Between These Walls (21 page)

Taking the stairs to the first floor, he crossed the lobby, offering a brief wave to the receptionist on his way. The Human Resources office sat at the far end of the lobby, behind a pair of frosted-glass doors to convey confidentiality. Hunter entered the office, where the air felt five degrees cooler.

“Gretchen asked me to stop by,” Hunter said to an executive assistant, his tone inquisitive, hoping she knew more about this than he did.

“Hi, Hunter. Yes, you can go on in.” The same detached manner Hunter had detected from Gretchen on the phone. The executive assistant offered him a smile, but looked as though she’d forgotten to remind her eyes to follow suit. She returned her attention to her computer in what Hunter considered a bit too early.

Gretchen Miller wore a professional blazer-skirt combination of navy blue, with a white blouse and a power-red scarf worked into her outfit. Traces of gray highlighted her brunette hair. Hunter and Gretchen had enjoyed a cordial working relationship during his years with the company.

When he gave her open door a quiet knock, she peered over her eyeglasses, the tortoiseshell frames of which lent her nose a beaklike quality.

“Thanks for coming, Hunter.” She gestured to a small table and chairs in her office. “Have a seat.”

As Hunter took a seat with his back toward the door, he heard the door click shut as Gretchen closed it before joining him. He eyed the sole item in her arms: a glossy, dark green folder with the company logo embossed in gold on the front. Gretchen opened the folder before her, removed a section of paperwork, thumbed through its contents, then continued with the next section. She progressed with efficiency, a step-by-step routine practiced to perfection. Her eyes darted in his direction once. The same detached smile as the executive assistant’s, but Hunter caught a hint of regret in Gretchen’s eyes, as if her pupils had retreated to avoid the moment at hand.

Once she judged all documents intact, Gretchen sat with exquisite posture, her hands on the mahogany table with her thumbs and fingertips touching, a meticulous steeple toppling over in his direction. She looked him in the eyes and didn’t begin to speak until he returned eye contact to indicate he’d yielded his full attention.

“As you know, Hunter,” Gretchen said, “the company has had its challenges this year. The lagging economy has exacerbated the situation and tied the company’s hands. I realize rumors have circulated, but we’ve held together the best we could and made our employees one of our top priorities.”

Okay,
he thought. He rested one elbow on the table and focused on Gretchen’s words, his concentration so intense, he caught himself resting his index finger on his upper lip. He returned his hand to the tabletop.

“Each sales region was instructed to reduce its team by two people,” Gretchen continued, her demeanor professional, her tone absent of emotion. “Those reductions are being implemented today.”

Hunter offered no reaction but clung to every syllable, trying to identify clues as to what lay seconds ahead. But he cringed inside because he already perceived what Gretchen was about to tell him.

“Unfortunately, Wayne is out of town this week, so he wasn’t able to be present today.” At that point, Gretchen hesitated. Hunter noticed a subtle alteration in shape at the corners of her eyes and saw a trace of sorrow, which she tried, without success, to mask. She penetrated his eyes with hers; along their edges, he detected she didn’t want to say the words that came next: “Your position has been eliminated as of today.”

Hunter didn’t say a word.

Lightheadedness settled in, causing him to feel as if he could doze into a nap. His chest felt heavier. To buy himself a few seconds, he shut his eyes. His eyelids felt feverish.

He’d suspected this day might arrive, but that changed nothing. No matter how inevitable it might appear as it draws near, you’re never prepared to hear you no longer have a job. The words sound different, harsher, coming from someone whose mind you know you can’t change, regardless of what you might say. At the moment, Hunter couldn’t say anything. He wanted to vomit.

What Hunter
hadn’t
anticipated in such a moment was an absence of emotion. What fascinated him was how
non-angry
he felt upon hearing the news. He’d pictured himself, were this event to occur, filling with righteous resentment, pointing out his faithful service, years of dedicated labor that had preceded a handful of unsuccessful months.

Instead, he felt deflated.

One thought ran through his mind in tickertape fashion.

I’ve lost my job.

Too stunned to speak, Hunter yielded to Gretchen, who, he now noticed, had developed a standard, step-by-step procedure for informing an individual that his roof was about to collapse and she would have the honor of taking the final swing of the sledgehammer. She would need to speak next, because he didn’t have a clue how to navigate this mess.

As Gretchen Miller opened the shiny green folder with the gold logo, she provided a rundown of the severance package the company would offer him: Three months of health coverage. Outplacement services to help him locate another job. A lump-sum payment which, given alternate circumstances, would have looked like a nice reward. In this context, however, Hunter tried to calculate in his now-fuzzy mind how many rent payments the lump sum could cover. It’s strange how far a dollar can stretch when it’s not needed, and how little that dollar stretches when it’s needed most.

Minute by minute, Gretchen’s rundown wobbled through Hunter’s head in a drunken blur. He studied Gretchen as she spoke, as she pointed to a printed bullet point, then made eye contact with him, followed by the next bullet point, then flipped to the next page. Gretchen explained the details as if he had a
choice,
as if he had selected this option a few weeks ago and the time had come to sign on the dotted line. But she and Hunter both knew he couldn’t afford to say no. He was out of a job. Did the details matter?

Hunter kept his eyes on the paperwork, not out of interest, but because this scenario made him uncomfortable. The folder was the only object on the table and he needed to look
somewhere.
A jumble of hurt and embarrassment rendered him no longer willing to look at Gretchen’s face.

Hunter listened further, then perceived a shift in his mood from embarrassment to betrayal. As Gretchen set one stack of papers aside and moved on to the next, she continued her spiel. Without flinching, Hunter raised his head again and stared straight at her, trying his best to hide any traces of anger or pain, replacing them with a confident façade. With the detachment of a scientist or psychologist, he observed the composure in Gretchen’s eyes. He marveled at the precise, efficient manner in which she laid out how, exactly, they had opted to screw him over in the fairest way possible.

How could you operate with such mundane efficiency while, step by step, dismantling somebody’s financial stability?
Hunter wondered.

As it turned out, signing on the dotted line wasn’t a cute saying. On the final page, there
was
a line on which to sign. Above that line was an agreement filled with legal verbiage that stated Hunter would receive his severance package in exchange for relinquishing all options to pursue legal action against the company between now and eternity. And the standard kicker: Hunter couldn’t try to lure any employees from the company for the next two years. In Hunter’s view, it felt more like they had wrapped their arms around his financial security, his food and bills, and held them hostage until he signed his name. Which he did.

A win-win scenario, as a seminar speaker might have called it.

With the formalities complete and the glossy, gold-embossed folder under his arm, Hunter returned to his cubicle, accompanied by Gretchen Miller, as if Hunter posed a threat and required an armed guard. And as if the situation weren’t humiliating enough, Gretchen had given him two empty boxes to carry up the stairs and down the hall, past the cubicle rows, boxes he could fill with his belongings. Everyone who saw him walk down the hall with her would know what had happened.

Voices hushed. Individuals stared at their laptop screens, yet Hunter could sense their stares jabbing against his back. From the corner of his eye, he caught a young woman rise from her desk and saunter into the hallway, probably to light the grapevine on fire. He could have predicted the scenario before he arrived on his floor.

Gretchen sat down in a nearby chair, crossed her legs with one knee high over the other, and kept guard as Hunter emptied his desk and filled his boxes.

Among the files in his desk, Hunter kept personal files, such as performance reviews and trade-industry articles. If Hunter packed a folder or binder into his box that appeared confidential, Gretchen would raise her eyebrows to summon forth an explanation, to which Hunter would open the item and explain it was material from a recent industry-training seminar or another non-threatening source, material he would like to keep since he had recorded helpful notes in it. Gretchen would grant permission, and Hunter, the convicted criminal, would add it to his box.

Ten minutes later, with both boxes in tow and the glossy, gold-embossed folder sticking out at the top, Hunter walked out the front door of the building and loaded the boxes into the trunk of his car.

He checked his watch.

11:48 a.m.

It wasn’t even afternoon, yet in the course of an hour, his entire day had emptied.

Hunter climbed into the front seat, where ordinary noises now sounded louder.

The slam of his car door. The squeak of driver’s seat. The click of his seatbelt.

Stopping short of turning on the ignition, Hunter placed his hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead at a giant tree whose trunk blocked his view.

So now what?
Hunter asked himself.

CHAPTER 18

Turning onto Route 91 in Solon, where businesses and small shopping plazas dotted the periphery, Hunter noticed the street had started to grow busier with noontime traffic. He was a few blocks from his office—or, rather, his former office. Hunter couldn’t help but laugh at the depressing irony before him: A sea filled with drivers rushing around to return within an hour, while Hunter had nowhere to go.

Kara didn’t believe you could exist without thinking
something.
Like Hunter’s past girlfriends, she figured your mind is in a perpetual churn. And if it’s churning, then thoughts must be present. So when Kara or another girlfriend asked what was on his mind and Hunter would respond by saying, “Nothing,” they refused to believe him. He’d insist his mind was blank, perhaps in relaxation mode, and they would insist he was wrong.

But now, driving along Route 91, Hunter knew without a doubt that your mind could, in fact, be absent of thought, because his mind had drained. Hunter didn’t know
what
to think. At the same time, he sensed pressure mounting by the minute as cinder-block walls closed in around his brain and darkness crept in.

From behind his sunglasses, Hunter looked toward heaven.

“God, what am I supposed to do now?” he asked, one friend to another.

No matter how bad his circumstances had appeared in the past, he’d held peace that God would work out the details on his behalf. God had never disappointed him, and Hunter had confidence He would come through for him in this new phase of life.

Nonetheless, that confidence was a long-term assurance. It didn’t annihilate the cinder-block walls of the moment. And the truth was, it didn’t make him feel any less like an asphalt patch on the shoulder of Route 91.

He would need to tell Kara, but he didn’t want to feel weak before her any earlier than necessary. Besides, he didn’t want to get her concerned about his predicament before
he himself
knew how concerned he should be. She would want to stop by his house immediately after work, while he would want a few hours alone. He could call her in an hour, let her know what had unfolded, and she could swing by later that evening if she wished. She didn’t understand every aspect of how he operated, but she knew he held much inside. Maybe she would respect his need for time.

Yet, at the moment, he didn’t want to be alone, either. He craved proximity, someone who could be near him without trying to solve his problem or unleash a long list of questions to which Hunter didn’t have answers. Somebody who didn’t have a vested interest in whatever his next decision might entail. Someone who understood the value in just being there. No games, no façades, no walls.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have such relationships in his life. Everyone Hunter knew was accustomed to his holding everything inside.

Except one.

As he approached a traffic light at a familiar four-way intersection, Hunter decided where to go. Jerking his car into the left lane at the last second, he heard a quick screech from his tires. With a glance in his rearview mirror, he waved an apology to the driver behind him.

Hunter walked into Gabe’s clinic, scanned the reception area, and noticed a client paging through a magazine while she waited. She might be someone else’s client, Hunter figured. It was worth a try. Even if she was Gabe’s next client, Hunter could wait. He had all the time in the world today.

“Is Gabe available?” Hunter asked the same sunny receptionist.

With a furrowing of her eyebrows, she checked her computer monitor before returning her attention to him.

“Hello, Hunter. I’m sorry, were you scheduled for an appointment?”

“No, I ... thought he might have a few minutes to talk, that’s all.” On second thought, Hunter started to turn around and added, “I can talk to him later.”

The receptionist rose and said, “I doubt that’s necessary. He’s finishing with a client now, but he should have a few minutes when he’s done. Have a seat.”

As Hunter waited, reality began to hit home. He had no immediate answers. By this time tomorrow, where would he be? What would he be doing? He could call a handful of contacts tomorrow, but beyond that, he didn’t have a plan.