The phone rings, I don’t recognize the number. With a last mouthing of I dare you, Anna waves goodbye. “Simon Kent’s office. How may I help you?”
***
Ivan
A calendar alert goes off from my computer. I bring my head up from the report I’m engrossed in to check the time. Interesting, Connor is usually prompt. He should be in my office now to discuss the alert. More than my personal assistant, he’s my right hand. I punch the button on my desk phone for Connor’s desk. No answer.
Rebecca enters through my almost always open office door. “Sir, Connor still isn’t back from the doctor. Remember the appointment for Sara was this morning?”
I check the time. The appointment was for almost two hours ago. “He hasn’t called in?” This is unlike Connor. I check my cell phone, no call or text.
“No, nothing. Should I call him?”
“Do not bother him. Obviously there is a deeper issue with Sara. His daughter should be his primary focus.”
Whatever the issue is, I will not add to it by contacting him before he is ready. Connor has been with me from the very beginning, almost twelve years. His loyalty is unwavering; I will not repay that by harassing him while his daughter is ill.
Nodding, Rebecca goes back to her desk. Only minutes later the door to my office closes. Connor leans against it, his face haggard; he has aged a decade since I saw him yesterday. I shoot a message to Rebecca to hold all calls until I notify otherwise.
“You look like hell.”
His head goes down.
“Do you need a drink? Or have you already had one?”
He shakes his head. “No and no. I don’t...I’m afraid I won’t stop.”
“Sit down before you fall down.”
Like the good employee he is, he complies.
“What happened?”
Blinking fast, he looks away. “They think it’s leukemia. We won’t know for a few days though. In the same breath they reassure us, she’ll be fine. We are catching it early. Kids are resilient, a year from now her hair will have grown back and this will be a bad memory. Lindsey’s sister had leukemia at five; she died before she turned seven. Lindsey isn’t”—he shakes his head—“she’s not so sure.”
“What the hell are you doing here when you should be home?”
“I need to be here. Home—I can’t. Sara doesn’t understand; she’s three years old. I’m glad but it’s...hell.” The last word is squeezed from his throat.
For a moment I consider allowing him to stay the way he believes he wants to. No, there are the things we need to do, and the things we have to. I shake my head. “Lindsey needs you. Take the week, good or bad, I do not want you in the office until next Monday. When you know the diagnosis, call me, not the office, me. My goddaughter’s health is my concern as well.”
Connor nods yet does not move.
“Go home. We will reassess once it is confirmed. I have no words to convey the depth of my sorrow at what you, Lindsey, and Sara are going through, might continue to go through. Whatever she needs, you and Lindsey need, I am here for you both. Anything that can be done will be done. I am not giving you permission. I am sending you home.”
I press for Rebecca. “Call a car for Connor.” Turning my attention to him, “Go home, Connor.”
Finally, with a nod he gets up.
“If you need me, call me, at any time.”
Another nod; at last he crosses to the door.
“And give the driver all your work you have taken home. I do not want you on the server either.”
Resigned, he walks out.
For a long moment I consider what Connor and his wife are going through. I shudder. Add it to one of the almost hundred reasons I am grateful not to have a woman or child in my life. Too messy, too much emotion, not now, not ever.