Page 50 of At First Smile
“She volunteers to make me dinner twice a week and I work here, so she’s a volunteer,” he deadpans.
Laughing, I sign the newspaper before I head to my next meeting.
The day drags just a bit as I go from meeting to meeting.
Besides a quick drive-by chat with JoJo as I grab a tea at the coffee cart, the other bright spot is texted photos of GB from the dogwalker that Rowan hired for while we’re at work.
As I slip my phone back into my blazer pocket, it buzzes with an incoming message. I take it out.
Devon: Where are you?
Me: Leaving the social work office. What’s up?
Devon: Nelson’s looking for you. Cortes is in his office.
With that my pulse quickens. Nelson reports to Mark Cortes, associate director.
Before any directors are selected, the VP will always run it by their senior leader.
If they’re looking for me, it’s either to tell me I got the job or, which is customary for inside candidates, to inform me in person that I wasn’t selected.
It’s not required but it’s the polite thing to do and part of the culture here.
Me: On my way.
Reaching the suite that houses the department of major gifts and donors, I suck in a steadying breath before pushing through the glass doors.
I find the reception area empty. Devon must have stepped out.
Heading past Devon’s desk, I move down the narrow hall towards the voices drifting from Nelson’s office in the back of the suite.
“I still can’t believe everything that happened between her and Dr. Walsh.” A raspy male voice says.
At the mention of Alex, I stop in my tracks, about ten steps away from Nelson’s door.
Someone coughs. “It’s terrible to lose such a good doctor, but I’m glad he left on his own accord. It could have been very ugly.”
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Nelson says. “He may be a good doctor as you say, but stalking a woman like that, especially a blind woman…disgusting.”
Especially? What the actual fuck?
“Agreed.” The other male pauses. “I always forget Pen’s blind, because she’s so capable.”
The words sting and bite into me, reopening never-healed wounds.
This is just a version of something I’ve heard many, many times before.
You’re so capable. I forget that you have a disability.
On the surface, the words read like compliments, but what they’re really saying is that they don’t expect me to be successful, let alone meet the basic standards.
Nelson chuckles. “She’s so impressive.”
“There you are!” Devon calls, causing me to jump and spin.
“Yeah,” I say, letting out a long breath. “I was just heading to Nelson’s office. You said he was looking for me.” I make a verbal show of it, speaking extra loud, as if I just arrived and hadn’t been listening outside the door.
“Pen, is that you?” Nelson shouts, his tone is warm and friendly.
“Yep.” With a firm smile in place, I enter his office.
“You know Mr. Cortes.” He motions to the other man, who sits in one of the leather chairs across from Nelson’s desk.
“Yes. Mr. Cortes.” I reach out my hand.
His grip is firm and warm. “Call me Mark.”
“Please, take a seat.” Nelson gestures and I take the seat beside Mark. “We were just talking about what an amazing job you’ve been doing as interim director of voluntary services.”
Spine straight, I cross my legs at my ankles and smile. “Thank you.” A polite expression hides the churn in my belly.
“We’d like to make it permanent. Pen, we’re selecting you as director of voluntary services. The official announcement will be made Friday morning,” Nelson says, clapping his hands together.
I nod. “Thank you.”
A deep belly laugh falls out of Mark. “You’ve stunned the poor woman.”
Sure, we’ll go with that. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting that,” I offer, keeping my tone light and airy.
“Since we’re not announcing the promotion until Friday, we’d like you to keep this quiet until then.” Nelson clears his throat. “That includes you , Devon. I’m sure you’re out there eavesdropping.”
“Roger that,” Devon shouts.
It’s not hard to keep the promise to not tell anyone. The norm is for me to run to my group thread and tell the girls or, my new go-to over the last two months, call Rowan. I should be jumping for joy, but right now I don’t know how I feel about this.
Later, as I sit on the bus on my way home the moment replays on a loop.
It should have been an exciting moment, a triumph.
I want this job. This is something I’ve worked hard for.
To be impressive because someone doesn’t believe you can do the basic functions of a job isn’t what I’ve strived for.
High-five me for my achievements, not that I did them despite your lack of belief in my ability.
Deboarding the bus, Cane Austen and I move down the sidewalk and into the neighborhoods that lead to my street. The chaotic sounds of an early evening swirl around me. Cars whizz by. People say hello as they shuffle by. A dog barks in the distance. I ignore it all, losing myself in my thoughts.
“It’s just par for the course,” I mumble to myself and turn down the residential street.
There are rows of fenced yards to my right and the street, filled with parked cars, to my left. With every step, I allow the tension to ease out of me. Soon I’ll be home with my guys, where I can just be Pen. Not the surprisingly capable disabled woman.
Loud barks break into my thoughts. My head tilts towards the sound to try to place it.
I screech as a sudden sharp pain bites into my right hand. “Fuck!”
Eyes wide, my gaze drops to my hand. A white dog, its snarling mouth engulfing my hand, growls back at me. Biting down harder, pain sears as it shakes and tugs at me. Cane Austen slips from my grip and tumbles to the ground.
“Let go!” I howl, swinging my bag at the dog.
With a whine it releases me. Holding up my oversized tote bag as a shield, I crouch down and feel for my cane with my right hand, which radiates with pain.
“Get away from her!” A deep voice shouts, echoed by the slap of shoes against the cement sidewalk.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” A woman yells.
“I’m o—” I locate the cane, but I can’t grasp it with my hand, which pulses in pain. Blood, warm and thick, drips down my arm. Sucking in a sharp breath, I croak, “I’m not okay.”