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“Come with me.”
We walk silently to the office where Mrs. Reynolds’ assistant—a young woman who never will be seen without her iPad—greets us. She listens as I explain what transpired. “I think this is related to the soccer game, Marla. This is inappropriate for girls this young, let alone in a recreation camp.”
She looks at Ingrid with knitted brows, and then her attention is on me again. “Very well, I’ll take care of this, Ms. Garfield, no worries,” she says. “If we need you, I’ll call you later.”
With my mission accomplished, I march to the showers to check if something else has happened.
The rest of the day goes smoothly. I’m packing my bag in the locker room when I hear my name being called through the radio. I’ve been summoned to the director’s office. I was expecting it. Mrs. Reynolds is a very hidebound woman. Not a single leaf moves around here without her knowledge.
The woman is intimidating, not because of her physical appearance, which isn’t anything special. It’s because of her relentless gaze. I don’t know why I get the impression that she didn’t like calling me to her office a single bit.
“Melanie, this can’t happen again.”
“I agree, Ms. Reynolds,” I reply. “The situation is unacceptable. Those girls were furious about losing a soccer game, and then they tried to get back at the other team by taking their clothes while they were showering.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she cuts me off. “How dare you berate one of our biggest patrons’ daughters? Don’t you know who the Walton family is and how much money they have?”
“Well, neither one nor the other is important. Ingrid was not behaving, and we both know it.”
“You don’t know anything,” she replies.
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t my first choice to hire, but a sponsor called me vouching for you. I know everything about you. You are nothing more than a whore,” she blurts out furiously.
“What did you say?”
“You think I didn’t bother investigating you?” she replies as if it were something unimportant. “You got pregnant by God knows who. Being the local pastor’s daughter, you’d think you’d know better. Now you’re strutting around town with that millionaire you just met. Do you think I’m glad to be associating with you?”
What did she say? Did this woman just call me a whore? How dare she.
“I have nothing to hide.” My hands ball into fists. “And my private life is that. PRIVATE!”
She gets up from her leather seat, and I do the same. I’m leaving. I’m not going to stay another moment to be humiliated.
“We’ll mail your check, don’t bother coming back in the morning.”
Good, because I won’t work another day for this condescending witch. Silently, I take my messenger bag and go out for some fresh air. I need it. Everything that woman said hurt. Even if part of it is true, it still hurts to hear it.
Without realizing it, I end up sitting on a wooden bench that is in a corner hidden from view, about twenty yards from the camp’s entrance. The air smells of humidity and soothes me. I barely notice when it starts to rain, the water slides down my body, even though it’s freezing and I’m crying. But I’m not doing it out of sadness. There’s something else. It’s like I’m also freeing myself.
I cry for the girl I was, for the one I could become. I cry for the life I’d dreamed of having and for what I have now.
“It’s been enough. I don’t want you to get sick. The rain is freezing.” David’s voice brings me back to the moment, warm and concerned.
He takes me by the arms inviting me to get up from the bench, but I don’t want to. I want to stay here, wallowing in my misery.
“I don’t need you, David. Let me go,” I protest, almost pouting.
“You don’t need a cold either. Let’s go home. That’s been enough water for one afternoon.”
His movements are insistent, firm but also soft, and without realizing it, I’m stuck against his chest. My teeth start to chatter, but it’s not from the cold. It’s from longing.
“Who told you I was here?” I argue, in another unsuccessful attempt to free myself.
“I saw you. I came to pick you up because I have plans for us.”
His voice, oh God…
