CHAPTER SEVEN
A
TEST OF HEARTS—AN OFFICE SKIRMISH
(28TH
installment, Scruggs and Samantha, by
Mary de la Pena)
When I arrived at the office I was immediately met with a
barrage of complaints and messages from my secretary. She was a well-meaning person, but she had
yet to understand I always needed a few moments to decompress before she laid
the problems of the day at my feet. Her
nature was gentle and she was completely unable to handle conflict. Thus, she always greeted me with the newest
“emergency” as soon as I walked through the door.
Unfortunately for her, it was the last straw. My response was quick and vicious.
“I have repeatedly told you to leave me alone for at least
five minutes,” I snarled at her. “These
problems will wait for another ten or so minutes. Now take them back to your desk and wait
until I tell you I am ready for messages.”
I whirled on my heel and stalked back to my office. I slammed the door, rattling the pictures on
my wall.
No more than thirty seconds later there was knocking at my
door. The door opened just as I was
getting a good head of steam to yell at the intruder. Standing in my doorway was my partner
husband. His face was controlled but
angry.
“M. J.,” he said, “that was uncalled for. She was just trying to do her job.”
All the warm fuzzy feelings I had for him from our earlier encounter
evaporated. Worse yet, I knew he was
right, but it only made my feelings of abandonment stronger. How could he take her side? I was his wife and the law partner. I had status, or at least in my mind I
thought did. Anger swelled at the
slight. He should give me the respect I
thought I deserved because of both positions I held in his life.
I growled at him, giving him the slant-eyed stare women use
on offending men.
He shrugged his shoulders in response.
We stared at each other, neither one willing to give in
during the contest of wills.
Finally, I broke the stare.
“You know, I don’t care at this point,” I said. “I have the right to have a few moments of
peace.”
He did not soften his face.
“Yes,” he answered. “But not at
the expense of the staff.”
God, why couldn’t he just take
me in his arms and soothe me? Why did he
have to be so . . . right?
I fluttered my hands at him in
an ineffectual attempt to wave him away.
He was correct: my behavior was inappropriate. But I was also tired of
feeling so wrong in everything I did.
He stood looking at me, then with a shake of his head he
said, “Why don’t you go home and change.
You have to take the dogs for their test with the new dog.”
“Scruggs,” I said.
“His name is Scruggs. Aren’t you
going with me?”
He took a deep breath before answering. “M. J., with you gone out of the office
today, I need to stay here to hold down the fort. You don’t need me. You’ll be fine.”
It was the finality in his voice that prevented me from
arguing back. He was wrong, of
course. I wouldn’t be “fine.” How was I supposed to take two large dogs
into the shelter with all of the other barking dogs and have them behave?
A dark thought intruded that maybe he wanted me to
fail. Maybe he really didn’t want us to
get the golden dog with the laughing smile.
Panic and anger filled me.
I slammed my purse onto my desk, jerking my keys from their holder. “Fine,” I answered. “You’re right, I’ll be just fine!” I stormed
out of the office, trying not to slam the door to the waiting room as I
left. One stupid showing of juvenile
behavior was enough for the day.
But once in my car I began to
cry. Frustration, hurt, anger—but, most
of all, the feeling that control of my life was slipping away from me—filled my
heart. Without thinking, I drove the few miles to the animal shelter. I needed to see Scruggs. I needed to make sure I was doing the right
thing. Was I jeopardizing my marriage
and my livelihood for a shelter dog? Was
I as crazy as I felt?
No comments:
Post a Comment