Calculated Risk (2 page)

Was she twenty-nine going on thirteen? She slurped the milk from her bowl. But what a crafty twenty-nine-year-old teen she was. Her plan would work.

 

****

 

Nick laid out all the ingredients on the kitchen counter to create the perfect hamburger: grilled medium rare sirloin patty, cheddar cheese slice, dill pickles, Dijon mustard, ketchup, onion, lettuce, and tomato. The aroma of hickory seasoning lingered in the kitchen, making his mouth water.

His cell vibrated. He glanced at its screen, wedged the cell between his shoulder and jaw, and built his burger.

“Hi, Mom. What's up?”

“Is everything set for your trip Wednesday night?”

“Uh-huh,” he said around a bite of his burger.

“Is Cisney still coming?”

“Why wouldn't she?” He licked ketchup from his fingers.

“I'm setting the table now, and I need to know whether to set a place for her.”

“If she's changed her mind, I think she would have told me. That'd be the polite thing to do.”

Strange, after only one week, Cisney hadn't seemed depressed today over losing her boyfriend. Short mourning period. But a good thing for him. With Dana bailing on him, he understood Cisney's pain, but four hours in the car with her lamenting her breakup would be torture—the half hour in her office last week had been bad enough.

“Why is Cisney all alone for Thanksgiving?”

“Her parents are visiting her brother's family in Germany.” His family needn't know Cisney's ex-boyfriend had abandoned her.

“I'm so glad you invited her to join us.”

Why would Mom be so glad? She'd better not be getting any ideas about Cisney being daughter-in-law material. Cisney wasn't.

The clink of china sounded.

“Why are you setting the table now? It's Monday.”

“I always set the table on Monday night. I need Tuesday and Wednesday to make rolls, stuffing, gelatin salad, and so forth.”

“You realize they sell rolls ready to bake at the grocery store, don't you?” He smiled, waiting for her expected retort.

“Did I hear you right, Mr. Gotta-Have-Mom's-Snowflake-Rolls?”

He laughed. “Just ribbing you. Won't the plates get dusty sitting out for three days?”

“Are you saying my house is dusty, young man? What's Cisney's last name?”

“Baldwin. Dust in the air is a constant.”

“Let me write that down.”

“You're going to be tested on home air quality?”

“I'm writing down her name, smarty-pants. I turn the glasses and plates facedown until Thursday. What kind of soft drinks does she like?”

“I don't know.”

“You've never had a soft drink with her?” He pictured Mom's raised eyebrows accompanying her shocked tone.

“No.” During their weekly meetings, he'd seen only fancy foam coffee cups on Cisney's desk. Several.

“I'm not going to ask why not. Please find out what soft drinks she likes and get back to me.”

“Mom, before you hang up, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure.”

“I have business to take care of Friday and Saturday in Charlotte for a couple of hours each day. Will you entertain Cisney while I'm gone?” He prepared to mouth her response.

“Business during Thanksgiving?”

“As much as I'd like to see you and Dad again the week after Thanksgiving, this saves me the drive.” And if everything went as planned, he'd give his incompetent boss two weeks' notice on Monday.

“What kind of business takes people away from their families during holidays?” Her tone sounded like his, when at age twelve he'd let her know he didn't want to learn ballroom dancing.

After he narrowed his two options for his future down to one, he'd announce his intentions. For now though, he'd keep the nature of his business to himself. No use getting the family excited that he planned to move closer to home.

“The kind of business good for the futures of both parties,” he said.

Mom would dislike Option A if she knew it involved working in the same actuarial firm as Dana. Option A offered the best mental challenge, but was potentially hazardous to his heart. Although Dana had been cordial, she'd made it clear her call about the job opening was strictly business. That was fine with him.

After she'd broken his heart, God's comfort, and hours reading his Bible, had put him back on his feet. That's where he planned to stay. If Friday's meeting with Dana, their first encounter since their breakup, proved he wasn't over her, Option B was a worthy backup.

“Of course we'll entertain Cisney.” Mom sounded too cheery, as if she couldn't wait to have Cisney to herself. “Your sister and Allison will want to hit the Black Friday sales. She can join them. We'll think of something else for Saturday.”

“Thanks, Mom. I knew I could count on you.”

“Don't forget to ask Cisney about the soft drinks. We can't wait to meet her. Bye.”

He jammed his cell into his pocket. Last week during his call with Mom to let her know Cisney was coming, he'd told her Cisney was a co-worker, not someone special. Now, her enthusiasm over Cisney's visit sent warning sensations up the back of his neck.

He bit into his burger. It suddenly tasted like an over-processed veggie patty.

Inviting Cisney home probably ranked up with Option A as one of his worst ideas, especially if it started Mom dreaming about gaining a daughter-in-law.

Cisney's face streaming with tears had touched a sympathetic chord inside him. And that was all.

 

****

 

Cisney entered the cafeteria.

Nick was sitting at a table by the window with two of his staff.

She turned in the direction of the tray-return station. Her scheme to bump into Nick at the utensil bin as a reminder he needed to tell her travel information was finally underway. Fair was fair. She gave up skiing with her friends. He needed to show her the courtesy of bringing up the trip. It was a matter of principle.

She moved into the alcove housing the swinging doors to the kitchen. With Nick's mind probably on actuarial matters, and not on his guest for the holiday, chances were good he wouldn't wonder what she was doing there, since she hadn't been through the food line yet.

When she peeked out of the recess, his table was in view. The trick was to time her exit to look as if she'd come from the elevators. That required angling to the far wall, and then making a quick U-turn. Making sure no one approached from the elevators, she executed a dry run. It would work.

Cisney craned her neck to monitor Nick's movements.

He stood and carried his tray toward the bins.

She ducked farther into the alcove. A count of five should do it. One, two, three, four—

The kitchen doors whooshed open. A cart rattled behind her and nipped her calves.

“Oh!” She scooted forward and into Nick's tray.

His tray tipped. The plate slid off, skated down her skirt, and broke in half on the floor.

“Cisney!” He gawked at her skirt. “I'm sorry.”

Frozen, her hands spread, she took in the damages. One spaghetti noodle clung to a smear of red sauce on her cream-colored wool skirt.

With him staring at her as if he couldn't figure out why she'd exited the kitchen, she had to say something. “Was the spaghetti good?” She laughed. Did it have to come out so loud and high-pitched? She grabbed the napkin from his tray and wiped at the tomato pulp.

“I'd have eaten more if it had tasted better. Sorry.”

“Excuse me, ma'am,” the cafeteria employee behind the cart said. “I've got to get these lunch plates to a VP meeting.” He rolled his cart toward the elevators.

Nick took care of his flatware, trash, and tray. “I'll find a wet rag and someone to clean this up.”

People filing to the bins gave her sympathetic looks. Some offered solutions for removing stains from wool.

Why did she have to be the one to lose face when she merely wanted Nick to own up to his responsibilities as host for what would most certainly be a miserable holiday.

Nick returned with a wet cloth. “Here, this will work better than the napkin.”

She attacked the marinara with the dishrag. “I think it's going to take more than a wet cloth.”

“Why were you coming out of the kitchen? I hope you're not marketing the spaghetti.”

No comeback formed in her mind, and the truth was best left unsaid. She rubbed harder on the smear.

“Can I do anything else to help?”

“No. I'm fine.” About as happy as a thief whose stolen cash exploded and covered him in red dye.

Nick headed toward the elevators, and then turned and faced her, walking backwards. “What soft drinks do you like?”

Mid-scrub, she paused, blew hair from her face, and gaped at him. Had he lost his mind? What did her soda preference have to do with a one-hundred-dollar-cleaning-bill stain?

 

****

 

Cisney stared at the two open suitcases on her bed. Mounds of wool, silk, and leather extended above their sides. She'd have to sit on the cases to close them. That's what happened when one packed a set of casual clothes and a set of go-to-church clothes needed for four days.

How would she make it through the day on three hours' sleep? Last night weeping over Jason's choices, worrying over Daddy's reaction to her losing her “real man,” and fuming over Nick's failure to call had hit her like a triple dose of caffeine.

She checked her watch. If she didn't leave in the next five minutes, she'd be late to work.

Her cellphone played the marimba. Who would call so early in the morning? Jason? She fumbled in her handbag. Had he changed his mind? She looked at the display and her heart sagged. Nick?

She swallowed back the pain in her throat. “Hello?”

“It's Nick.”

“Hi.” Now he called—after she'd packed.
Thanks a bunch, Nick.

“Would you mind bringing your suitcase to work and leaving your car in my apartment parking spot over the holiday? My apartment is three minutes from work, and we can get an earlier start if we leave from there.”

He wasn't going to pick her up and haul her luggage to his car? Peachy. Now it would take her ten minutes—ten minutes she didn't have—to wrangle her suitcases to her SUV.

She curbed a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes.
“Sure.”

“Good. Let's park in the south lot. I'll meet you inside the south door at five-thirty.”

“About how long is the drive to your parents' home?”

“Four to five hours.”

She mumbled an OK and ended the call.

Five hours! The only way she'd survive the drive and four days with the LeCrones was to earn a notch on her challenge belt, playing best buddy Angela's creation, The Challenge Game. With uncommunicative Nick at the center of her challenge.

Cisney sat on her suitcases and latched them, then pushed and bumped the first down the apartment stairs. At her SUV, she grabbed the case's handle and performed a heft-and-swing, propelling the bottom of the case upward. One set of rollers caught the rim of the bumper. From this position, she put her weight into the bag and shoved it into the cargo area.

She slapped her hands together in a dusting-off gesture. “Ha! Take that Nick LeCrone. I am woman.” If traffic was normal, she could make it to work on time.

After using her push-and-bump method to transport her second suitcase to ground level, she rolled it to her SUV and opened the back.

A curly-haired teen with a backpack slung over one shoulder bounded from the stairwell. He pivoted toward her and offered to help just as she performed the heft-and-swing motion. The bottom of the suitcase missed the bumper. She lost control and the suitcase hit the pavement. One latch flew off. The second released. The suitcase flapped open, and her lacy white, her flower-patterned, and her hot pink undergarments sprang out like popcorn and landed at the teen's feet.

“Awesome.”

 

 

 

 

2

 

Positioned near the south exit, Nick scanned the herd of Virginia National employees funneling through the double doors. Where was Cisney? Caught in a meeting? Anyone holding a meeting on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving should be shot. Now, leaving would be like inching out of the parking lot after a Super Bowl.

An elevator dinged. He craned his neck toward the sound.

Cisney's dark hair bobbed as she hurried off the elevator to join the crowd. She caught sight of him and waved her hand like a determined New Yorker flagging a cab. She reached him, out of breath. No wonder. She'd been hot-footing it on high-heeled boots. Wasn't she tall enough without wearing boots set on railroad spikes?

“Sorry I'm late. Had to fax a ten-page document, and the fax machine ran out of paper.”

“Doesn't the department secretary take care of that?”

“She needed to get on the road.”

And we don't?

He grabbed her hand and merged into the crowd.

She held on tight as if she feared being trampled.

When they cleared the doors, he released his grip. “Where are you parked?”

She pointed into the darkness. “I park in the back next to the fence to avoid dents.”

Give me a break.
He nodded at a beige sedan on the front row. “This is my car. Hop in. I'll take you to yours.”

At his building, he lowered his window and pointed to his parking spot. She pulled in her SUV. He parked behind her, got out, and then raised the hatch on her vehicle. Two huge suitcases greeted him, both red, one banded together with a stretchy pink belt linked to one covered in purple rhinestones. What in the world…? Did she think they were staying until next Thanksgiving?

She came around to the back. “What's the matter?”