Bayou Born(25)

“Slow down, Sadie.” Branna chuckled. “Good morning.”

“Yes, good morning.” Sadie bobbed her head. “Please excuse my exuberance. The first day of school makes me giddy, and I want things to run like clockwork.”

She had met the secretary last month at the get-to-know-you luncheon when everyone but James welcomed her to the department. Petite Sadie looked years younger than fifty-five with her soft brown curls and slender figure. Amazingly, Sadie had been the department’s secretary for, in her words, “Since God was a small child.” Those years totaled twenty.

Sadie boasted that she knew everything about everyone and had eyed Branna suspiciously at the meeting, as though she sized her up, seeking the places where she kept her life’s most private secrets. As if Sadie intended to ferret them out. She had also heard that Sadie had a can-do attitude, but that she smelled conflict like a bird dog instinctually points quail. Branna hoped the last part wasn’t true. She wanted her private life to remain just that. Even more so given the events of Saturday night.

“I like order, too, Sadie. I know I can trust you to show me the ropes about how the office runs.”

“My desk is my command center. As for messages, I keep duplicate copies of all. In case you misplace one or accidently throw it away.”

Sadie’s desk sat in the middle of the large, square lobby surrounded by offices on three sides. Each instructor in the department had their own private one. She spotted her name on the door off to Sadie’s right.

“Messages for me?” Branna asked, holding open her hand.

“I want to make things go smoothly on your first official day here.” Sadie held tight to several pink slips torn from the phone-message pad sitting on her desk.

“What’s easiest for you?” She didn’t want special treatment. What did the other instructors do? She’d have to remember to ask James later.

“Well, putting them in your mail slot is easiest,” Sadie said, then twisted her mouth to one side, looking as though she wanted to suggest something different.

“But?” Branna smiled, still waiting for the slips of paper.

Sadie leaned in close. Her eyes darted from side to side as if scanning the room for eavesdropping ears or a spy. “I don’t recommend that for these phone messages. Especially private and personal ones, like these.” Sadie fanned the messages. The gentle movement of air fluttered against Branna’s cheek. Then, Sadie handed them over, grinning like she’d landed the mother-load of gold.

Branna wondered about the secretary’s trends toward the dramatic, though James has warned that the trusted woman considered acting her hobby. Sadie had often won the lead roles with the local theatre company. And, clearly, as Sadie stood before her now, Sadie thought she smelled a secret. Gossip.

“What do you recommend?” Branna asked, dropping her gaze to the caller’s name on each slip of paper. Anger boiled up, but she immediately tamped down the emotion. When she glanced over, she caught Sadie’s curious stare. She smiled, hoping Sadie would think the messages were completely unimportant.

Sadie leaned in close and whispered, “I can slide the personal ones under the door when you’re not in your office. That way you’ll maintain your privacy. I keep personal things very quiet, Miss Lind. I might know a lot of gossip, but I am not a gossip.”

“Why, thank you.” She’d heard Sadie’s reputation was the exact opposite. However, since there were more men than women in the English department, she hoped the woman might be true to her word—the sisterhood and all. “For the information and for the messages.”

Branna, fuming mad at Steven, stuffed the pink papers into her purse and headed to her office. She slid her key into the lock, opening the door. When she turned to close it behind her, Sadie stood a breath away. Branna held the door for support, stopping herself from jumping back and screeching at the woman.

“I promise you, Miss Lind. I’m not a gossip. However, I am known to offer good advice about issues of a personal nature, if asked. I never give advice unless asked. I want you to know that I have a lot of experience in certain types of personal matters. After all, I’ve been married three times.”

Had Sadie just suggested she would be a good source of relationship information, and in the same breath admit that she’d never experience a long-term stable marriage? Branna paused before answering the petite woman. Seeking diplomacy—the last thing she wanted to do was begin her workday by alienating her new secretary, which would surely start fodder for the gossip mill—she chose her words carefully. “Sadie, thank you for taking the messages. I’ll have a look at these, and if I need some suggestions, I’ll ask. For the future, just slide personal message, like these, under my door.”

Sadie eyed her as if trying to decide if she meant what she said. “I will be certain to do that, Miss Lind. Now, I’ll get back to work.” Sadie pulled on the bottom of her sweater, squared her shoulders, and marched back toward her desk.

She watched Sadie’s retreating back and mused that if Steven weren’t already dead to her, she’d kill him.

After dropping her purse and tote on top of her desk, she tugged on the chord to the window blinds. Clean morning light spilled in and lit the room. She rolled her desk chair out and plopped into it, intent on the view beyond the window of planted oaks and pine trees. Above the treetops, a large plane lifted from the runway at the airport. She wanted to put her anger on that plane and have the pilot jettison the bundle somewhere over the Atlantic. She hated that anything to do with Steven mined old emotions. Someday, the moment would come when his name no longer triggered any reactions That moment when she would have only total ambivalence toward the man who trashed her self-confidence. The bit of lingering anger reminded her of how much a blow her confidence had taken.

After a few deep, calming breaths, she laid the pink slips of paper side-by-side on her desk.

Call me, please.

We have to talk. It isn’t over for either of us.

I love you truly. Please call me when you get this.

She should’ve known he wouldn’t let things drop just because she had moved out of state. He must have worked hard to locate her. She trusted her family. All but Camilla, whom she was never able to reach.

Like a staged play running in her head, Steven took center mark in her mind. How had she ever mistaken his arrogance for confidence? How could she ever have been flattered by all his attention and not recognize his controlling nature? She had years of proof of his behavior, from childhood. But worse still, how could she not have known, in the face of all the clues that Steven participated in extra-curricular activities that included gymnastics with other women?

The proverbial “good girl” was as gullible as she was naïve.

Her jaw clenched as she remembered how she’d surprised him with a picnic dinner at his house and discovered him in flagrante delicto. The strange car in his driveway should have caused suspicion, but nooo, not for her. She used her key, thinking he would be in his office working too hard and in need of a break. Instead, she had found him upstairs, in the bed they were supposed to share after they married.

She had heard joined groans, moans and cries as she climbed the stairs. When she threw the double doors open, she stared. She expected Cinemax After Dark on the TV. After a final thrust, Steven rolled to one side. When he noticed her, he frowned. A naked woman, still writhing in the sheets, grabbed for him, but he slapped her hands away. Rising from the bed, naked with a sheen of sweat, he grabbed clothes from a pile and threw them at the woman. He ordered Miss Hot and Horney to get out, his voice so cold that he could have been damning the devil rather than speaking to a sexpot with whom he had just exchanged bodily fluids.

Branna scrunched her eyes tight to block out the memory, but it was no use.

Shocked, she’d run downstairs. The woman scurried behind her, jerked the front door open, and laughed as though the whole event was some sort of joke. Stunned, Branna watched the hussy dress on the front porch, then climb into her car before driving off. For once, Branna was glad about the house’s remote location. No prying eyes of neighbors to witness the surreal spectacle.

Boxers-clad and pulling on a t-shirt, Steven had descended the stairs. When they stood in the foyer, she wanted to stomp her foot and shout the F-word, but couldn’t bring herself to utter it. G. G. Marie would wash her mouth with soap for language unbecoming a lady. Regardless of the situation.

“I’m no worse than any other guy,” Steven said, matter-of-factly. “It’s only natural for a guy to play around, especially before he gets married. You should thank me, Branna. It’ll make me a better husband.”

Had she heard him correctly? “Thank you? I should thank you? There have been others? For how long and how many?” she demanded. His response cut deep. Nothing in her usually organized, sheltered life had prepared her for his reply.

“Do you mean how many at the same time?”