Growing Season Page 2

  “I think someone’s coming.” Monica peered through the glass panes of the atrium, her lips trembling as she pulled her cap’s brim lower.

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” Tom angrily stubbed his cigarette out in the sand bowl topping the ornate trash can. Melinda instinctively reached in her purse for her badge, then remembered it was gone. Tom was digging in his jeans pocket, too, then pulled his hand out, empty. He looked at her, then looked away.

  How strange this all felt. A lump formed in her throat as she gazed up the side of the commercial tower, up toward the fifteenth floor, her second home for more than a decade. All morning she’d comforted herself with the idea that this final stop at the office would be therapeutic. This was her chance to gather everything accumulated over her fourteen years at WP&S, including photos of her parents and siblings, her friends, and Oreo. She kept an old-school pica ruler in her desk for good luck, and there was an extra umbrella and a page-a-day cat calendar, too. The smallest things mattered now, and she needed to pack them up, take them with her. Even getting her bottle of hand sanitizer back seemed righteous in some way.

  But now, she just wanted to go home and go back to bed. Everything felt wrong, from being downtown on a Saturday morning to the thin traffic and the few people strolling by on the usually congested sidewalks.

  And then Patrick from human resources came through the lobby, a grim, forced smile on his face. With a pop and a thunk, one of the glass doors opened as Patrick took a few more hesitant steps forward.

  “Everyone, thanks for coming in today.” His tone was brisk and overly upbeat for the occasion. “Your managers will meet you at the elevator lobby on your floor. We’ll all go up together. We’ll keep this as easy as possible, and quick. I’m sure you all have other things to do.”

  “Sit at home and drink the weekend away?” Monica whispered acidly to Melinda as they walked through the atrium single file, like a group of chaperoned kids on a field trip. “Thanks to him and his, I don’t have anything to do come Monday.”

  Melinda couldn’t think about Monday; it made her palms sweat and her heart race. Monday was two days away. She just had to get through the next hour.

  CHAPTER 2

  Another human resources officer met them at the elevator doors and they were divided into two groups. When her car lurched to a stop on fifteen, Melinda took a deep breath and stepped into the all-too-familiar hallway, followed by a studio photographer and a woman whom Melinda couldn’t quite place. Jason, one of the team leads for the floor, tried to smile and hug all of them at once. It was awkward and terrible.

  “I’m sorry the other supervisors couldn’t make it today,” Jason said as he guided them to their desks, as if they’d already forgotten where they were. Despite his casual tone, Melinda could tell he was annoyed the other managers hadn’t even shown up.

  With no one there to complain the sun was too bright on their computer screens, all the blinds were still open from last night’s visit by the cleaning service. Melinda felt like she was in some sort of strange, disorienting dream, the late-morning sunbeams flooding the open workspace with near-blinding light. She swallowed hard as she followed Jason to her desk, then stopped short. Where were her things?

  In the middle of the barren desktop was an unmarked cardboard box. Her monitor was shoved to the side, pockets of dust scattered around the otherwise-blank surface. She glared at Jason, whose cheeks started to flush.

  “We’re trying to move the process along as quickly as possible,” he stammered. Melinda felt her anger rise.

  “You went through my things?” Her voice, high and shrill, echoed around the deserted office. Someone on the other end of the floor started to cry. She was about to. “You packed up my desk for me, like I’m a little kid?”

  “It’s not … it’s not like that, Melinda,” Jason wavered. “We just want everyone to move on and …”

  “You went through my stuff.” She pointed at the desk, then at Jason, her voice lower and tight. “My stuff. My personal belongings. I’ve had this same desk for over ten years, you know.”

  Jason just stood there, looking miserable. Melinda could hardly bring herself to lift the flap and peer into the box. Her photos and other personal items looked small and sad as they huddled in the bottom. This is all that’s left, she thought. Shouldn’t there be more?

  She began to mentally catalog the contents of her files. All her account folders, her writing drafts, notes on the projects she was working on. Her hands shaking with anger, she jerked open the metal drawers on the desk and the file cabinet. They were all empty. The hollow clangs they made when they slammed closed echoed her grief and frustration.

  She turned, trying to keep her voice calm. “Where’s the rest of it? Tell me where they are. All the files. All of it.”

  “The supervisors are moving quickly to relocate accounts with employees remaining with the company,” Jason recited in a tone that told her he’d practiced his talking points at home last night.

  Her mouth fell open. “Who … ”

  “That’s confidential information. And all those projects are legally owned by WP&S, which you … well … I’m so sorry, Melinda.” Jason appeared genuinely upset, but that only made her angrier. None of those projects were finished. She needed to sort them, make notes for the next writer. Didn’t anybody care about that? Apparently not.

  Jason came around the desk and began to fidget with the flaps on the box, glanced around and lowered his voice. “I saw some items from past projects I thought you might want to keep, to show the scope of your work here, to help you land something else. They’re in the manila folders down in the bottom, under your photos.”

  Melinda closed her eyes. She didn’t have the heart to look in there again. What about the copy for that new grocery store campaign, or the project for the woman starting a consulting business from home? And she’d just sketched out some ideas for that one major corporate client … the one that she then remembered had dropped her firm.

  This firm, she reminded herself, staring at the void on her once-cluttered desk. I don’t work here anymore.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jason said again, holding one hand with the other as if he didn’t know what to do. Melinda had never liked Jason much, but she could see this was hard for him. Even so, she hoped he wasn’t about to go in for another hug. He’d just spent the morning rummaging through her possessions and carting her files off to goodness knows where.

  “Well, I have to help Kim get her box,” he gestured toward the other woman and started in her direction, as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Please go stand by the left entrance and wait for us there.”

  Kim. Suddenly, Melinda remembered. Kim had given this firm more than two decades as a top-notch proofreader, even staying late and coming in on weekends when some of the copywriters were slow to make deadline. She never complained, never sought attention for her work. Kim was now slumped in her chair, resting her head on her empty desk. She didn’t look up when Jason put a cautious hand on her shoulder.

  Melinda picked up her box, felt sick about how light it was in her arms. She considered going to the right-side entrance, just to see what Jason would do. Would security guards suddenly appear? She could imagine the box being wrestled away, her photos flying across the room. At least, that would free up her hands and give her a much-needed opportunity to slap somebody …

  “But that would just delay my escape,” she whispered, obediently going to stand by the left elevator. “And I have to get out of here.”

  She placed her box on the gleaming tile floor and waited. The parcel looked even smaller and sadder than it had on her desk. Everything is in there, she thought. Everything that’s left.

  The tears were coming again. She knew Cassie and Susan were on their way, but she had to do something. Not just stand there, waiting for this to end. She reached in her tote, fumbled around for her phone, and texted Cassie. “Come get me. I’m done,” she typed.

  The phot
ographer joined Melinda with his box. They just nodded at each other, then watched as Jason, carrying Kim’s tote, gently steered her to the elevators. Kim trailed behind, tears streaming down her face. Melinda tried to offer her a smile, but what could she say? What could anyone say?

  Her heart sank with the elevator as they drifted down to the lobby, where Jason and the other floor managers tried to say their goodbyes, offering tentative handshakes and hugs to the shell-shocked former employees. Melinda zigzagged around the huddle and, hugging her box to her chest, put her head down and started for the doors.

  “I’ll find you on Facebook,” Monica gave her arm a squeeze as she passed, her box tucked to her side. Melinda could only nod. Her head was spinning. She was trying to look outside, look ahead.

  Then she spotted a cherry-red Escalade double-parked in the loading zone. The horn honked and the lights blinked. Cassie and Susan were there, they saw her coming, saw her trying to make those last trembling steps across the atrium. Melinda’s tears switched from anger to relief as she gave the glass door a hearty push with her shoulder and stepped out into the sunshine.

  Susan jumped out of the backseat and ran to the entrance, her pushed-up sunglasses caught in her strawberry-blonde bob. She reached for the box in Melinda’s shaky hands. “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

  “Yeah.” Melinda was starting to feel dizzy, disoriented. “Please get me out of here. I have to get out of here.”

  “Don’t look back. Just get in the car,” Susan put her arm around her friend. “We’re going to Amadori’s for lunch. Just think about what you want for lunch. There’ll be wine.”

  Cassie propped the passenger-side door open and reached out, taking Melinda’s purse and guiding her into the cool shade of the vehicle.

  “Get in, dear. What do they say? When one door closes …”

  “Those windows don’t always open right away,” Susan added, settling in the back with Melinda’s box next to her on the gray leather seat. “But they’ll appear, give it time. Right now, you need some food and some rest. I’d say you need to laugh, but that might be asking too much today.”

  “Thanks for coming, girls.” Melinda leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, a welcome blast from the air conditioning vent hitting her face.

  Cassie, as usual, was overdressed for the occasion. Decked out in a green-and-white dotted dress and high heels, she flipped her shades down over her brown eyes, honked her horn at another driver and whipped the Escalade into the street. “Screw that place,” she muttered. “It’s their loss.”

  Melinda felt herself drifting away from the curb. She was numb and scared. And suddenly tired, so tired. She had considered driving herself downtown, picking up her stuff on her own. But Cassie and Susan had insisted otherwise, saying it might be too tough emotionally for her to handle alone. And they had been right.

  Cassie let out a whoop when she found a prime parking spot at Amadori’s, the ladies’ favorite old-school Italian restaurant. “It’s a Saturday,” she grinned as she maneuvered into the space. “On a weekday, we’d be walking blocks to get over here.”

  Amadori’s was dim and cozy, with dark red walls and ivory tablecloths. Even for a weekend lunch, the restaurant was nearly packed. Melinda began to relax as she settled into the overstuffed booth. She was hungrier than she realized. That piece of toast hadn’t given her much energy, and the emotional strain of going to WP&S had chased away the last of her hangover.

  The gold bracelets on Cassie’s already-tan wrist jangled as she picked up the wine list. “I’m not going to ask what you’re going to do next,” she reached across and patted Melinda’s hand. “Let’s not talk about it today, OK?”

  “Didn’t we agree not to bring that up?” Susan rolled her eyes as she checked her phone. “And you just did!”

  Cassie laughed, then grew serious. “Melinda, you need to take care of yourself. Jim and I have an extra bedroom if you ever need a place to stay, we’ll help in any way we can. You just let us know what you need.”

  Cassie and Jim Blake actually had more than one extra bedroom. Their renovated 1920s brick mansion in a small-but-elite neighborhood in Minneapolis boasted a tiled pool, guest house, fireplaces in every sitting room and a manicured lawn that would make Jay Gatsby jealous. Despite Cassie’s lavish lifestyle, Melinda always suspected her friend was a bit embarrassed by the Blake family’s wealth and status.

  “She does have an apartment,” Susan tilted her head at Cassie. “And a fabulous one at that. Which is really good, because our place is a little tight.” Susan’s husband, Ray Vinter, was a software engineer for a large manufacturing company. They and their two small sons lived in Edina.

  “Besides, you won’t be needing a place to crash.” Susan flipped over the wine list Cassie passed across the table. “You’re skilled, you’re bright, smart, talented, all of it. You’ll find something, and fast. Don’t worry. My firm might even be hiring in a few weeks, even in this economy.”

  “You’re right,” Melinda tapped her menu on the table. “I’ll start looking Monday. Isn’t that what all the kids do nowadays? Switch jobs every year or two? I’m overdue for a change, then.”

  “You get some money, right?” Cassie narrowed her eyes. “They’re paying up, aren’t they? Severance? Unemployment? Insurance?”

  “I have the packet at home, but haven’t looked at it yet.” Melinda rubbed her face, trying to block out the mental image of the heavy manila envelope that had glared at her all morning from the top of the bookcase. Maybe tomorrow she could read its contents. Just not today. She shook her head when Susan offered her the wine list. She’d had enough last night. But there would be lasagna, and dessert, and as many slices of garlic bread as she wanted.

  “Whatever they’re giving you, it will surely last you for some time,” Susan said as she scanned the list of specials. “And you do have time, Melinda. Take a break for a few weeks, clear your head. It’s the perfect chance to go home to see your family, and not just for a weekend. It’s been a few months, right?”

  Her hometown of Swanton was in northern Iowa, only a three-hour drive from Minneapolis but a world away from her life in the city. Even though it was home to just under ten thousand people, Swanton retained its title as the hub for Hartland County because it was the most-populated town for miles in any direction. Her mom, Diane, had given up her elementary-school teaching job just last year, and her dad, Roger, was retired from the local phone company. Melinda was close to her parents, especially since her siblings lived far away. Amanda and her family lived outside of Milwaukee. Mark had moved to Austin, Texas to study engineering and never found his way back to the Midwest.

  Going home for even a few days always relaxed Melinda and cleared her head, which was just what she needed now. “I was thinking about that this morning, but … I still need to call my parents and tell them what happened.”

  “You haven’t done that yet?” Cassie raised her eyebrows as the waiter brought their salads. “I would think you would have called them right away. You’re all so close.”

  “I know, I know,” Melinda sighed. “Yesterday was such a blur, so surreal. I’ll do it first thing when I get home.”

  Home. How long could she keep her apartment if she couldn’t find a well-paying job, and fast? There would be some unemployment benefits, and she had started to save more aggressively after her last promotion at WP&S. But when she tried to look ahead two months, three months, she couldn’t see her way forward. She shuddered as she remembered the flash of insight from that morning, that vision of herself as old and broke, shuffling around in a stale, cluttered apartment.

  “What am I going to do?” She put her head in her hands, her voice small, scared.

  Cassie reached around and hugged Melinda’s shoulder. “It’s going to be OK. It will. It has to. You’ll see.”

  “No, really, what’s going to happen to me?” She tried to sit up straight, wipe at her eyes. Two elderly women at the next table stared as
they sipped their soups of the day. “I’m nearly forty. I’ve been at the same company for almost fifteen years and so happy there that I never once considered looking for another job. How am I going to compete with those Millennial kids? And I can’t sit home all day, staring out the window.”

  Cassie gave the eavesdropping ladies a warning look and lowered her voice. “Listen, you’re good on your own, better than anyone else I know. Believe me, I wish I was half as self-sufficient as you are.” Susan raised an eyebrow, as Cassie had just confirmed what she and Melinda had always suspected.

  “Three years ago, when you and Craig broke off your engagement? I would have died on the spot.” Cassie reached across the table and grasped Melinda’s hand. “But you just held your head up and kept going. Thankfully the two of you hadn’t bought that house, the really cute one with the wrought-iron fence and … well, never mind about that …”

  Melinda winced. She and Craig, a sports reporter for one of the Twin Cities’ television stations, had dated for two years before he slipped the engagement ring on her finger while they sat on a park bench beside Lake Calhoun. Despite the romantic, sunset-lit gesture, she had known deep down that it wouldn’t work, that he wasn’t the one. It took six weeks of breathless congratulations from well-meaning friends and an offer on a house before she’d gathered the courage to put an end to it.

  Susan handed her a tissue and tried to get the discussion back on track. “The point is, you always find a way to move forward, and you will again. Like when Oreo passed away. You cried, of course, and it hurt. But you carried on.”

  Melinda thought of Oreo’s collar tucked down in her purse. Her friends were right, she’d faced hard times before. But still …

  “Even if I can manage somehow to deal with this …” She felt the tears stinging behind her eyes again. Would she ever get her emotions in check? “What about when the severance runs out? What if I get sick, or I can’t pay the rent? I’m just one bad day away from …”