“Thank you.”
I get back to my office and log onto the computer with zero issue. There’s a pop-up alerting me that it needs a moment toget things goingwhich takes about five minutes, and then everything loads. I don’t know what I’ll need on here yet as far as programs go, but time will tell. While I wait for Frankie to return, I change my background to something more moody—more calming. It’s an image of the woods during a rainstorm.
I open my email and see a few with meeting room requests, and I find the master file with the schedule on it. I look it over,noting the way it’s filled in. The rooms are offered in hourly blocks, and in the block is the name of the person running it, the reason, and the number of people. This must help decide which room to put them in since I don’t see the option for them to choose on the form.
The spots requested are open, so I approve them and add them to the file. That’s when Frankie comes back with a large box overflowing withstuff.
“Got everything I could find,” he says.
“You think?”
“There’s more.”
“More?”
“Yeah, I got a big cork board and a white board, but I couldn’t carry those and this. Here’s all this stuff.” He drops the box on the desk. “I’ll be right back. I need to find you a table for your printer too.”
“You can put the printer on the end of the desk over here.”
“No, you’ll need that room. Trust me.”
He leaves before I can say anything, so I go through the box and find a home for everything. A lot of what he gave me are for organizing, which I appreciate. Cup holders. Paper holders. Folders. Notebooks. Pens. Pencils. Highlighters. Paper clips. A stapler. Literally everything you need for an office. I can’t imagine needing all of this stuff, but maybe I will. I’ve never done this before, so what do I know?
Frankie brings back the boards for me along with a small box that he takes apart and pulls out pieces to put together a small table.
“I have a few things I need to do, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it is. Do what you need to do. I’ll be in and out, anyway.”
He pulls the pieces out of the box and starts building the table for the printer.
Ken didn’t give me a timeframe on when to have this stuff done by, but I want to at least get eyes on those sheets for the stock room so I can see what they look like.
By the time I’m done with that, it’s lunch time, and Cammy still hasn’t responded to me.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Cassius
Two weeks go by and I don’t feel any better than I did when I first started. The job is fine. My co-workers are nice. It’s good to do something during the day and earn a paycheck—in a normal way.
But my heart… it’s still broken, and it still hurts. Showing up at this office every day isn’t easy. Harmon said he wasn’t going to be here, and I don’t think he has. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking it’s him every time someone knocks on my door or my phone rings. I expect to run into him which is giving me false hope.
As far as I know, he hasn’t been here. I haven’t seen him or heard a single person speak his name. And maybe I found his extension in the directory and called his office… with no answer.
Am I crazy? Maybe. Oh well.
Cammy’s mood hasn’t been any better, though she does say she loves her job. Overall, everyone at home is stressed out and pretending not to be. We miss him, but no one wants to talkabout it. So, we just keep going on with our lives as best we can because this is what we do. We move forward.
I get lunch from the cafeteria every day and hide out in the corner by myself to eat and play games on my phone. Not many workers come in to eat here, most grab things and go back to their desks, so I’m left alone—which isn’t always a good thing. I’ve made a ridiculous amount of social media accounts, which would be a normal thing since everyone has them, only I didn’t do it for me. I did it to search for Harmon. Turns out not everyone has social media—he doesn’t. The only thing I found was a professional profile for him and then the Timeworks website. Both made me extremely sad because I realized I don’t have any photos of him, but… maybe that’s for the best.
Every day I take my lunchbreak in here, to get away from my desk and computer for a bit. Not that my job is difficult, but setting aside time for a break, away from work helps me get through the day.
I toss my trash on the way out and from the corner of my eye catch the rows of iced tea in the cooler. The one I loved so much but can no longer drink because it makes me nauseous. I almost want to order a different brand or accidentally run out and forget to order it again. But it’s popular with the staff, and I’m sure someone would complain. Imagine that being the concern going up to Harmon?Your new glorified stock boy isn’t ordering the good iced tea.He wouldn’t even say anything about it. He’d know why.
I walk toward the stairs instead of taking the elevator. It takes too long to go all the way downstairs for a walk, so I choose to take the stairs before and after my break. It’s only a flight down, but it’s better than doing nothing—I’m not active and maybe out of shape. I’ve considered joining a gym.
The door opens, and I step onto the concrete landing. A voice catches my attention. Someone upset. No, angry. I catch the door before it slams shut, letting it fall closed until it’s pinching my fingers and listen to what’s being yelled about.