The Storm (Fairhope) (10 page)

Jeff drove me to get my rental car, making meaningless small talk. I waited for him to ask if he should come back another day; he didn’t. I should have gone home, but the determination to prove myself took over my desire to curl up in a ball, cry like a baby, and bow out.

The first couple of customers we visited were lost in my blurred sedation. The dialogue glided, my even voice sailing through every objection. I smiled, asked all of the right questions, and updated my case schedules. I would leave no room for error so there was no way in hell Jeff could give me a “needs improvement.”

One of my surgeons refused to see us in his office.

“We don’t see companies that think they are too good to wait, young lady.” The thickly accented nurse glared at me through her dark-rimmed glasses, turning her back on a fidgeting Jeff. “I don’t care how many surgeries he’s done with you.”

My mouth fell open. “Huh?” Clueless, the stammer was the only sound I could muster. My heart started pounding, and the sleeves of my scrubs started to feel sticky.

“Apparently, you Covington reps think you have some kind of right to do whatever you want. Not so. I told that other guy to wait, and he waited ‘til my back was turned and asked the new receptionist to let him in. So, we’re not seeing Covington reps anymore.”

Hurricane Collin struck again.

“I apologize, but I would not do that. Would you reconsider?”

My protest was met with a shrug from the overweight, middle-aged receptionist. A box of sprinkled chocolate donuts waited next to her computer. My competitor’s business card was taped neatly on the top of the box.

Jeff remained stone-faced, not uttering a single comment about the incident. It dawned on me that he probably assumed I took him to that surgeon on purpose to throw Collin under the bus. Or maybe he wasn’t concerned at all, his mind dwelling on his mid-life crisis. Playing it cool, I peered at Brooke’s text as I strolled out behind him, his cell phone blatantly visible.
What time?

Describing the atmosphere during lunch as uncomfortable would be like describing a tornado as a light drizzle. The tension was so thick that I thought I might choke. After the waiter dropped by to sell dessert, Jeff swigged a long drink of his Diet Pepsi and took a labored breath. “First, let’s discuss your review from our last field visit.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously, slowly chewing on my last bite. My stomach started churning. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Reluctantly, he laid it out in front of me. Within seconds, my eyes zeroed in on the “needs improvement” circled next to the categories of teamwork and business acumen.

My mouth dropped open. “What is
this
? How did I get these ratings? I have stressed to you how hard I am working to be a team player, and as far as business acumen … what more could I do?”

Naturally, he defended Collin. “I have discussed the existing issues with Collin. There is nothing unreasonable about his expectations. You could learn a lot from him. I want to see an improvement in your attitude toward his suggestions.” He paused as if to consider whether he should say what came next. “As far as business acumen, you are expected to be present at critical events with prospective clients.”

Brooke, that home-wrecking whore …
she tattled on me for not going clubbing after the convention was over … the “critical event” he was undoubtedly referring to.

“I would
love
to learn from Collin, if he would teach me. Jeff, I
did
attend dinner, but chose not to go to the bar afterward because I was not feeling well. By the way, Collin was not even
at
the convention.” I wondered how high Brooke ran Covington’s tab that night.

“Also, Jana, you do not need to let your emotions get the best of you,” Jeff continued, ignoring my reply. “Your behavior makes you appear unprofessional.”

Emotions?
I was as cool, calm, and collected as a girl got. No one ever said a damn thing about my “emotions” before pregnancy.

I sat afflicted with shock, my jaw lying on the floor.
How could I not be emotional when I’m being bullied from multiple angles?
“What do you mean? I am only defending myself, if you are referring to my interactions with Collin.”

He did not respond. We sat in silence for a moment, him irritated, me furious, neither one of us knowing quite what to say next.

“Well, I can see both of your positions.” Eyes on his phone, he carelessly showcased his messaging with Brooke.
I’ll pick you up at six. “
He is trying hard to make this partnership work and only expects to see the same level of dedication to your job as he exhibits.”

“I’ve been nothing less than exemplary to anyone I have worked for, and I want to continue to perform that way. I’ve seen sales rise significantly since I joined Collin.”

Jeff fidgeted in his side of the booth, evading me. “You two will work things out,” he said, sliding into his managerial tone and ignoring my desire to excel. He shrugged carelessly, and my restrained temper threatened to rip out of its cage.

The room spun uncontrollably, my eyes struggling to focus through the blinking dots. Panic set root in my nervous system as I forced myself not to bolt.

Somehow, I planted my feet firmly on the floor and focused on my picked-at plate of rice until the blinking dots disappeared. “I don’t feel I need to rehash the issues I’ve already discussed with you, but I want to add one thing. I do
not
appreciate his cracks about my pregnancy, how he figured I ‘wouldn’t do that’ like I committed a crime.”

“Jana, have you considered if being a territory manager is best for you personally, now that you are becoming a parent?” Boldly, he gazed straight into my eyes, as if saying,
I dare you to tell.

The shock that pummeled me nearly knocked me out of my chair. Did he seriously just throw out blatant discrimination?

“I have not let my pregnancy affect my work, and I resent your assumption that it, or my future parenting, will.” Courageously, I stared right back, as if saying,
Don’t go there, asshole.

Silence again. His eyes were empty and fixated on his watery drink. My instincts conveyed that he knew I was right but could have cared less.

“I want you to engage in an open dialogue with Collin and resolve your differences,” he mumbled as he whipped out his green American Express for the waiter.

Sure, Jeff. I’ll give you a little more time to run me out of my job before I become a mommy.
What little professional favor Jeff had left for me was tossed in the trash next to the pregnancy test with the purple plus sign.

I hopelessly agreed, figuring there was no point in explaining again that I’d tried to initiate an “open dialogue” numerous times.

My boss saw pregnant
me
as the nail that needed to be hammered down.

For the first time in my life, I felt like a victim.

I sneezed and coughed back tears as I scoured the winding roads that led me home. Sobs racked my body, an outpouring of emotion worsened by the changing hormones that raged throughout it. I was a basket case.

Deceptive scenes scrolled through my mind like a second-rate movie that never made it to the big screen. Jeff turning his head when Collin delivered blatantly misleading pitches to prospective accounts, quoting rebates that could never be given. Jeff’s hand caressing Brooke’s back after congratulating her on gaining the opportunity to get in front of decision makers at an untapped account. Jeff‘s unmistakable silence and turn of the head when Collin spent twice our budget for the month on one dinner in Daphne.

How did I get myself in this position?

Arriving at home, I turned off my car, hands shaking violently, and robotically gathered my work supplies. All I could think about was diving into Andrew’s arms and letting his strength comfort me. Distracted by Jeff’s presence, and the emotional nature of our conversation, I had not found a moment to share the little detail of my wreck. I hoped Andrew wasn’t mad that I worked instead of going to the doctor.

Dizziness overpowered me as I struggled to my feet, my shaky hands clinging to the top of my car door. Perhaps my blood sugar was low; I hadn’t eaten that much for lunch … I should have come home after the wreck…

This can’t be happening to me. I am about to be a mother.

My last fleeting memory before I passed out was the exhilarating, frightening feeling of my heart racing, racing, racing … faster and faster … and a wave of fear that morphed into a strange solitude.

I WOKE TO the sickly smell and irritating noise of the emergency room, with my parents, Andrew, and Grace hovering over me. Grace’s mouth was wide open, her movie-star white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lights. Mama’s tormented face loomed about two inches away from mine. Andrew’s worried eyes darted at me, then away from me, then at his watch, then back to me.

I blinked a couple of times, trying to decipher everyone in the pounding bright light. I heard the rustle of a flip chart and the hushed voices of medical staff. The room looked small, the walls old and disgusting with dull gray paint peeling in every corner.

The weakness that invaded my body was nearly unbearable. I shuddered as the dreadful memory of passing out filled the void in my foggy mind. The dreamlike feeling of solitude that spread over me like a blanket before I passed out dissipated, uncertainty taking its place.

“She’s up!” Grace was the first to notice, relieved. “Are you okay? I came over straight after work.”

Andrew and my parents rushed to my side while Grace signaled the physician. “Jana.” Andrew grabbed my right hand, his familiar face ashen. “I found you on that old bean bag in the garage. You passed out, but I don’t think you were there long before I found you. The doctor said your blood sugar was low, and he is worried about your blood pressure.”

“The baby?” I shrieked. “Is the baby okay?” I sat up quickly, my heartbeat speeding up.

Daddy put his hand over my chest, gently urging me to lie back to down. “The baby is perfectly fine. No worries there.” His gentle touch comforted me like it did throughout my childhood.

“None at all,” the physician assured me as he sauntered in. “I’m Dr. Jones.” Dr. Jones looked like he could be my great grandfather. He offered his grizzly paw to my scratched up hand. “No sign of concussion. Looks like your blood sugar plummeted and you passed out. Your family informed me you’ve had a history of low blood sugar. So you need to be very careful with that. Make sure to eat very often.”

“Good thing I forgot to throw that old bean bag out by the road,” Andrew interjected, shooting me a knowing look. We’d lost control of ourselves on that bean bag once, not caring one bit when we nearly bust it at the seams. We were playing cards and drinking beer on the patio in our apartment, and all I could think about was how bad I wanted him inside me. I was tired of the apartment. We’d had sex in every room, on every piece of furniture, and in every position possible, and quite frankly, I needed a little novelty.

Piece by piece, I stripped off all my clothes, and touched myself underneath the wilting sunset while he stared at me with a different desire infused in his eyes. The last time I got a similar response was the first time we had sex after my guilt resurfaced about all the great sex we were having, yet tearing down the doors of the church. I told him we needed to stop until we got married. I’m not sure what good I thought that would do, since my virginity was years gone by that point, and my sex drive was insatiable. Between the masturbation, fantasizing, and sheer frustration, I’m sure our lust was as high up on the sin list as fornication. Not to mention the fact that we were shacking up, sleeping in the same bed, and utilizing other methods of taking care of each other. I think our fast lasted about two weeks.

He was rock hard before I could even hint at teasing. As soon as I went over the edge, he threw me on the bean bag, the only decent cushion in sight. Quick but exhilarating, it was kind of fun hoping we would not get caught by our boring neighbors walking by.

The memory turned me on a little, despite the fact that I was strapped to an emergency room table.