Heather Cochran - The Return Of Jonah Gray

“Come early if you want. You should spend more time with your father,” she said.

“He could spend more time with me,” I pointed out.

“Don’t be like that. Not after what he’s been through.”

I sank a little. She was right. My father had spent the first part of the year battling an aggressive form of lymphoma. Now, in August, he was officially in remission. I had a hunch that my father’s illness had a lot to do with my own malaise. The timing didn’t feel like a coincidence, but I hadn’t wanted to think too hard about it. I just wanted my focus back.

“What about your brother?” my mother asked. “Do you know if he’s coming? I haven’t been able to reach him.”

“Kurt?”

“Well, I can track down Blake easily enough. By the way, don’t forget to congratulate him when you see him next. He’s over the moon about making drum major. I don’t know if Kurt even knows about that yet.”

“I think he’s been focused on the move and the new job.”

“So focused he couldn’t manage an RSVP to his parents’ party? Martina managed an RSVP. What sort of children have I raised?”

“Speaking of Martina, I really have to go. I’m meeting her in an hour.” It was true, but it was also a good excuse.

“How is that lovely girl?” Predictably, my mother softened. Martina wore skirts and dresses. Martina got manicures and waxed her brows. Martina followed fashion trends and kept old copies of Vogue and Glamour around for reference. Depending on her mood, my mother referred to my look as “messy,” “tomboy,” or “oblivious.” She was always happy to hear that Martina and I were still friends.

“Martina knows that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” my mother was always reminding me. Maybe that was true, but who wanted to spend her life with a collection of flies?

ON FRIDAY MORNING, I MET WITH MY SUPERVISOR, Fred Collins, to discuss the phone calls I’d continued to receive. By then, there had been six. Three livid, two indignant and one whiny. All referring to the poor man I’d wronged. All refusing to provide additional details—except to note that he was a much better person than I was.

“So you’re looking for your better half,” Fred said, smiling.

“It’s not funny,” I protested.

Fred seemed as flummoxed as I, though he took pains to assure me that the calls wouldn’t be recorded as complaints in my employee file. “And none of them have made reference to a name or a town? Maybe an address?” he asked.

“None. Believe me, I’ve tried to ask. They always end up hanging up on me.”

“So how can you be sure they’re calling about the same taxpayer?”

I thought about that. Auditing was based on facts, probabilities and calculations. This was just something I felt, something I was nearly sure of, but without the proof.

“I’m not,” I ventured, “but it sounds like it. It’s always the same tone. How he’s so generous and that he’s had such a hard year. They say that he’d never do this to me. Only, I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Put it aside if you can. How’s everything else?” Fred asked. “In your work? In your life?”

I didn’t want to get into it, especially not with my boss. “Fine,” I said.

“You’ve been here what, ten, twelve years now?”

“Six, actually.”

“Only six?” Fred sounded surprised. “Doesn’t it seem like longer?”

When I first joined the IRS, I hadn’t planned to travel the career track. It’s funny what you can wind up doing if you show an aptitude. If I’d been able to choose my talents, I’d probably have chosen something physical. I’d have been a gold medalist on the uneven bars. I’d have sailed solo down the Pacific coast at age twelve. But kids tend to develop talents noticed and nurtured by their parents. Given that my father was an accountant, it was my knack for numbers that was coddled, and it was just as well—I was too tall for a serious career in gymnastics and the Catalina was long gone. Now, at thirty-one, that knack for numbers had elevated me into the position of senior auditor. Plunk into the middle lane of the career track.

Still, I found myself irked that Fred thought I’d been there for so much longer. Did I have the callous look of a lifer?

“Are you saying that I’ve been here too long, or that I mesh well with our corporate culture?” I asked.

He laughed. “What do you think?”

Suddenly, I wondered if he had spotted my ungainly stack of unfinished audits. But Fred was the one who seemed distracted just then. He was gazing at the framed photograph of his wife that he kept atop his desk.

“I should probably be getting back to my cubicle,” I said. A show of work ethic couldn’t hurt, especially if he’d sensed my ennui.

“Did I ever tell you how I met Marcy?” he asked, half to me, half to the photograph. Fred Collins was a gentle man and well-meaning, but his stories tended to drone. So I lied and told him that he already had.

“Anyway, I shouldn’t take up any more of your time,” I said, excusing myself.

I was headed back to my cubicle when I turned a corner and almost barreled into Ricardo.

“Just the lady I wanted to see,” Ricardo said.

Beside him stood a tall man I didn’t recognize. He appeared even taller in contrast to Ricardo, who was a slight Filipino, no more than five-two.

“Remember how I told you I made an offer for the archives position?” Ricardo asked.

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Of course you do. Well, this is the guy. Jeff Hill, meet Sasha Gardner. Sasha is one of our senior auditors. That means that she rules this roost.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jeff Hill said. I looked up and found myself staring into a pair of doleful brown eyes. Indeed, I would have thought him disappointed to be meeting me, had he not extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said. He was so tall and thin, he reminded me of a normally proportioned person who’d been stretched out. The same mass over an elongated frame. As we shook hands, I felt the tendons and ligaments running beneath his skin.

“Sasha’s a lovely name,” Jeff Hill said, keeping hold of my hand for a moment longer than was comfortable. “You must be very skilled at your job to be a senior auditor at such a young age.”

“I like him, Ricardo,” I said. “He’s clearly brilliant.” I smiled at Jeff Hill.

“Sasha’s one of my favorite people here,” Ricardo said. “She knows everything about everything. If you ever have a question, just head for her cube.”

“He’s exaggerating,” I told Jeff.

“She’s also about the prettiest auditor you’re going to find. You should see some of the people we’ve hired in the past,” Ricardo went on. “Men and women. And their fashion sense, heaven help us all. It’s got to be the least stylish profession on record. No offense.”

“I’m not an auditor,” Jeff said, shrugging.

I watched Ricardo give Jeff a quick once-over, his eyes pulling to a stop on the new hire’s outdated loafers. The expression on Ricardo’s face was a mix of sour disgust and pity. “Right,” he said. “Archivist. Totally different.”

I didn’t think Jeff deserved quite so much sarcasm, at least not on his first day of work. Maybe fashion wasn’t high on his list of priorities, but it would have been hypocritical of me to take issue with that.

“It was nice to meet you,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“You will,” Jeff replied.

Indeed, he stopped by my cubicle not two hours later.

“Don’t tell me Ricardo sent you in here with a question,” I said. “I’m so tired of him placing bets on me.”