Page 36 of Miss Understanding

Smoke started to come out of the stove, interrupting our conversation and prompting me to ask, “Did you open the flue?”

“The what?”

“Never mind. Clearly, you didn’t.” I moved past her to open the lever that allowed smoke to go up the chimney.

“God, you are such an asshole. I never do anything good enough. Ever. Not all of the files I brought in a suitcase instead of shipping them, not the house because you didn’t want the motel, not the non-four-wheel drive I didn’t know to reserve. Hell, I couldn’t so much as get a fist bump for my very first strike tonight because it wasn’t good enough, either, since there were bumpers. But I can handle your perpetual disappointment. After all, you’re just my boss, and I’m just your secretary. And this is just a fucking job until I can afford to quit it. But watching you make your mother cry tonight three days after your father died— That was a new low. Even for you.”

I stood there in shock, absorbing her words like a punch to the gut while she turned and strode down the hall to her bedroom.

She shut the door and effectively shut me out.

Did I really make her feel that way? The way my father had made me feel? Like she was never good enough?

* * *

Kendall stayed in her room while I got the fire to the point where the heat was finally warming up the house. I sipped my whiskey, sitting at the dining room table, feeling lost as to what to do next. When I heard her door open, I stood up from the chair.

But she walked straight to the kitchen, keeping her eyes averted, and simply went for the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

“My father abandoned us when I was eight. He’d given me a black eye while in a drunken rage toward my mother, and social services was investigating. He broke the picture window in our living room with a lamp and just took off.”

She turned quickly, her eyes wide. Her voice was small. “He hit you?”

“Mostly it was directed toward my mother after he’d get drunk, but I’d get in the way of his fists sometimes trying to protect her. This was one of those times.”

Her arms hugged her waist.

Since I was in for a penny, I might as well go for the full pound. “He only came back six months ago. Said he found Jesus and had been sober for a year. He moved back in with my mother. She forgave him after twenty-five years of desertion.”

“But you didn’t?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little.”

She let out a broken sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

I held up a hand. I wasn’t sure what I was more afraid of: her sympathy or the fact we’d just obliterated a thick line between professional and personal. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.”

Shit. I could see the tears run down her face. I stepped closer, having to put my hands in my pockets to keep from wiping the moisture from her pretty face. The instinct to touch her was incredibly strong. “Don’t cry for me, Kendall. It was a long time ago. I struggle when my mom wants to only remember the good times. Because there weren’t nearly enough of those.”

“Still, I went and called you an asshole and said those terrible things to you. I’m sorry.”

“I deserved them especially if I caused you to feel that way. I don’t mean to.”

If I was making her feel less than, then I was probably a lot more like my father than I’d ever want to admit. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far enough away from the tree. The thought left me chilled to my very core.

“In all honesty, I don’t know what I’d do without you this week—or any day, for that matter. I realize I’m not easy to work for or, hell, even be around, but I do appreciate your efforts even when it doesn’t seem like I do.” Matter of fact, I was still reeling from her outburst about wanting to quit her job.

“Thank you,” she said and suddenly hugged me.

I was stunned but soon relaxed, tightening my arms around her. Her head came up to my chest, and her petite frame fit into my body almost as though it had been made to. Suddenly, I felt I had to break the connection and stepped back. I instantly missed the warmth when I did so.

Ironic that the reason I had never let her close was the fear of letting her too close.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hug you.”

Yet she had. When was the last time someone had tried to give me comfort? Her gesture was so unrehearsed. So authentic. “It’s okay.”

Despite the dim light, I witnessed her face flush. Then she was quickly changing the subject. “Are you hungry at all?”