Lost December (30 page)

He calmed down a little. “I suppose I can wait fifteen minutes. Just hurry.”

“Of course. Fifteen minutes. Tell you what,” I said. I pulled out my wallet. “You don’t want to stand around here waiting, there’s an In-N-Out Burger across the parking lot. They have the best strawberry shake you’ll ever try. I practically live on them.” I offered him three dollars. “Go get yourself a shake on me. By the time you’re back, I’ll have your job done, boxed and ready to run. Since it’s already been billed to your account, I’ll credit back a fifty percent discount for your inconvenience. You just need to sign the pickup form. Now go get one of those shakes.”

He looked at my dollars waving in front of him. “You don’t need to …”

“Please. I’m embarrassed. It would really be doing me a favor.”

He awkwardly took the cash. “All right. I am a little hungry. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Then he added, “Thank you.”

“Please,” I said. I took the order back and put it on the machine.
A couple minutes after he was gone, Rachael walked back. “That wasn’t your mistake.”

“I know.”

She stood there for a moment, then turned and walked back to the front. The man was back in less than fifteen minutes. I had already printed the handouts, boxed them and given them to Rachael. She handed them over the counter. “Here you go, sir.”

The man was calm as he took the box. “I apologize again for my mistake,” I said. “I hope I didn’t cause too much of an inconvenience.”

“No, I’ve still got time. Everything will be fine. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. See you next time.”

“You bet you will.” He started to turn then stopped. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Luke.”

“Luke, if you ever need a job in customer service, I’m hiring.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“You’re good,” he said, shaking his head. “By the way, that shake really was good.”

“Nectar of the gods,” I said.

The man laughed as he walked out. After he was gone, Wayne walked up to me. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. We mixed up a job of his. But it’s handled.”

His brow rose.
“We?”

I looked into his eyes. “I got it wrong.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Really? That’s a first.”

“Everyone makes mistakes. Even me.”

“Do you know who that was?”

“A customer.”

“He’s Charles Cunningham with Omega—one of our most important accounts.”

“I thought they were all important.”

He grinned. “You are good.”

The rest of the afternoon went without incident. Rachael left work before me and without a word. As I was walking out to my car, Rachael shouted to me. “Luke.”

I turned around. She was standing up against the building.

“What’s up?” I asked.

She walked up to me, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Why did you do that? Why did you take the blame?”

“It’s good business. I’m the new guy. Everyone expects the new guy to screw up.”

“But you didn’t.”

I just looked at her for a moment and then said, “You look like you could use a break. Everyone needs a break now and then. It’s no big deal.” I turned to go.

“Luke. I’m sorry.”

I turned back. “Me too.”

“Can we get a coffee?”

“You don’t owe me.”

“That’s not why.” She looked down for a moment. When she looked back up, her eyes were wet with tears. “I could use a friend too.”

For the first time since I’d met her, she looked vulnerable. “I can’t do anything now, I have my other job. But I can when I get off work later tonight.”

“When’s that?”

“Around ten.”

“Okay,” she said, slightly nodding. “I’ll give you my number.”

“I have it,” I said.

She looked surprised. “You do?”

“I’m the manager.”

“Of course. I’ll see you later. Thank you.” She turned and walked slowly to her car.

To open the book of another’s life requires great care,
as the pages must be turned with delicacy and caution—
but it is usually worth the effort
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

I finished work then called Rachael and we arranged to meet at a coffee shop near her home. She was already there when I arrived. I paid for two large coffees and carried them to a vacant corner near the back of the shop. We sat down at a round-topped table for two. Rachael seemed a little anxious, so I started the conversation with a couple softballs. “Who’s watching Chris tonight?”

“I have a neighbor in our apartment building who watches him while I work. She has a son his age, so it works out.”

“How long have you worked at Crisp’s?” I asked.

“About three years. I started right after …” she stopped. “About three years.”

“That’s a while.”

“Well, they’ve been good to me. Chris has some health problems and I can’t get insurance anywhere else that will cover them. But Crisp’s has full coverage.”

“Do you mind me asking what kind of health problems?”

She hesitated. “Emotional ones. He sees a counselor every week. And he takes some medications for ADHD.”

I nodded sympathetically. “He’s a likable kid.”

“He’s a good kid,” she said. “No child should have to
go through what he’s gone through.” She looked at me. “The man who owns Crisp’s is a family man. He takes care of us.”

“He’s a good man,” I said.

“You say that like you know him.”

I paused. “I’ve met him,” I said.

“I’d like to meet him someday,” she said. “I’d like to thank him.” She stirred her coffee. “I have a question for you. Why do you know so much about the copy center?”

“I’ll tell you, but …”

“You’ll have to kill me?”

I laughed. “No. But you have to promise to never tell anyone.”

“I can do that.”

“I used to be a regional manager for Crisp’s. I managed twelve stores.”

She looked at me in surprise. “Does Wayne know that?”

“No.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

I thought about how to answer. “I have my reasons.” She looked vexed. “Did something happen?”

“You could say that.” I took a drink of my coffee.

“You’re not going to tell me,” she said.

“I’d rather not.”

“Fair enough,” she said, lifting her cup.

“So let’s talk about you,” I said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Where’s Chris’s father?”

Her expression fell. She set her cup down.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was abrupt. You don’t have to tell me.”

She looked down for a long time and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Then she said, “He took his life.” Her eyes began to well up. I reached over and took her hand. When she could speak, she said, “My husband, Rex, sold real estate. We came to Vegas because the real estate market was exploding down here. At first it was great. We were making more money than I ever dreamed we’d make. We bought a nice little place in Henderson. Rex bought himself a custom Corvette. Things were going really well.” She wiped her eyes with a napkin.

“We were going to wait to have a baby until we were better established, but with all the money, I didn’t need to work, so I got pregnant.

“A couple years after Chris was born, Rex started working late all the time. Then he started bringing less money home. Not too much, but enough that we had to cut back. He told me that the market had gotten tighter and he had to work more to try to keep up with our expenses.

“What he didn’t tell me is that he had developed a gambling addiction. He had started gambling with some of his clients and it just got out of control. He started spending all his lunch breaks at casinos. It went on for years.

“He started acting different. I had no idea what was going on. At first I thought that maybe he was having an affair. If someone had told me what he was really doing, I wouldn’t have believed them. When we were dating, the only card
games he knew were Go Fish and Solitaire. I don’t think that he had ever even tried a slot machine.

“But once he was hooked, everything changed. He started missing his appointments and he got fired from the agency he worked for. Then, as things got worse, some of our things started disappearing around the house. One day I came home and someone had broken in. Our TVs, computers and jewelry were all gone. I should have suspected something, since whoever broke in seemed to know where everything was.

“Then, a month later, my wedding ring disappeared. I thought it was our house cleaners, but I couldn’t prove it. I fired them. We couldn’t afford them anymore anyway, but even after they were gone, things kept disappearing.

“Then one day I opened a credit card statement. My first thought was, there’s some mistake here. We don’t have a Discover card. It was maxed out to twenty-five thousand dollars and the monthly payment was late. I called the company. But they wouldn’t talk to me because I wasn’t on the account. I was waiting for Rex when he got home. That’s when he confessed to the gambling. I pressed him on how much he owed. He lied at first. He said it was only the twenty-five thousand on the card. But I went online and pulled up our IRA and retirement accounts. He had drained them all. I freaked out and started hitting him. Then I kicked him out of the house.”

“I understand,” I said. “I knew someone who had a gambling problem. It almost cost him his life.”

“It’s a pernicious evil,” she said, slowly shaking her head.

“Is that when he took his life?”

“No. He called me every day for the next month, begging for a second chance. Chris missed him. The truth is, I missed him. I finally told him that if he’d promise to never gamble again and get professional help, I’d take him back. He agreed. He started attending a Gamblers Anonymous group in the area.

“Things started to get back on track. Rex started to bring home more money and we started saving a little again. After six months he was even leading one of the GA groups in the area.

“We had our life back. At least for a while. Then one day I got a visit from the Vegas police. Rex had jumped from the seventh floor of a casino parking garage.”

“I’m sorry.”

She let out a long sigh. “After I identified the body, I came back and started checking our accounts. In all, Rex had maxed out fourteen credit cards, taken a second mortgage on our home and maxed out his expense account at work. I figured he’d lost more than four hundred thousand dollars. A few weeks later I found out that he hadn’t paid our taxes in two years.