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Hush in the Storm

By Julie B Cosgrove

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PART ONE - Death and Life

Chapter 1


An eerie thought pressed a clammy hand upon my shoulder. Widowed unexpectedly at thirty-one, I longed for what could never be again. But what if, the notion whispered through the fogged regrets, it never really was?
Silly. Of course it was. The diamond on my left hand shined the proof. Robert had cherished me, married me, spent five loving years with me. . . that one night didn’t mean a thing.
I shuddered off the question and leaned in to review the balance sheets my boss emailed. I had six hours to finish them or I'd have to stay late. Concentrate on the now, Jen.
Before, I’d loathed this humdrum accounting job. Now, for the past few months, it's morphed into the main reason I didn't stay in bed with the covers pulled over my eyes.
Numbers are tangible things. Either they add up, or they don’t. The opposite was true of my life right now. So, I've clung to the day-in and day-out routine like a buoy as I bobbed in the stormy swells of uncertainty. It’s kept the grief, which has engulfed me in a hushed roar no one else hears, from drowning my soul.
The work day droned on, just like the rest since Robert died. There’s comfort in consistency. People passed my desk and said the same things—
“Hi, Jen. Doing okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.”
“Hey, Jen. Keeping busy? Best thing, ya know.”
“Yeah. (grin) Thanks.”
​
In the break room, coworkers glanced at me with sympathetic smiles―which I returned as a matter of rote. I never wanted to hear the eggshells crack as well-meaning friends and colleagues tiptoed around my mourning. I was stronger than that, at least in public. Besides, I had a job to do.
Okay. I admit that when they moved my department down to the basement after his death, I’d felt a touch of panic. Maybe because there were no windows to give me a sense of day or night. Possibly it was the musty, recycled air that penetrated my nostrils every morning when I arrived. I shrugged it off as widow’s distress—until today.
I’d felt edgy all morning and my emotional gauge teetered on overheat. A premonition whispered in the back of my thoughts just loud enough to keep me from concentrating on my quarterly report. The numbers on the page stared back at me as if gibberish. I closed my eyes, sucked in a breath and tried to focus.
The day dragged.
One by one, the other work spaces emptied. The buzz of office machines and human chatter diminished until the only sound was the soft hum from the fluorescent lights and the tick of the office clock, like a steady heart beat. Perhaps now the mounting inner stress would ease and I could balance these spreadsheets. Peace and quiet at last.
I thought all I wanted was for people to leave me alone, but now in this dingy basement all by myself, I felt a bit too alone. The solitude settled like a thick haze around me. I tapped my pencil, then my foot, to dispel it.
A short, high-pitched ding pierced the silence. I jerked. The elevator?
The bottom right hand side of my computer screen flashed 6:05 PM. It was too early for the janitorial staff. None of the executives or customers ever ventured down here. My heart thumped into my throat.
I swallowed. “Who's there?”
Tom stepped out of the elevator, then pushed open the Abernathy & Smith Accounting Firm glass door. Of all people, it had to be him. Those piercing blue eyes freaked me. There were times I swore he was watching me.
“Hey, Jen. Still at it?” He was drenched to the skin. He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to an imaginary window. “Did you know it was storming like crazy out there?”
Duh. “Really? Thought you'd walked through the lawn sprinklers.”
“Cute.”Tom rubbed his dark curls as he peered over my four-foot cubicle divider. Tiny drops of water spattered across my work.
My jaw set, making a dental impression in my now tasteless chewing gum. I wanted him to leave, and for these numbers to make sense so I could do the same. I also wanted my life back, but I wasn't about to discuss that with him, or anyone else.
I swiveled my chair to face him full on and slapped on my office grin. “So, why are you still here in the netherworld making a puddle inside my cubicle?”
He snorted a quick chuckle. “Came back ‘cause I left my umbrella.”
“Oh.” Why would he come back for one now? He's already sopping wet. Strange.
“That's for tomorrow's quarterly meeting, huh?” He nodded towards my corner-angled monitor, flinging a few more droplets in my direction, along with a whiff of citrusy-musk aftershave. The fact that it was my favorite male scent didn't ease the tension.
With an eye roll, I wadded up my calculations and tossed them in the direction of the trashcan.
He came around to my side. “You've been working at it too long, Jen.”
I ran my fingers through my bangs. “It’s got to get done now, doesn't it?”
I watched Tom raise an eyebrow. I sucked in a deep sigh, and then let it out to a silent count of three. “Sorry, Tom. I’m just a bit frazzled right now.”
He perched on the edge of my desk. “Which is why you need to leave.”
He leaned forward to read my computer screen. Remnants of tuna fish sandwich fumed from his breath. I scooted my chair over an inch. The second hand on the black-rimmed wall clock across the room went round and round. Why wasn't he leaving?
“Tom, look. I hate to be rude but. . .” I swung away from him to face the paperwork splayed across my desk and tapped my pencil again. “I need to get back to this so I can get out of here.” I wasn't anxious to get back to an empty apartment, but being alone with this guy was starting to freak me out more. I felt him scoot closer.
“Back away from it for the night, Jen. It's time to go.” His voice took on an authoritative tone.
I turned, confused, then saw his face soften.
“Come on. Let’s get outta here and grab a bite to eat.”
I felt my eyes widen. “What?” Oh, no. Was he asking me out? I wasn't ready. . .not for anything like that.
He punched the off button on my monitor.
A flush of fury warmed my face. How dare he?
“Jen. Did you hear me? It's time to go.” A hint of brogue, no doubt leftover from some forgone ancestor, twirled the last word on his tongue. They called his type the black Irish—dark hair, crystal blue eyes. But now they looked as stern as a Catholic school nun's stare. I buckled.
“Well, . . .” I glanced at the office wall clock. 6:15. My stomach responded with a silent rumble to remind me I hadn't stopped for lunch. I loathed eating alone and didn't feel like whipping up something at home. Even eating with him was better than the alternatives. “The janitors will be here in a bit anyway. Can’t concentrate with them vacuuming, talking. . .”
His pursed lips moved into a quick grin. “Then let's go. Bob's Burgers is close.”
The longstanding downtown Fort Worth diner served good, old fashioned charcoal- broiled burgers. Cholesterol clogging comfort food did sound good. I grabbed my purse off the back of my chair. “Okay.” I raised my finger, “But, we’ll go Dutch.”
“Whatever.” He raised himself from my desk. “It's too far to walk in the rain, though. Even with an umbrella.” He gave me a sheepish shrug.
I sighed and dug into my purse. “Where are my keys?”
Tom dangled them in front of my nose. “Left 'em on your desk. But, we should take my car.”
I shook my head and opened my palm, fingers cupped. “Uh, no. We shouldn't.”
“Your choice.” He exhaled through his nostrils, plopped the keys into my hand, and then texted something into his cell phone. I noticed his jaw twitch as he slipped it back into his jacket.
Was it me, or had his mood suddenly darkened? Had I ruffled his male feathers by insisting we go in separate cars and pay Dutch? In an attempt to smooth things over I replied, “Thanks for the offer, though.”
“I was just trying to save you . . .”
I touched his arm. “Tom, I don’t need saving.”
One side of his mouth stretched into a sneer. “You sure?”
He punched the up button. The elevator gave a swift ding. The steel doors whished open.
I humphed. “Still on this floor. Luck o’ the Irish. This dinosaur usually takes forever.”
“Probably no one else in the building. Just us two.” Acting the cool gentleman I guess, Tom held back the door with his arm and let me pass. His mouth formed that swift smirk again.
Another shoulder-clamp feeling grabbed me. I didn’t really know this guy. He’d only worked in my section for a few months. Could I trust him? Please, Jen, get a grip. It’s just a cheeseburger.
His forefinger jabbed the “G” button. Awakened, the elevator jerked, moaned and began its ascent. His attention lifted to the numbers above the door. They lit up. B2, ding, B1.

There was a jolt, then a bang. The lights went out. We were stuck.
I sensed his presence move closer to me, invading what little space I had. Oh, no. Don’t make a pass at me. Not here, trapped like this.
Then, in the semi-darkness, I saw a reddish-white glow illuminating the panic button. Please, God. Please let there be someone else in the building. I reached to push it, but Tom grabbed my wrist and shoved it down.
“Don’t press that.”
My eyebrows knit together. Before my mouth could form a “Why?”, his other hand slipped underneath his damp jacket. My eyes followed it. The glimmer of shiny metal reflected off the panic button’s light.
My heart froze.

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