Forgotten Boxes (7 page)
Authors: Becki Willis
NINE
The next address on her list was further west, near the charming
mountain village of Stowe. Having visited the Green Mountain area before, Charity
knew the exact inn where she wanted to stay. For once, luck was on her side and
they had a vacancy. By late afternoon, she checked in at the historic inn in one
of their deluxe suites. For little more than the price of the cramped kitchenette,
she had a plush, over-sized room with a four-poster bed, fireplace, Jacuzzi soaking
tub, and a comfortable armchair. She treated herself to an early dinner in the inn’s
dining room, then came back to the room and indulged in a long bubble bath.
Afterward, Charity wrapped herself in the proffered lush robe,
lit the fireplace, and settled in to relive the day’s events and conversations.
The kiss took center place in her musings. She popped a maple hard candy into her
mouth and recalled the same taste upon Tarn’s lips.
With so much on her mind, she had forgotten about the package
Carl Upjohn returned to her. She still felt guilty about taking the parcel back.
While it was doubtful his wife or children would want anything to do with a ring
meant for another woman, surely the diamond could be reset and enjoyed in a new
piece of jewelry. Had he not considered the possibility? Perhaps he knew the stone
would not be worth the effort.
At any rate, he had given the ring to her, and now she was curious
to see what it looked like. She dug the box from the bottom of her purse and crawled
atop the thick pile of mattresses.
“Geesh, I feel like a princess in one of those fairy tales,”
she half-grumbled, half-smiled. The bed’s height seemed best suited for a giraffe.
“Four-poster bed, a ton of pillows and mattresses. Wonder if there’s a pea hidden
under one somewhere?” She remembered the old bedtime story from her childhood.
She sat cross-legged in the very center of the bed and tore open
the brown wrappings. Sure enough, nestled inside was a blue velvet ring box. Charity
popped it open and gasped aloud.
Anchored in platinum, the square princess cut diamond had to
weigh at least four carats. The clarity was stunning, the brilliance unmistakable.
Charity recalled what Carl said about Marissa’s need to impress
other people. This ring would definitely impress! Unlike the simple, unpretentious
ring he said his beloved Lucy had chosen, this ring was all about show and extravagance.
Though Charity had met neither woman, based on this ring alone, she could understand
why he chose Lucy over Marissa. But for the life of her, she could not understand
why he simply gave this magnificent gem away, and to a complete stranger, no less.
She would have to take it back to him, of course. She could not
accept such an extravagant gift. Surely, he had forgotten the value of the ring
when he made the rash statement.
How could anyone forget something so valuable,
her mind
argued. The ring was worth thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. Unless Carl Upjohn
was filthy rich, this ring would have been difficult for anyone to afford, particularly
at the age of twenty-one.
No, he had to have been aware of its value when he refused the
box. Which could only mean one thing – he valued his life with Lucy far more than
he valued the flashy diamond ring. Charity teared up, imagining a love such as theirs.
She slid the ring onto her finger and found that it fit; snugly,
but it fit nonetheless. She fell back onto the bed and examined the ring from all
angles. Even when she extended her arm out as far as possible, the diamond winked
back at her provocatively.
The giggle started in her throat. She had just taken a bubble
bath. She was lying atop a canopied four-poster bed, acting as if she didn’t have
a care in the world. She felt like a giddy teenager. The giggle worked its way down
into her chest. Today she had heard the most perfect love story, proof that romance
was still alive and well in the world. And she had been kissed by a stranger, who
somehow was really no stranger at all, not to her heart. The giggle slipped into
her belly, mingling with the other sensations there, the ones stirring with thoughts
of Tarn’s unexpected kiss.
Before she knew it, she was laughing out loud. She laughed at
her own foolishness, at her own hopelessly romantic self. She laughed at the similarities
between that self and a silly teenage girl, admiring her first promise ring.
And what promises this ring could make,
Charity mused.
She laughed at the possibilities that popped into her head, one of them being a
free apartment for at least a year. She laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation,
of the incredible notion that a total stranger had given her a ring worth thousands.
And she laughed because, for once in her life, she truly did
feel like a princess.
***
When she finally climbed down from her ivory tower, Charity dragged
out her laptop and logged in. She checked e-mails, uploaded the photographs she
had taken today, and then sent a tantalizing one-liner to her dear friend GoGo21.
I’ve met someone.
In no time, her computer binged with a message.
Girlfriend, do tell!
Charity’s fingers flew across the keyboard as she poured her
thoughts out to her on-line friend. The two designers had ‘met’ three years ago
while working on a multi-level project for a mutual customer. Through emails and
instant messaging, they became fast friends. Their communications now included Skype
and FaceTime, but the two still had yet to meet face-to-face. It did not keep them
from being the best of friends, however.
In many ways, Charity could tell GoGo (or Golda, as it turned
out) things she could not share with her stepsister. There was not only the sticky
issue of family, but Tanya tended to be a cynical, negative person. Charity dared
not tell her stepsister about Tarn. She would no doubt paint him as a crazed ax-murderer,
come down off his mountain to collect human heads to be stuffed and mounted on his
walls. She would never understand the immediate connection Charity felt with the
mountain man, the thrill of his towering presence and his tender touch. If she ever
found out Charity had allowed the man to kiss her, her stepsister would have her
committed to a mental institute! Tanya could never know about the mysterious Tarn,
but Charity could freely share her feelings with GoGo.
She admitted her fears of perhaps never seeing the mountain man
again. They lived in different worlds, after all. Even though Charity had given
him her phone number, what if he lost her card? What if he didn’t have a phone?
What if he had a wife tucked away up on his mountain? Charity worked herself into
a tizzy, worrying over the smallest details.
What if you’re right and you were fated to meet this man?
GoGo’s answer was the perfect balm to soothe her raw fears. As
always, her friend knew just the right thing to say.
I believe in fate, don’t you? Call me a silly romantic, but
I believe in soul mates and love at first sight. Without the hope of true love,
what hope do we have at all? I think this man may be your Prince Charming. Have
faith, my dear Cinderella.
Charity glanced down at the ring still on her finger. How fitting
that GoGo referred to Tarn as her Prince Charming, when an hour ago she pretended
to be a princess.
Light twinkled within the diamond and seemed to wink up at her.
It occurred to Charity that the ring might hold another sweet promise – a plane
ticket to New Mexico, to meet GoGo in person.
TEN
Harold Tillman pulled the delivery truck into the plant entrance,
finally done with his rounds for the day. It had taken longer than expected to make
his deliveries; but then, most days that was the case.
Harry was loath to admit it, even to himself, but this venture
had not turned out the way he envisioned it. When he first broached the subject
to his prospective partners, he never really expected his idea to go anywhere. At
best, he hoped to get a few hundred bucks for laying out the groundwork for the
new company. He knew all the shortcuts through the mountains, many of them not on
any map; surely, his insight would be worth a fee. He never dreamed they would bring
him in as a full partner. And as president, no less!
It hadn’t taken long for Harry to realize it was a title without
power. Debarge and Galano made all the decisions for the company. They had a smooth
way of slipping things past Harry, of phrasing questions in such a way that he had
little choice but to agree. Many times, they twisted words and ideas around, until
they convinced Harry the idea was his brainchild from the beginning. They were quick
to give him credit, whether he deserved it or not. However, because it suited his
vanity, he allowed it to continue, even though Harry knew the men were playing him
like an out-of-tune violin.
As long as they kept paying him, he would let them pull all the
strings. For the first time in his life, Harry not only had enough money to pay
all the household bills, but there was actually money left over at the end of the
week. A wise man would have tucked some of that cash away for a rainy day. A wise
man might have invested it, might have splurged a little on his sweet and loyal
wife.
No one had ever mistaken Harold Tillman for a wise man.
When he first designed the delivery route, he thought he could
zip in and out of the mountains in no time flat. To a man like Harry, a short workday
on a full day’s pay was the stuff of which dreams were made. He thought he could
get up early, toss out a few packages here and there, make it to Big G’s Bar and
Grill for happy hour and a game or two of poker, and still be home early enough
for one of Nell’s sumptuous late-night dinners. No doubt about it, that little lady
could cook. And with her sweet and easy disposition, she was more than happy to
put dinner off an hour or two. Anything to accommodate his busy schedule. She even
started tucking a little something extra into his lunch box, to help tide him over
during those long afternoon hauls. With extra money in his pocket and no fear of
missing dinner, Harry would be free to gamble away his afternoons.
Business, however, was better than Harry expected. He anticipated
only a handful of customers at first. He knew it would take months, possibly years,
before Kingdom Parcel could establish their name and reputation. By the time that
happened, Harry planned to hire more drivers and spend his days like any other company
president, sitting behind a desk.
His first mistake was partnering up with the Dynamic Duo, as
he liked to call them. Both men had more energy than a fistful of Energizer batteries.
Debarge was constantly on the phone, talking to clients and drumming up new business.
Galano pulled in old accounts and old friends until he had a steady line of customers
lined up at their door. They must have come at all hours of the night, dropping
off packages for delivery, even though Harry rarely actually saw them. Most of them
paid for next-day delivery, meaning Harold’s truck stayed on the road until the
last box was dropped off. Just two months in, and already they were so busy he missed
happy hour — and the poker game — almost every single day.
With their delivery area constantly expanding — another one of
Harry’s innovative ideas, so his partners claimed — there were often not enough
hours in the day to cover the entire territory. Under strict instructions to keep
their ‘preferred customers’ happy, Harold often had to bump another package from
the route until the next day. To that end, he had already taken some flak from the
local Sears and Roebuck outlet and from Jim’s Drug Store for delivering a package
later than promised. However, nothing compared to last week, when he failed to deliver
a package in Jay marked ‘Next Day’.
It had been on a Wednesday, for crying out loud. Both Debarge
and Galano knew that was Double Jackpot night at Big G’s. What else was he supposed
to do? It would have taken him too long to drive that far north to drop off the
package. So instead of following the route pretty little Brenda laid out for him,
he made a few modifications. He hit all the locations closer in, including the address
shown on the latest Sears and Roebucks box, and he would deliver the package to
Jay first thing in the morning. That still left him plenty of time to make Big G’s
and the poker game.
He never expected them to come looking for him. Right as he was
about to lay down a perfect full house, Mansel Debarge had stormed into the back
room, spotted Harry there at the table amid all the smoke and haze, and proceeded
to drag him out by the shirt collar.
Just thinking about it now, Harry worked his collar until it
fit a little looser. The bruises on his skin had faded, but the ones to his pride
still smarted something awful. Who did Debarge think he was, anyway, talking to
him that way? And in front of his friends! By golly, he was the
president
of the company, not some lowly day worker! Debarge had no right treating him like
that.
Harry shut the doors to the truck and trudged his way up the
ramp, to the side entrance of the fertilizer-plant-turned-warehouse. A hallway intersected
with this one and led up to the front offices, where a little desk in the corner
had a placard with his name on it. Debarge and Galano got the only two offices,
but that, too, had been his suggestion. He didn’t recall the conversation, but apparently,
he had insisted he didn’t need an office, not when he would spend most of his days
out on the road.
Harry passed the first two doors along the first hall, both of
which always remained locked. He didn’t even have a key to them. Galano claimed
the first one had some sort of dangerous-looking equipment inside. According to
him, it was a lawsuit waiting to happen unless they kept the area under strict lock
and key. The padlock was an extra precautionary measure to make them all rest easier.
The second door led to a messy storeroom filled with boxes and trash and was, in
fact, the sight of a former chemical spill. It was cleaned up now and posed no danger,
but at times old fumes still leaked out, tainting the air with their foul odor.
Best to keep that door locked, too.
The last two doors led out to the receiving and loading docks
and to the warehouse itself. Harry never understood why he couldn’t park the truck
in there, but maybe that had been his idea, too. In truth, he rarely ventured into
the cavernous space with its bevy of activity. He normally walked right past the
swinging doors, intent on getting back to his desk, having a little nip of the whiskey
he kept in his bottom drawer, and then heading out for the day.
On a whim, Harry decided to stop in and check on the worker bees,
as Galano called them. Wouldn’t hurt for them to get a look at the president once
in a while. He’d just buzz in, Harry thought with a comical smile, and check on
their little hive. He chuckled as he pushed the door open.
There was, indeed, a flurry of activity within the beehive. A
half dozen or more men scurried back and forth, carrying boxes from two vehicles
and piling them up on a receiving table. The vehicles were pulled up inside the
warehouse and the outer doors were closed, which struck Harry as odd. One of the
vehicles was a beat-up old van, the other a panel truck, and judging from the growing
pile on the table, both were apparently stuffed with boxes. Pascal Galano stood
among the men, checking off items on his clipboard as they passed by. Occasionally
he barked out orders on which pile to add a box.
After a moment, the men noticed Harry standing at the top of
the stairs. All activity stopped. Galano’s head jerked up, but he had a smile on
his face as he waved to his partner.
“Hey, fellas, look who’s here! Mr. President himself, Harold
Tillman. Give the man a hand, fellas, for the fine job he’s been doing for all of
us.” As the men broke out in enthusiastic applause, complete with whistles, Galano
made a quick path to the stairway. When a clearly embarrassed Harry started down
the steps, the other man waved him back. “No, no, it’s too noisy down here. Let’s
go into my office where we can hear ourselves talk.”
Harry teetered on the first step. How was he supposed to meet
the worker bees and interact with them from way up here?
“It’s cold down here, too. I’ve got a nice bottle of brandy that
will warm us right up.” Galano slapped Harry on the back as he herded him forward.
Harry’s eyes lingered on the roll-up doors. As the men’s applause
died down, they went immediately back to work. “Is that why the doors are closed?”
he asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s right. Just trying to keep our men comfortable.
What’s that you always say? ‘Keep a man warm and well-fed, and he’ll be loyal for
life?’ You’re a man of great quotes, Harold Tillman. Great quotes.” Galano patted
him again for good measure and pushed the door open. “Let’s go into my office and
have that drink.”
Galano had added a leather couch since the last time Harry had
been inside his office. It was dark brown and buttery soft, and welcomed Harry’s
lanky form like an old friend. Galano poured them both a generous snifter of brandy
and settled behind his elaborate desk.
“That a new bar?” Harry asked, eying the fully stocked cabinet
that had also been added.
“Yes and no. We got a new one for home, so I brought the old
one down here. You know how it is when the wife decides to re-decorate. All the
old furniture gets relegated to the office.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture
around the room.
Harry made a mental note to buy something special for Nellie.
A new vacuum cleaner, maybe. Or one of those rotisserie ovens they advertised on
late-night television. What did they call those shows, infomercials?
“Harry, I wanted to touch base with you and tell you what an
exceptional job Mansel and I think you’ve been doing for Kingdom Parcel. Truly exceptional.”
He raised his glass in toast.
Harry took a long draw of the brandy, welcoming the burn as it
slid its way down his throat. Helped a bit with those fading bruises, too.
“I also wanted to apologize about last week. Apparently, there
was some sort of misunderstanding between you and Mansel. I know it didn’t amount
to a thing, but I wanted to hear it from your own lips. Mansel assured me it was
nothing really, just the backlash of a disgruntled customer. He said Louie Ryder
made quite a scene about not getting his delivery on time.”
“Well, I don’t know about that…”
“No, no, don’t be making excuses for the man. I know this whole
‘Preferred Customer’ program was your idea. And a brilliant one at that, I must
admit, having customers pay a flat monthly fee for preferred treatment with over-night
service, whether or not they actually use it. Simply brilliant. I know your motto
about the customer always being right. But that still doesn’t give them the right
to come down here and chew our asses out just because a package is delayed by a
few hours.”
“Well, I-”
“I know, I know. You take great pride in getting your packages
out in a timely fashion. You stay until the last one’s out, even if it means missing
one of Nancy’s fine meals.”
“Nell.”
“Yes, yes, a marvelous woman. Marvelous. You’ve done all right
for yourself, Harold Tillman. A fine little woman like Nancy, and now president
of an up and coming delivery empire.” He lifted his glass in another toast. “You
mark my words; there are great things in store for Harold Tillman and Kingdom Parcel.
Great things.”
The brandy settled into a puddle of warmth in Harold’s belly.
On an empty stomach, the liquor was already giving him a slight buzz. The liquor,
however, was not the only thing going to his head. Galano’s praise was every bit
as intoxicating. Settling further into the soft leather, Harry stretched out a long
leg and crossed it casually atop his knobby knee. Yessiree, this was what being
a company president was all about.
“I hope dear Nancy took the news well when you told her you were
working Thanksgiving.”
“Huh?”
“I have to say, I admire your dedication, but to be honest, if
it had been my call, I would have parked the truck through the weekend. You, my
friend, are one dedicated S.O.B.” His smile was filled with such warmth and admiration,
Harry never recognized the sly maneuver. Galano toasted him again, although Harry
wasn’t sure for what.
He and Nell had plans for Thanksgiving. For the first time in
over five years, they were going to spend the holiday with her family down in Baltimore.
Normally he complained when she asked to go home, but for the first time in their
married life, he actually had something to be proud of, something to brag about
at the dinner table. He couldn’t wait to rub it in their faces that he was now a
company president, a far cry from the loser they accused him of being. Oh, they
never actually said the word aloud, but it was implied. Repeatedly.
Already imagining the dinner conversation in his head, Harry
missed what Galano said. Something about all the boxes out back. Something about
being the only delivery service running on Thanksgiving Day. Something about being
swamped with business.
“Yes, definitely another smart business decision on your end.
We have more business than we can handle for the day. I especially like the fact
that you gave the worker bees the day off, while you yourself will be out on the
road, doing the job while the rest of us are home stuffing our faces. You’re a class
act, Harry. A class act all the way.”