Elizabeth Finn - Restoring Jordan

But he’s a flightless bird.

He has the power to soar but he’s been cut off at the knees by pariahs who destroyed his soul and took his ability to feel in the same way I do. But however hopeless his past makes it feel, I wait. Patiently, I wait for his love, his admission of it, his own damn acceptance of it.

When I arrive to work on Tuesday of my last week, it’s with the same dread I felt on Monday. It’s the last week, and I’m desperate. He’s taking me to dinner this evening to some place expensive and nice, and when he wrapped his arms around me this morning as I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, his eyes lit up when I agreed to go. Of course I agreed. We eat out nearly every night; neither of us can cook to save our lives, and after one very unfortunate recipe disaster we really believed we could conquer together, we gave up. But this night is somehow different to him. His eyes showed it as they watched mine in the mirror. He’s hiding something, and I sense it’s all about me, for me. Of course I’ll go to dinner with him, but my mood is still sad and depressed.

My body is sate after so many endless nights and days of his touch, but my soul is empty and feeding on my heart at this point to stay alive. When Vera calls and tells me to report to Foster’s office, my mood drops even farther. I check my makeup in the mirror quickly as I stand to leave for his office. There’s no reason to be nervous, but I am.

My work on the Market Street project is done. Jordan and I toured the finished product just yesterday afternoon, and my eyes teared at the sight of our project complete. I’m happy with every last aspect, barring the knockoff light fixtures Trigg forced us to purchase instead of the restored originals, but it’s otherwise perfect.

Jordan made love to me against the counter in the kitchen, and as we turned out the lights to leave, I commented wryly, “What about the other rooms.”

He wasted no time retorting, “Some other time.” If only that were true. We’re out of time, and I’m out of patience. I’m losing him more every day, and while he’s emotionally closer to me now than on the day before and the day before that, he’s slipping away.

As I approach Foster’s office, I meet Jordan in the hallway. He looks to my eyes as he registers we must have been summoned together, and he gives me a quick wink before we both turn into the office. The warmth his gesture incited only a moment before fades in an instant as I take in Dr. Lynch already seated in Foster’s office. He looks to me, but rather than smiling as I would typically expect, his eyes flit away from mine as my face drops. When Vera enters behind Jordan and I, my suspicion grows, and as I look to Jordan and catch the worry etched on his face, my heart lurches in fear and near panic.

“Come in, Adeline, Jordan. Please have a seat.” Foster is ushering us to the two vacant chairs in front of his desk, typically the only chairs in his office, but on this day, extra chairs have been brought in, and Dr. Lynch is occupying one while the other is waiting for Vera.

Vera closes the door behind her, and I’m suddenly trapped, ambushed, and I’m not even sure why. I’ve only three days left of my time at Foster’s, and my part in the Market Street project is done, so I can’t wrap my head around the somber, uncomfortable mood in this room and why not a damn person wants to look at me.

“Adeline, I’m sorry to have to bring you in today for this reason, but your internship is being terminated effective immediately.” I gasp at Foster’s words, and my stomach clenches. His eyes are genuinely apologetic, and the slight purse of his lips is the only evidence I need of his true compassion for me in this moment, but I’m shocked, and for all his compassion, I’m flabbergasted and livid.

Before I can even open my mouth to speak, Jordan remarks with the same shock showing in his voice that races rampantly through my body. “What? What the hell are you talking about? You can’t fire her!” His face is incredulous and furious.

Foster doesn’t reply, but hands a document to Jordan. I’m sitting frozen in place but can see enough to know the letterhead is from the vendor I’ve been working with for most of the fixtures and hardware on the Market Street project. “Adeline, a fairly large order of restored original fixtures was ordered for Market Street by you a couple weeks ago. This order was previously canceled at Trigg’s request due to project budget restrictions. These fixtures, at our request, were stripped, restored, and shipped, and they’re now, unfortunately, nonrefundable.” I’m shaking my head in shock as I listen to his words. He thinks this is my fault, but I’m still stunned into silence, trying to figure out what to say. “This is the purchase order they have on file for the request, and according to them this order was placed by you. Trigg is understandably upset. They’ve asked there be repercussions, and under the circumstances I really had no alternative but to contact Dr. Lynch. I’m sorry, Adeline. I don’t…”

“But Mr. Foster, I didn’t place any order two weeks ago. I canceled this order well over a month ago. I didn’t do this!” My voice is finally free from the restraint of my tight throat, but now my tears are threatening to spring forth. My career, my livelihood, my entire education is being threatened, and I can’t for the life of me wrap my head around why this is happening.

“Why are they saying Adeline changed this order?” Jordan’s face has only relaxed marginally as he tries to get the details of what is going on.

Foster responds, trying his best to maintain a calm and soothing voice. He has two rather horrified faces glaring back at the moment, and for the briefest of seconds I actually feel sorry for him. But then I’m snapped back to reality when he responds, “The order was called in. They’ve said their practice is to start a PO form with every call, and they go through the ordering details line by line, including asking for the name of the person they’re speaking to.”

“Oh, come on! Anyone could have called in that order. Adeline wouldn’t do this. She’s the one who canceled this order to begin with.” Jordan looks as shocked as me, and he’s holding out the purchase order in front of him, dismissing its authenticity as he refuses to pay it any more attention. But Vera takes the opportunity to snatch it from his hands, eyeing it speculatively. Dr. Lynch has yet to speak and is simply watching the exchange, refusing to look at me.

It is Vera who speaks next, and her words are aimed squarely at me. “This PO was initiated on the afternoon of our golf outing, and since you were the only one in the building that afternoon, I’m guessing there’s little question who placed this order.” Her tone is smug, and as my eyes flash to Jordan’s in shock, his snap to mine as well. The immediate memory of our afternoon together sends a flush of warmth through my body that radiates to my cheeks as his eyes share a sudden softness with mine. But his flutter closed a moment later in sudden fury as he shakes his head. The look of disgust that passes over his face needs no explanation. He’s sharing the same realization that is sinking into my understanding. I’m being framed.

“How very fucking convenient, Vera!” Jordan’s words are seething with fury and hatred as she returns his glare. “And I’m sure you had nothing to do with this order being changed, huh?” His suspicion narrows his eyes as he regards her harshly. Were they alone, I’m not at all sure she would be safe.

With a look of well-played ignorance on her face, she responds. “I was at the golf outing, Jordan, just like you. I couldn’t possibly have changed this order, and I don’t appreciate…”