May 29
“Don’t call me here,” Sarah said sharply, catching my attention. Then she slammed the phone down so hard that everyone in the room must have heard.
I poked my head around the divider and saw her flushed face. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” she replied, her voice tight.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Family stuff.”
I gazed at her curiously for a moment. I didn’t believe her, but obviously she didn’t care to explain. “Okay,” I said. “If I can help, let me know.”
"It's fine," she insisted again. She pasted on a smile and went back to work.
I gazed at her for a moment, concerned for her and wistful that she didn't trust me enough to let me in. Then I, too, went back to work.
At five o'clock sharp, Sarah grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
"See you tomorrow," I called after her. If she heard me, she didn't acknowledge it.
Despite her protests, over the next few days I could tell things were not okay with Sarah. I’d overhear her whispering angrily into the phone—not something you do with a customer. Often I’d hear the impact of the receiver being forcefully hung up. Whenever I checked on her, she’d don a fake smile and assure me that everything was fine.
I didn't like what I saw, but I could do nothing unless Sarah let me in.
I didn't like what I saw, but I could do nothing unless Sarah let me in.
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