bothered to show up were milling around, drinking coffee and exchanging gossip instead of doing their jobs.
That left those of us who took our responsibilities seriously dealing with callers who were annoyed that it had taken so long to have their calls answered.
I don’t like Harry. He’s a letch who always smells like pepperoni, but at least he runs a tight ship. Usually, I hate his enforcement of policies and rules, but on a morning like this, when anarchy ruled, I missed him being a pain in the butt and keeping everyone in line.
When Armani approached me, I’d just finished up another call. This one with a woman who’d pulled right into the side of her garage. We get a lot of calls like that. At least she’d had a sense of humor about it, so taking the claim hadn’t been as unpleasant as they sometimes are.
Something about Armani was different. If she didn’t have a perpetual limp, I would have sworn there was a bounce to her step.
“Hey, chiquita,” she trilled.
I flinched. There was definitely an almost-manic joy about her. “Nice that you finally made it in,” I drawled sarcastically.
“All work and no play makes Maggie a grouchy girl.”
“Some of us take our job seriously,” I countered. “When the rest of you slack off, it makes more work for me.”
Resting her good hand on her hip, Armani considered me. “You trying to start a fight with me?”
I shook my head.
“Cuz you’re starting to sound like that uptight aunt of yours.”
I frowned, not relishing the comparison, but hearing the truth in it. “Did you want something?”
“Take a break with me.”
“I’m actually working.”
Armani looked around at our co-workers who were acting more like it was a party than a workday. “I’m betting you’re the only one.”
The phone beeped insistently in my headset reminding me that there were calls waiting.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I told her dismissively before answering the call. “Thank you for calling Insuring the Future. This is Maggie. How can I help you?”
Armani rolled her eyes at me before limping away.
As I finished the morning’s work, I thought about what she’d said. Was I turning into Aunt Susan? All work and no play. All responsibility and no fun? The idea worried me and I made a mental note to ask God about it.
When it was time for me to break for lunch, Armani was nowhere to be seen, so I took my peanut butter sandwich and went to sit at one of the outdoor picnic tables despite the fact it looked like it could rain at any moment.
I couldn’t help but think about the fact I’d been sitting in that very seat the first time I’d met Patrick Mulligan. My life had been a lot simpler then.
I stared up at the stormy clouds, thinking about how they matched my mood. I heard Armani limp up behind me before she spoke.
“I brought you something. Okay if I join you?”
“Seat’s empty.” It wasn’t actually a warm invitation, but it was all I could muster in the moment.
She sat down heavily on the bench opposite me. Without speaking (which is unusual for her) she rummaged in her lunch cooler and pulled out a jar, which she placed in front of me. “For you.”
“Most people offer a figurative olive branch,” I told her, picking it up and twisting the lid, which gave way with a satisfying pop. “They don’t give actual olives.”
“It’s not supposed to be an olive branch. It’s a thank you gift.”
I took one of the green, salty delights and popped it into my mouth.
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