Chapter 29
Afew days later, when I can finally see through both my eyes again, I head back to work. It’s super early in the morning--still dark--when I'm backing out of the linen closet, my arms full of freshly bleached, folded sheets.
I feel someone behind me. I turn, half expecting it to be Caitlin--she’s forever hiding around corners, waiting to jump out at me with a “Blah!” She claims it makes the work day go by faster if there’s the possibility of excitement.
But it’s not Caitlin, trying to scare me--it’s far more frightening. Mr. Franklin stands just behind me, close enough that if I hadn't seen him, I might have run into him. I jolt back, my eyes so wide that it pinches my still-healing eye.
His beady eyes fix on my bruise: I swear I see him smirk. “What happened to you?”
“Hello, Mr. Franklin,” I say, pointedly ignoring his question. “Is there something I can help you with?”
I keep my smile controlled, professional. Inside, my heart is pounding.
It’s finally happened, I think. Mr. Franklin got a report that Alex missed work. He’s violated his parole.
He stares at me for long moments, as if savoring this moment.
"I got a decent report from Sharon about Alex’s job progress," Mr. Franklin finally says.
It's all I can do to keep my mouth from dropping open, my eyebrows from swinging upward.
Still, some little bit of surprise must show on my face because he gives me that smarmy smile and says, "I know. I was surprised, too. But it would be good for him to stay out of trouble, and I'm glad he's at least doing his job. Reduces my workload."
I nod and smile and don't trust myself to say a word.
“Remember,” he says. “I’ll be by your house soon enough. We aren't going to have any attitude problems this time, are we?”
I stiffen but shake my head.
I wait until he's down the hall and out the door before I head to Sharon's office.
She's got a bucket of fried chicken on her desk when she calls me into her office. Her belly is so big she can barely reach her keyboard or her mouse. As I watch, she takes an extra-crispy drumstick, dips it into the mashed potatoes container, then dunks it in the gravy.
"My other two were fine with salads and cottage cheese. This kid is killing me," she says before she unhinges her jaw and takes a bite.
I look away to be polite even though Sharon's obviously deep in I-don't-give-a-rip territory.
"Sorry to interrupt your lunch. I just wanted to ask how Alex is doing."
"This isn't even my lunch," she says. A glob of gravy slides off the drumstick and lands on her stomach. She swipes it clean with her finger and pops it in her mouth. "I had Austin bring leftovers from home because fried chicken was suddenly all I could think about."
"Oh, ok." I don't know what to say--if I weren't here for a good reason, I'd start edging my way toward the door. It's kind of like visiting the zoo during feeding hours--makes you a bit nervous about how thick that safety glass really is.
"Oh, shoot," she says, her eyes going wide. "I'm grossing you out. I'm sorry."
"No, not at all."
"He did this to me. Austin." She gestures down at her beach-ball belly, and her bottom lip starts to wobble. "I used to be professional. I used to be cute."
"Are you kidding? You're absolutely professional. You're here, doing your job. And you're the cutest pregnant woman I know." It's the truth, but only because I don't know any other pregnant women.
Truth be told, Sharon scares me a little bit these days. I'm starting to feel like I should start carrying red licorice and beef jerky in my pockets in case she's having a bad day.
She gives me a watery smile. "Thank you. That's so sweet." She puts down her drumstick and licks her fingers. "What can I do for you?"
"I just wanted to check in and see how Alex is doing."
"Oh, he's great." She beams. "We're so happy to have an IT guy who actually knows what he's doing. And he's so patient with the residents. It's wonderful."
I nod and smile, even as I chew my lower lip. I'm torn--I don't want to get Alex in trouble by pointing out that he hasn't been here for the past couple of weeks. I've been dreading the check-in from Mr. Franklin.
But I also need to know why she lied to Mr. Franklin. Because despite what the gravy stains on the front of her maternity shirt might look like, Sharon is really good at her job.
"Can I be honest with you, Sharon?" I lean forward and wince, even as she bobs a wide-eyed nod. "Alex and I got into a fight. We kind of aren't speaking right now. Truth be told, I think he's avoiding me."
"Oh no." She slides the bucket of cold chicken across the desk toward me in a silent offer. I shake my head--I know better than to take a pregnant lady's chicken--it's as good a way to lose a finger as sticking it in a running motor. "How can I help?"
"When's the last time you saw him?" I ask.
She frowns, her head tilting to the side. "I guess it's been a few weeks, now that I think about it."
I hold up my hands. "I'm not trying to get him into trouble at work."
"Oh, no. His work's been great. He's been keeping up on his tags just fine."
Something stutters in my heart. "His tags?"
"Yeah. His services are integrated into the CaringHands App that each resident has on their phone.
They can just press the button to report that they need tech help, and Alex gets a tag on his work tablet.
" Sharon turns to her computer and starts tapping away.
She turns the screen as far around as it will go to show me.
I have to go on tip-toes to read it. "Looks like he's cleared three tags so far this morning. "
"Oh. Great." My mind is spinning. I don't know what to think. How on earth is that possible?
"Family can be so challenging," Sharon says. "Even though we love them, they still can drive us crazy."
"That's the truth."