Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Marshall
“Okay, no one panic.” Rory’s voice had the smallest of wobbles to it. The elevator went from pitch black to dim light as a strip of emergency lights flickered on, illuminating the buttons on the operating panel.
“I’m not panicking,” I lied as I smashed the red emergency call button. I hated elevators, always had, and I’d only taken this one because I was so hungry for lunch that it seemed more expedient. Seemed being the operative word.
“Simpson Elevator Monitoring service.” A female voice crackled over the speaker. “This is Sonya. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
“The elevator stopped.” I hit the Down, Up, Door Open, and other buttons. Nothing. “The emergency lights are on, but none of the buttons are doing anything.”
“I’m paging maintenance right now. Please remain calm.” Sonya had a well-practiced, reassuring tone that did absolutely nothing to lower my anxiety.
“We’re trying.” Rory, however, was chipper as ever.
He was somewhere between my age of twenty-six and his early thirties, with a riot of curly red hair, pale skin dotted with hundreds of freckles, and perpetually sparkling blue eyes.
He had the sort of elfin features that meant he’d likely still pass for twenty-five at fifty, even if his short and stocky build was more dad bod than twink.
“Maintenance reports a building-level power outage they’re working to resolve.” Sonya’s voice crackled over the speaker again. “Please be patient.”
“I don’t want to be patient,” I snapped, exhaling hard. “I just want my lunch.”
“Hey. We’ll get out of here. Promise.” Rory touched my arm, a light tap on the slick fabric of my suit jacket.
Like most of the office, he was a hugger, the sort of touchy-feely person I always felt a bit out of step with.
But he also had one of the kindest voices.
“And Sandwich Shack is open late. Not like that breakfast diner near the pizza place that closes at two, which is a shame because breakfast is good all day. Don’t you think?
That’s why I like Honey’s. They’re open twenty-four hours. ”
“Rory?” My own voice came out pained. Usually, I could listen to him for hours.
Sometimes I left my office door open, the sounds from the reception area a pleasing background hum as I worked.
Right now, though, I didn’t have the extra brain power to process his inventory of varied restaurant hours. “You’re rambling.”
“Oh.” Rory blushed, a dusky flush I could see even in this dim lighting. “Sorry. Guess maybe I am a touch nervous. I’ve been in tons of elevators and never had this happen. Have you?”
“No. I usually take the stairs.” I didn’t bother with elevators for anything under five or so stories, which ruled out most buildings in Oregon. Traveling, I sometimes had no choice, but I always tensed as soon as the doors closed.
“Ah. Not a fan, I take it.” He tossed his messenger bag to the ground before settling beside it.
“What are you doing now?” I asked, even though it was rather apparent.
“Getting comfortable.” Rory shrugged as if this were no more inconvenient than a wait at the doctor’s office. “We might be here awhile.”
“I know.” And I also knew I sounded like a spoiled brat, anxiety making me even more pointed than usual. “Sorry. You’re trying to be helpful.”
“And it might help if you sit down, try relaxing.” Rory patted the small scrap of metal flooring next to him.
“I’m fine.” Another lie, but sitting next to Rory felt like an admission we were in for a long wait.
Not to mention, he’d been in the process of asking me out when the elevator stopped.
For all that I found some people hard to read, Rory wore his entire range of emotions on his expressive face.
There was no guesswork with him. He’d been flirty for months, but I didn’t date coworkers, a fact I’d need to explain once we were out of the immediate situation.
At the moment, though, survival took precedence. I pulled out my phone, but all I got was a helpful No Signal message. “Darn it. No bars.”
“Me either.” Rory held up his own phone. “Guess you’re stuck with me for conversation.”
“I’m sure there are worse fates.” I offered the attempt at a joke, but I wasn’t surprised when Rory didn’t laugh.
I lacked my father’s talent for effortless joke delivery.
Rory did, however, keep right on smiling.
“How are you always so cheerful? We could be here for hours. And you don’t seem fazed. ”
“I don’t let small stuff get to me.” Rory leaned back against the elevator wall.
He glanced over at me, but I’d spent enough time around Rory to know he’d keep the conversation going if I simply waited.
And he didn’t disappoint. “I’m not going to bore you with my life story, but I was once a client of CASA as a kid.
Thanks to my amazing advocate and others, I finally landed in a great foster-adopt placement with a family of die-hard optimists here in Mount Hope.
I’ve seen some of the worst the world has to offer, and I’ve also seen the best. Trapped in the elevator with the hot new attorney? Very low on the annoyance meter.”
“I’m not hot.” Out of Rory’s entire tale, that was the one tidbit my brain seized on.
“Oops. Forget I said that. And forget—”
“Simpson monitoring here.” Another crackly message from Sonya blessedly cut Rory off. “The building power remains off. A transformer blew nearby. We’re in contact with maintenance as well as the fire department for options to get you out.”
“Thank you.” My gratitude was genuine because I appreciated the interruption, even if I hated the message.
“And thank you for your continued patience.” Sonya had the same tone as if we were on hold with the electric company. “Hold tight.”
“We’re holding.” Rory didn’t seem anywhere near as restless and irritated as I was. He gazed up at me with soft eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I admire the optimism. And your story.” I wasn’t about to revisit his hot comment with a ten-foot pole, but I couldn’t let the rest of it pass unacknowledged. “It’s good to know some of our kids become success stories.”
“They do.” Rory beamed at me. “And thank you for calling me a success story.”
“You are. You’re in graduate school for social work as well as working here.
And you seem…well-adjusted? Happy?” I searched for the right compliment.
His perpetually positive attitude was one of the things I liked most about him, right along with his lack of drama.
In a small office, gossip could travel like wildfire, but Rory wasn’t the sort to involve himself in petty disputes or relay secrets.
“I’m not so sure on well-adjusted.” Rory had a musical laugh. “Thank God for therapy. But I’m happy. My present life is pretty good.”
“That’s the sort of outcome I hope for with each case.”
“Can I ask what drew you to the job?” Rory’s tone was cautious, with good reason. Like him, a lot of CASA staff, as well as those working with the resources we partnered with, had once been in the child welfare system. However, I didn’t have a straightforward explanation.
“My parents would like that answer too.” I gave an uncomfortable laugh. “My mom is a big-firm corporate lawyer in Portland. My dad owns a restaurant in Alberta. I had a pretty happy, well-off childhood, honestly.”
“I know Alberta. I got a coffee at People’s Cup when I was in Portland last week.” Rory nodded encouragingly. “And plenty of people with decent childhoods end up working in child welfare too.”
“I didn’t see my privilege until I did a semester at the family law clinic at law school,” I admitted.
I’d grown up in something of a bubble. Good schools.
Right to college, which was paid for by my parents.
I hadn’t realized the rarity of my circumstances until I’d had broader exposure to others. “I had a case get under my skin.”
“Some cases do that.” Rory shifted like he might want to touch me again, but luckily, our positions prevented that. I wasn’t sure I could handle his understanding right then.
“Yeah. It was a complicated domestic abuse case.” I couldn’t reveal more than that for privacy’s sake, but Rory was remarkably good at getting more details from me than most. “For the first time in my life, I felt needed. Like I could make a difference. Then, closer to graduation, the professor supervising the clinic told me about this opening. I shocked everyone when I took it.”
“Your mom wanted you to end up at her firm?” Rory guessed.
“It was an option among other firm jobs.” I pursed my lips. I hated sounding even more spoiled. “To her credit, she’s supported this opportunity even if she treats it more like a phase.”
“And you want your parents to take it more seriously.” Rory nodded like that was a conclusion, not a question.
“Yeah. You’re rather perceptive.” I envied his easy ability to read people correctly. Also, my chest was strangely warm. Rory saw more than even my mom, and she had known me my whole life.
“Thanks. You’re very…professional in personality, so it makes sense you want the people important to you to give appropriate weight to your passions.” Rory spoke slowly as if selecting each word from a pile of possibilities, careful not to offend, another skill I sometimes lacked.
“Thanks. I am passionate about my work.” I’d take Rory calling me professional over uptight or stiff. “And usually, my parents do take me seriously. They were rather accommodating of my elephant phase.”
“Your elephant phase?” Rory’s eyes sparkled with fresh energy.
I groaned because I hadn’t intended to reveal that little factoid. “The Oregon Zoo had a new baby elephant when I was six. I spent the next several years wanting to know absolutely everything about elephants.”
“That’s adorable.”
“When I get into something, I tend to get…obsessed,” I admitted, but Rory nodded supportively.
“Which isn’t a bad thing.”
“It is when it’s two a.m. and you’re mid-deep dive on a character actor you saw on a single episode of a new show,” I countered, head going swimmy from the effort of keeping up with this conversation. My stomach clenched uncomfortably. I really should have eaten far sooner.
“Relatable.” Rory was nothing if not determined to keep the conversation rolling. “What show?”
“A…” The name of the show fled on a wave of dizziness. “From that writer… Am…Ambrose. Something.”
I rubbed my temples as my head pounded.
“You don’t look so good.” Rory patted the floor next to him again. “Sit before you topple over. Please.”
“Thought I was hot.” Giving into my wobbly knees, I lowered myself to sit. “And I’ll be better after I eat. Low blood sugar.”
“You have hypoglycemia?” Rory peered at me with far more concern. I hated worrying him, but I was rapidly going from hungry to emergency.
“Type 1 diabetes.”
“Now you tell me.” Rory rose on his knees to press the emergency call button again. “Hey, Sonya, any ETA on that rescue? We’ve got a situation.”