Fifteen Years (8 page)

“Fear of what?” Josiah tried as hard as possible to sound like the bishop’s charge was absurd.

“Rejection. More pain, maybe.” The pastor didn’t miss a beat. “If the Smiths have truly forgotten you or if they simply don’t want to reestablish a relationship with you for whatever reason, you’ll feel that fresh sense of loss all over again, and you’re afraid of the possibility of reliving that pain.”

Josiah stood in silence, unable to protest the hardcore truth.

“That’s your other leg,” Bishop Lumpkin stressed, coming to a standing position once more. “The Smiths are your other leg; that missing limb that could complete your body. I believe with my whole heart that you could find your foster parents if you tried. You certainly can with God’s help. With God, all things are possible. Atlanta’s a big city, but it’s not as big as the God we serve.”

Josiah started to say that he had no paid leave time left on his job, but that would have been an out-and-out lie. He hardly ever took a day off from work because doing so would leave too much idle time for his mind to linger in the past. Josiah had at least ninety days of accrued vacation time that he could use, probably more.

“It’s been fifteen years.” Josiah’s voice was hoarse. He sounded more like he was talking to himself than to the pastor. “Fifteen years is a long time. What if they don’t live in Atlanta anymore? What if they’re not happy to see me? What if they’re deceased? What if—”

“What if the prosthesis doesn’t feel natural? What if it hurts? What if I walk with a limp that looks even more ridiculous than using crutches? What if? What if? What if?” The bishop walked closer to Josiah with every comeback. His eyes said he knew all too well the fears that came with a risk like this one.

Josiah stared back at his pastor and knew that no excuse he
presented would be an acceptable one. A heavy sigh served as his surrender.

“Stop being a cripple,” Bishop Lumpkin said. “Yes, fifteen years is a long time. It’s a
very
long time. Too long, actually. Fifteen years of wandering around feeling no sense of belonging. Fifteen years of letting life beat you down without the ability to fight back. Fifteen years of hobbling around on one leg when God has provided you with a perfectly good prosthesis.

“Go get your leg, Brother Tucker. Go get it, and learn to walk again.”

HE HAD ARRIVED—or at least that’s what it felt like.

Josiah stood in the center of his office and looked around as though he hadn’t been working out of it for more than a week. The newly installed white window shades, the fresh coat of paint on the walls, and the reflective hardwood floors made the room look, feel, and smell brand-new, like it had been designed just for him. Like the whole five-story structure known as MacGyver Technologies had been built just for him. Josiah inhaled a lung full of the smell of success. He could get used to this.

Mickey thought he had surprised the company’s newest senior analyst when he announced at the promotions dinner that the office would be customized to Josiah’s personal liking. Josiah allowed his eyes to stretch when the proclamation was made; he’d promised Lillian that he would. The queen of gossip had leaked the news to him as they walked to their cars together after work on Friday.

“He’s gonna give you the liberty to choose between having your solid wood desk finished in cherry or mahogany.” They were standing by the driver-side door of her car when she told him. Lillian’s eyes darted back and forth, making sure no one could finger her as the spoiler. “And the enamel file cabinets that you get came in fancy colors like smoky topaz, harmonic tan, garden sage, and olive grove.” For good measure, Lillian had put up a finger for each color she named. She was all too happy to spill the beans. Like ruining the surprise had made her day. Maybe even her entire week.

Mickey was visibly taken aback when Josiah asked to have all of his furniture ordered in basic black. He’d asked that the walls be painted steel grey, and the black gear matched it with perfection. Black was his favorite color. Always had been. And it looked stunning in his new office. He’d always despised the orangey walls, varnished wooden desk, and clay colored file cabinets in his old office. The ensemble reminded him of the furniture in his childhood bedroom. Much nicer, much sturdier, but mix matched just the same.

Something about plain old black and white never looked plain at all. Coordinated just right, the basic colors looked artistic and innovative, stylish. The large black-and-white abstract framed painting that hung on the wall behind his desk helped to make the office a showplace to be proud of.

A few boxes, consisting mostly of software handbooks and a few files sat in the corner, still unpacked. They were a temporary eyesore that would be gone in the next day or so. Josiah had been taking his time putting things away. Mickey offered to send one of the gofers to help him get everything set up, but Josiah declined. When it came to his workspace, he had a system, and if things weren’t put exactly where they belonged, it would mess up everything.

“Josiah. How’s it going?”

Spinning around, Josiah faced Mickey. It irked him that his boss never sought permission before entering his office. The door was closed. Wasn’t knocking before entering a common courtesy? It was no real shocker though. Bad manners seemed to fit Mickey’s slipshod personality well. If he weren’t a nice man, he’d be unbearable.

As though giving Josiah a prime example to prove his thoughts, Mickey sneezed in his hand, then pulled his overused hanky from his blazer pocket and blew his Rudolph-red nose into it before wadding it back up and shoving it back into place. He used long steps to close the space between him and Josiah, and Josiah found himself praying to God that the man didn’t touch him.

“Looking good in here.” Mickey sounded more congested than normal as he turned a full circle to get a panoramic view of the office. He sniffed and cleared his throat. “I have to admit that I was a little bit worried about these plain colors, but you made it come together. I think it’s the black and white accessories … the pencil holder, trash can, in-box, coatrack, and throw rug… that’s making it look like some kind of atypical Oval Office.”

Josiah smiled at the analogy. He’d never thought of it that way.

“I never envisioned it looking like this,” Mickey concluded. “Looks kinda—you know—elegant. Black desk and all.”

Josiah’s grin evaporated, and his insides cringed when Mickey put the same hand he’d sneezed into on the surface of his desk and patted it three times in approval.

“Looks good, Josiah. Looks real good,” Mickey concluded.

“Thanks, Mr. Colt,” Josiah managed to say through half-clinched teeth. “Did you want anything in particular?” He needed to get him out of his office.

Mickey snapped his fingers like Josiah had just reminded him
of the purpose of his intrusion. “Oh yes. I need you to stop by my office at some point today, preferably before three. I need your help with something, a computer thing.” The fast-talker in him had reemerged. “I’ve been trying to figure it out all morning and haven’t had any luck. I’m stumped. Have to complete a report by close of business on Thursday. Haven’t even started on it. No surprise there, right?” His laugh turned into an uncovered openmouthed hacking cough that prompted Josiah to take two steps backward. Mickey kept talking like nothing had happened. “I’ll probably need to download that new software. Not here at the office. It’s on the system here. But you already know that. What I need is to get it on my laptop. Gotta have a way to work on it at home. The wife’s not gonna like me bringing work home. Unfortunately, it can’t be helped though, unless you want to do it for me. I can give you all the info and you can log it—”

“I’ll meet you in your office at two thirty,” Josiah jumped in. He wasn’t about to do Mickey’s work for him. Those days were over. Mickey would have to either learn the ropes of the job that afforded him the convertible Bentley that he drove, or dupe somebody else into doing his dirty work from now on.

Josiah was no fool. He fully realized that he had been used by Mickey over the years, but he also knew that it wasn’t a one-sided deal. He had used Mickey just as well. Josiah had done work that was beneath him, but there had been a method to his madness. It was all with the long-term goal of climbing the executive ladder. In corporate America, kissing up to authority called for just as much dexterity and skillfulness as the job’s official duties. Josiah has mastered it. For years he had been at Mr. MacGyver’s beck and call, and when the mantle changed hands, he’d availed himself to be the same for Mickey. But no more. He’d reached senior level now. It was time to set some boundaries.

“I’ll be there by two thirty,” Josiah reiterated, “but I can only stay for half an hour.”

Mickey’s eyebrows tightened. “You have somewhere to be?”

“Yes.” Josiah walked around his desk and pointed at a small stack of papers that sat near his computer. “I have a workshop to facilitate at Moniker Insurance Brokers, remember? That’s Friday. Today’s Tuesday. I have to get all of the information together that I want included in the handouts. Not to mention that I have to go over the Operations Handbook to be sure all of the necessary intricate details are incorporated.”

“Oh.” Mickey looked like a lost kitten. “Well… I may need a little more than thirty minutes of your time, but I’ll do my best not to keep you too long.”

Josiah almost laughed. Mickey apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. How long he assisted him wasn’t Mickey’s call to make. But Josiah wasn’t going to get into any word wars. At the end of the day—allergies, red nose, bad manners, and all—Mickey was still the boss. However, Josiah had no intentions of staying one minute longer than the thirty minutes he’d verbally granted, and that was something he could show Mickey better than he could tell him.

“I’ll meet you at two thirty,” Josiah said before sinking into the leather of his swivel desk chair and picking up a few sheets of paper from the pile. He hoped the gesture would let Mickey know that the conversation was over.

It did, and as soon as his boss closed the door behind his exit, Josiah pulled a container of pop-up-style Lysol disinfectant wipes from his bottom drawer and used a sheet to wipe down the surface of his desk. A second one sanitized the doorknobs on both sides of the door.

He was just finishing up the cleaning of the outside knob when he heard his name called. Josiah spun around in time to see two
equally beautiful women approaching him. A part of him wished he’d been on the inside of his office and out of their view, and another part of him felt fortunate to have chosen this moment to disinfect his doorknob.

Nadhima was laughing when she said, “Trying to keep your new toys clean, are you?”

Josiah felt flustered. He didn’t know if it were due to Nadhima’s poking fun at him, or the heat from the adoring eyes of her daughter that burned into his flesh.

“I… uh, no. Well, um, yes, I guess you could say that,” Josiah stammered. “Just trying to … well, you know.” He didn’t even know how to complete the sentence.

Nadhima laughed again. “Oh, you don’t need to explain, Josiah. I remember when I first made senior, I was the same way. Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he admitted.

“Well, I would introduce you to my daughter, but I know that the two of you have already met.”

Nadhima had just heightened Josiah’s discomfort. Wishful thinking had convinced him that Ana hadn’t told her mother how he’d exchanged juvenile flirty smiles with her, and then pulled the bottom out when she made the effort to take it to an adult level.

Josiah cleared his throat, smiled, and ducked his head toward Ana. Today, her hair was covered in a beautiful gold and brown kente style wrap that added height to her already tall statue. “Yes, we have. Good to see you again, Ana.”

“Same here,” she replied. “I told Mama that I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with the great Josiah Tucker last week.”

Josiah blushed behind her insistence that he was some kind of legend in the business.

“And I told her that she should have done more than just chat
with you,” Nadhima quipped. “Two attractive, successful,
single
people like you should take advantage of the opportunity to get to know each other better. You never know where it might lead.”

“Mama!” Ana’s whisper was saturated with reprimand.

“Well, you’re not getting any younger, my dear,” Nadhima reminded her. “And you’re a good catch. Any man would want to have you by his side. Don’t you agree, Josiah?”

Josiah couldn’t believe Nadhima’s audacity. Didn’t she see that she was embarrassing her daughter? And now she was sticking him in the middle. What was he supposed to say? If he agreed, Ana might take it as a change of heart on his part and a second chance for her. If he disagreed, it would be tacky and quite frankly, dishonest. Ana probably would make a good wife for somebody … just not him.

“Yes.” Josiah took a chance on the truth. “I totally agree. Ana is quite smart and beautiful. I suppose she took after her mother.”

It was Nadhima’s turn to blush, though her dark skin hid it well. Josiah had definitely gotten the reaction he was fishing for, but his words weren’t empty flattery. Nadhima had to be in her fifties, but she could compete with women ten, even twenty years her junior. The apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree. Nadhima could give her own daughter a run for her money.