43
1000 Words
“What if I told you that I only steal from bad guys and that all the stuff I take goes to help the less fortunate?”
“I’d say that story’s as old as the hills.”
“So’s the story of Moses. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
He props his elbows on his desk, drops his head into his hands, and groans. “Please stop talking.”
This is why you don’t confide in people. The truth makes them twitchy. “Oh, relax, Hank. I’m only kidding. Not about the guy I shouldn’t like, but about everything else.”
When he looks up at me, I send him my most winsome smile. He narrows his eyes, clearly dubious. “So you didn’t steal anything from him?”
I wave my hand in the air dismissively. “Of course not.
Don’t be silly.”
“And he’s not dangerous?”
“He’s an accountant.”
“Why shouldn’t you like him, then?”
“Because my father’s an accountant, too. I swore I’d never marry one. All that bean counting could drive a girl nuts.”
We stare at each other. Me with a straight face, Hank with a face like he’s painfully constipated.
Finally, he sighs. “Okay. Here’s my advice. Take it for what it’s worth. You ready?”
“Yes.”
“Life is short. You don’t get a do-over. Kiss who you need to kiss, love who you need to love, tell anyone who disrespects you to go f**k themselves. Let your heart lead you where it wants to. Don’t ever make a decision based on fear. In fact, if it scares you, that’s the thing you should run fastest toward, because that’s where real life is. In the scary parts. In the messy parts. In the parts that aren’t so pretty. Dive in and take a swim in all the pain and beauty that life has to offer, so that at the end of it, you don’t have any regrets.
“We only come this way once. Our obligation for receiving the miraculous gift of life is to truly, fully live it.”
He pauses, blinking. “Wow. I wish I’d recorded that. It was brilliant.”
My voice choked, I say, “I’ll transcribe it for you. I’m pretty sure it’s etched into my soul.”
“Oh god. You’re crying.”
“I am not,” I say through a sob. Swiping at my watering eyes, I add, “I’m just on my period.”
Shaking his head, Hank chuckles. “So glad we’re finally doing the sharing thing at eight o’clock on a Monday morning. I should’ve called in sick.”
I stand, round his desk, and throw my arms around his neck. Still in his chair, he pats my back in a fatherly way.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “Okay. This is the limit of my paternal instincts, kiddo. If you need more help, I’m gonna send you to Ruth in Human Resources because I literally have no idea how to handle emotional young women.”
I straighten and smile down at him. “You’re a good egg, Hank Hauser.”
He waves me off. “Quit trying to butter me up. You’re not due for a wage increase for another five months.”
A knock on Hank’s office door makes us turn.
A young man stands in the doorway. He’s Latino, goodlooking, maybe late twenties, dressed in an expensive black suit and a white dress shirt open at the collar. He’s carrying a big bouquet of dark red roses and a flat black velvet box, about twelve inches square, tied with black ribbon.
“Juliet,” he says sternly, gazing at me like I’m being accused of a terrible wrongdoing.
Oh god. What’s this? “She’s out sick today.”
He quirks his mouth and shakes his head. “Nice try. You want these here?” He jerks his chin toward Hank’s desk.
Bemused at this new development, Hank makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “By all means, mister…”
“Diego. Just Diego.”
Diego is obviously not your average delivery boy. Aside from the suit, he’s also got that cocky swagger that I know all too well.
Made men all walk like they’ve got a million dollars in cash stuck up their butts.
He sets the bouquet of roses down, puts the black box next to it, then turns and heads back toward the door. Before he walks out, he stops abruptly and looks at me.
“He’s not what you think he is.”
We gaze at each other steadily. I feel Hank looking back and forth between us in concern, unsure if he should intervene or let this odd little drama play out.
I want it to play out. I’ve had enough of this “not who but what” BS.
“Tell me what he is, then.”
Diego glances at Hank. He looks back at me. His voice low, he says, “He bought my mother a house. Paid it off. Gave her the deed. Nobody in my family’s ever owned property.”
“That’s a touching story, Diego. My father once bought someone property, too. Gave him the deed, moved him and his whole family in. The house burned to the ground within a week, with everyone still in it. Guess who lit the match that started the fire?”
Hank’s mouth drops open.
Diego’s eyes flash. He says, “That’s f****d up.”
“It is. Bad people can sometimes act like they’re doing good things, but it’s only a game. It’s make-believe. If I were you, I’d tell your mother to find another place to live before your employer shows his true colors and lights a match.”
Hank stands, hands spread wide like he’s conducting an intervention. “Okay, this is getting weird. Diego, I think it’s time for you to—”
- Writer
