2. Florence
2
FLORENCE
“ A t laaaaaaast, my love has come alooooong.” I turn the volume up on my phone and sway to the beat of the song. I’m no singer, but Etta James brings it out in me. How can anyone not belt out this song? It’s so full of passion and raw emotion. I almost feel like I know what it’s like to be in love. Almost.
I haven't had a lot of love in my life, and certainly not the romantic kind. My dad loved me. I know he did. He wouldn't have left if he had a choice, but… But there's no use dwelling on what might have been. The facts are that I was put in foster care after a huge injustice against my father.
Truthfully, I consider myself lucky. Most of the kids I met in the system either never knew their parents or had horror stories of how they ended up as wards of the state. While I don’t remember much of my mother before she took off, I have lots of memories of my father. It’s still hard to fathom that he was in handcuffs, being thrown into the back of a cop car the last time I saw him.
None of that matters now. I’m out of the system, I got a degree in business accounting, and I’ve been gainfully employed for over a year at the Hanson & Hanson firm. That’s more than any of my foster parents thought I was capable of. What’s that saying? Success is the best revenge.
I’m about to join Etta James on verse two when my cat, Sprinkles, jumps onto the back of the couch where I’m sitting. “Mrrreow,” he informs me, rubbing his head against my shoulder.
“Oh yeah? Is someone feeling ignored?”
“Mer. Meow. Mew, mew, mew,” he answers as I scratch his cute little noggin.
"Is it dinner time already?" I look at my phone, and sure enough, it's six thirty-two. Exactly two minutes later than His Majesty normally has his dry food. "Such a stickler for your schedule, aren't you?"
The second I make a move to get up, he leaps onto the floor and trots to his food bowl. The fluffy, pure white Persian cat looks up at me with wide blue eyes, imploring me to get the food from its hiding spot. He mews impatiently as I open the bag, then sticks his head in his bowl, blocking me from filling it up.
“Sir, you’re going to have to move for this to work. We go over this every night.” I nudge him a bit and he reluctantly tilts his head to the side until his bowl is full. “You’d think no one fed you around here,” I say under my breath.
I should probably get something to eat myself, but it feels like a lot of work at the moment. Instead of cooking a whole meal, I settle for crackers and peanut butter, along with some strawberry yogurt and string cheese.
Gathering my assortment of snacks that will suffice for my dinner, I walk back to my couch and spread everything out on the coffee table next to the stack of papers I took home from work today. Something isn’t quite right with a few accounts I was handed last week, but I haven’t been able to figure out exactly what.
I take a bite of yogurt and flip through one folder in particular that seems to be missing something. The numbers just don’t add up. Numbers don’t lie. People, on the other hand…
My face scrunches up involuntarily when the image of Larry Hasnson flashes across my eyes. He's as slimy as they come. He'll hit on just about anything with two legs, which is strange, considering everyone in the office jokes about Larry and his mother, Mary, having a rather scandalous relationship. The rumors aren't true, of course. At least, I don't think. Then again, what forty-one-year-old man wears matching accessories with his mother to the office every single day? It makes me shudder to think about them having matching pajamas and swimsuits.
Ew. Instead of going down that path, I bury myself in the mystery of account number 30913-45. That’s another strange thing. We usually have the name of the entity on the cover page of these reports. Even if the business entity wants things to be under the radar, we still use an internal naming system based on the type of account and a bunch of other factors. This one just has a string of numbers.
After a few hours, I finally discovered the issue. Or, at least one of what I assume are several issues. Some of the invoices are here in print, but they were never uploaded to our system. That's not very secure. It's certainly a massive oversight for the person in charge of this account.
I searched the documents, both digital and print, scouring them for the name of the original accountant who set this up. There's nothing in our system, but on the very last page of the folder of printed documents, I see a signature scrawled messily at the bottom. Mary Hanson.
Yikes. I don't think I have enough experience or sway in the firm to confront the very owner herself. Maybe I could bring it up to someone else in the office and have them look over the account? Then again, it's not like I'm close to any of my co- workers. Even though I've been at the firm for almost a year and a half now, we all keep to ourselves. I'm the youngest one there by a decade, so I don't imagine anyone jumping up to help me confront the boss.
A yawn overtakes me, and I inhale while uncurling from my hunched position over the coffee table. Stretching my arms over my head, I roll the kinks out of my neck and feel my spine straighten out.
Sprinkles takes this as an invitation to jump on my lap. I laugh softly and run my fingers through his silky fur, loving the way he instantly curls up and begins purring. I suppose this is a good place to stop for the evening. I’m not sure what to do with this new information, but I’m not going to figure it out tonight.
My phone beeps, alerting me to an incoming text. A smile spreads across my face when I see it’s my dear friend, Amelia. We went to high school together and took a few classes at the local community college after graduation.
Last year, we parted ways when she moved out to Misty Mountain, Colorado. I’m not sure exactly what sent her running off, but I’ve never pressured her to give me the details. She’ll tell me if and when she’s ready.
Amelia: Hey, Florence! I miss you. How is the job going?
Me: I miss you, too, friend :) The job is okay. It pays the bills. Mostly, lol. What have you been up to? Any plans to visit?
I watch as those three little text bubbles appear and disappear several times. I wonder what she’s struggling to say. Finally, I get a response.
Amelia: I don't know if I'll ever go back to Vegas. Not while my mom and stepdad are around. You are always welcome to visit me here in Colorado! It's gorgeous. You'll just die when you see the cute little bookstore I work at!
Me: I may just take you up on that. I’ve been feeling a bit restless lately.
Amelia: So… speaking of my parental units… Have you seen them around town at all? Or noticed their house for sale or anything like that?
I furrow my brow at her questions. My friend has always had a tumultuous relationship with her mother and stepfather. I know they're the reason she moved several states away, though she's never explicitly said what happened between them.
Me: I haven’t seen either of them, but I don’t really go out much. Just the office, Phil’s Market, the library, and back home. I might have a latte at the cafe across the street from my office, but that’s about it.
I don’t get a response for a few moments, so I try again.
Me: I can stop by your old house and see if their cars are parked in the driveway or if it’s for sale if you’d like.
Amelia: Would that be asking too much? I don’t want to add more things to your plate.
Me: It’s no problem, I promise :) Everything okay?
Again, bubbles appear and disappear. I wish I knew what she was thinking and why she felt the need to leave her life here behind.
Amelia: I'm sure it's nothing and I'm being paranoid. I swear I saw my stepdad yesterday snooping around the dumpster near my apartment. Crazy, I know. Just paranoia, I'm sure.
Me: If my double-checking that they are here in Vegas will help ease your mind, I'm happy to help. I promise you're not a burden.
I can't count the number of times I've told my sweet friend that she's not a burden. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why she has a complex. I'm sure her shitty mom and even shittier stepfather made her feel unworthy.
Amelia: Thank you, Florence. You have no idea how much I miss you.
Me: Miss you, too. I’m coming for a visit soon, I promise. You better make some big plans for us and parade me around town!
This earns me a laughing emoji, which I consider a win. We say our goodbyes and I put a reminder in my phone to take the bus out to Amelia’s old house.
Sprinkles stretches and lets me adjust him slightly so I can lay down on the couch that doubles as my bed. My studio apartment only has room for one or the other, so I chose a couch. Honestly, I slept on a lot of couches growing up, and I find them more comfortable than beds. Then again, I can’t remember the last time I slept all night on a mattress. Maybe I don’t know what I’m missing.
The account, my sleeping situation, worrying about Amelia… All things that will have to wait until tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year. Right now, I just need sleep. Sprinkles snuggles up closer to my head and rests his paws on my shoulder, letting me know he’s ready for sleep as well.