“Talking to said laughing lunatic in a cemetery is probably not a smart move,” I finally reply through clenched lips.
He smiles—it’s a smile dentists dream of: straight white teeth behind big lips. The heat intensifies. The breeze that was wafting with ease across my back disappears.
“Touché.” He crouches down on bare knees beside me. Leaning close to my face, he whispers, “I wish more people had a good laugh in places like these. I mean, if the dead lived a great life, why not be happy?” He shifts his head back, yet he’s still close enough I see every detail of his chiselled face. The scar on his left cheekbone is no longer than a fingernail. I notice the shape of his nose, which is rounded at the end, and the smell of his breath, freshly picked mint.
“Trust me: I’m not happy about this. I’m laughing because my ex-fiancé is getting married and, well, I was just telling my dear dead dad here that I was thinking I could give my unworn gown to his new bride. It’s funny because he would have found that beyond abnormal. I’m just about to tell him about my dog, Bella, dying. Would you like to stay and join in on that heartbreak too?”
The man stands abruptly, and I notice how tall he is as he rubs his hands along the legs of his beige, cargo, knee-length shorts.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he mutters before walking away.
“Wow. Damn! Now that man was all kinds of fine.” I’m almost speechless. “Dad, did you send him over here? Come on now, love and Abigail don’t go hand in hand—you know that. Well, you would if you were looking down on me like dead people are supposed to.” Taking a long inhale, I’m unable to fathom why that man approached me. That was too weird. Taking a moment to digest what just happened, I listen to the musical melodies being performed by the native wildlife.
“Bet you like it here. I would … So, anyway, Bella died,” I continue. “I failed at keeping her alive too.”
Dropping my head, I wonder why I was chosen to receive this hex. “What’s the antidote for eradicating bad luck?” Frustration fills my words. “Does it take a handsome prince riding in on a stallion to save me, like in the fairy tales you used to read? Or a potion made by witches? I’m serious. I need to get rid of this shit because, honestly, Dad, I’m barely holding on.”
Talking through the latest crap in my life helps. I spill information on everything, from my newest panic-filled moments, to the job that commences the next morning. I don’t forget to include my unpaid leave situation. Maybe talking to a rock is better than talking to any person.
Kissing my palm, I then place it softly against the stone. “I love you, Dad. Until next time. If only you could talk back, how different my life would be.”
I stroll back to Bertha. The gardens grow darker as night encroaches. Was I here all day? How is it dark? I turn in a circle. Everything feels wrong, but at the same time, also, right. Am I living in an episode of the Twilight Zone Episode? Or am I just losing my marbles?
The blue light on my mobile is flashing when I climb into the car. Sammy. Four missed calls and messages, but I don’t bother listening to them, opting to just call her back.
“Abi, where are you?” she snaps.
“Visiting an old friend.”
“Who?”
“None of your business. I got the job. I start in the morning, so no need to come by and wake me at lunchtime. You might actually get to do your job, hey?”
“Always a smart mouth, aren’t you?”
“Whatever do you mean, Ginger?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Dorothy.”
There’s a pause. Looking out Bertha’s windscreen, I can’t help but think of the strange man who interrupted my time with Dad.
“Do you want to do dinner tonight? A celebration?” Sammy’s voice seems hesitant.
“I do not,” I reply promptly.
“Fine.”
“Well, you go off and sulk now. I’m going home.”
“You can do this, Abigail.”
At least one of us is hopeful. “Goodbye, Sammy.” I hang up.
Can I do this?
FIVE
Repetitious
“Good morning, Abigail. I hope you’re well-rested. You’ll have a busy day today.” As Asher looks up at me, her smile beams. “Come over here.” She uses a come-hither finger motion. I drag my feet behind the counter. “Let me fix this for you.” Her long, manicured nails pull the scarf from my neck. She loops it and then places the gavel pin in the centre. “Good. Now put it back on,” she orders, fiddling for a bit before declaring it’s perfect. “Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
“Level two. You need to go to Jasmine’s office, which will be easy enough to find since all the doors have name plaques on them. She’ll be waiting for you. Tell her I had forms you needed to fill out, which caused your delay.”
“But I didn’t fill in any forms.”
“Exactly. But you will later.” Asher winks before placing her hands on my shoulders and turning me in the direction of the lift. “Being late on your first day does not give a great first impression. Now off you go. Chop, chop.”
I do as I’m told.
As the lift door opens on the second level, I’m greeted by a scowling face … Jasmine’s.
“You’re late. This will be the first and last time.”
“Yep. Gotcha. I had forms to—”
“Don’t speak like a bogan. It will not be tolerated here,” she interrupts.
“Sorry.”
“There is a list on your desk with today’s morning duties,” she says, striding away from me. I half-walk, half-gallop to catch up. “If you need me, press six and then the hash key on the phone in your office.” She moves quicker. Gosh she can walk fast. “This is my internal number. On your desk, in a red folder, you will find—” She stops speaking and looks over her shoulder. “Please keep up.”
I hustle until I’m back beside her again.
“As I was saying, in the red folder on your desk is documentation that needs copies printed. There is a blue folder under that one. Put the copies into that folder and then put both folders on my desk.” She stops again. “Are you understanding this?”
“Loud and clear.” The urge to salute her is strong, but my hands stay by my side.
“Good. Put both folders on my desk. Here is your office.” She opens a light-coloured wooden door. “On a sheet of paper, I’ve laminated and secured to your desk is an internal phone directory. Do not, under any circumstances, call Mr Sims. Understand?”
“Clearly.” Looking around the small space, I sigh. Is it home time yet?
Two filing cabinets, a black table, and what appears to be a fake fern in a ceramic red pot complete my office. Jasmine must see my reaction to the dullness.
“You can decorate it however you like. Bring in a picture of your boyfriend or something to look at.”
Sure thing. Because I have one of them. “Thank you.”
“Get to work.” Her tone is harsh.
I have a feeling I’m going to hate Jasmine.
Sitting on a high-backed chair, I inhale a deep breath. Photocopying.