Caroline and I are Out (eBook)

Last Thursday, 5:35 pm Eastern

Ben held the steering wheel at the bottom. It was one of his many ways of relaxing on the agonizing drive home—and it was always agonizing at this hour. By keeping his hands and arms down, he increased the flow of blood to his fingers, leaving one less thing to think about. Efficiency is key.

Sanity came from NPR on the radio; insanity from the JFX out of downtown Baltimore to his forested burg just outside the Beltway. Crawl forward, stop, bombs in Syria. Crawl forward, stop, hurricanes (not one, but two!) forming in the Atlantic. Crawl forward, stop, a good ten minutes on the budget deficit. Well, not a good ten minutes—more like an infuriating, fear-inducing ten minutes. Even NPR couldn’t help itself sometimes. What if the budget deficit starts causing cutbacks in the medical industry? The first thing to drop would be publications, right? Downsizing at his company? Why not? He would be the first to go, right?

Stop it, right now.

Forward. Stop. NPR talks about the White House chef.

Since he was sitting in traffic with nowhere to go, Ben pulled out his cellphone and brought it to life. He touched the favorites icon and saw Caroline’s face. He smiled. He touched her face and the phone dialed Caroline’s cellphone. Ben wasn’t sure where she would be sitting right about then, either working or perhaps by this time running around with the kids, so the cellphone was the safest bet. Five long rings in, and her voicemail picked up.

“Hi, it’s Caroline. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you.” Beeeeep. Ben paused for a second and wondered why the voicemail, then decided to talk because you never know. “Hey…I’m stuck in awesome (be positive) traffic on the JFX and I’ll be there asap. Love you.”

Icon off, call ended. Puzzlement remained. She always answered her phone. He held onto it for a while longer waiting for her to call back, telling him she was out of the room and left the phone on the kitchen table or something. No call.

“From National Public Radio, I’m Ann Taylor…”

Hence, the news began, and Ben was not yet home. By now he was usually home or at least closer than this. He might break a record for longest homeward drive today. He let out the clutch and his 12-year-old Saab crawled forward a bit more.

NPR talked about climate change while Ben and 10,000 of his trapped fellow commuters spewed tons of carbon into the Baltimore atmosphere. If he were in a train, he would not be listening to how he was polluting and killing the Earth, and all would be right with the world. But he did love listening to “All Things Considered.”

Some hair fell into Ben’s face. He had always enjoyed the long hair, and pulled it off in a semi-corporate setting. He almost always tied it up or back, and his team still regarded him highly despite his mother’s constant protestations. He was self-assured with his troops at work but, anticipating a reversal of his decisions at every turn from his boss, constantly keeping his guard up and his vulnerabilities in sharp focus.

“So…I’m confused, Ben…why did you put the whole team’s effort toward this research piece this week?” she asked, in mock, passive-aggressive confusion when she meant to say, “Ben, you’re an idiot.” She bit down on one side of her lower lip and looked over her fashionable black rimmed glasses at him. She wasn’t confused at all—she had probably rehearsed this discussion twice into a mirror before summoning him in.

Ben jammed his lips together for roughly the hundredth time since taking this job (but who’s counting?) and tried to formulate a response as he stood there—not his strong suit. Ben was definitely a deer in the headlights kind of guy. Go with the truth. “Ummm…you were pretty clear at the meeting last week that you considered this research piece a priority over, well…everything else we were working on this for this month’s issue. Given that, and the fact that the team had already begun their other assignments and can easily complete them in time, I figured that we should do a full-court press against the research piece, get it out of the way, and finish up our other articles in plenty of time. Does that sound wrong to you? Now I don’t understand. Where’s the problem?” Ben took the extra pleasure in stating clearly that he was the one making this decision, instead of using a passive voiced “it was determined” or something as she would have certainly done in the same instance.

Sheila let out another in a long series of sighs. “No, I guess what’s done is done, isn’t it? I hope you’re right about this.…” The implication being that either of them (well, no, Ben) would be in serious trouble should this plan fall flat at press time, as she expected (hoped?) it would. Not having all the copy for an issue ready at press time was akin to appearing at the company holiday party naked—just not ready and everyone staring at you at once. It had only happened once in Healthcare Network Publishing’s entire history, back in 1982, and some of the old timers still talked about it.

Sheila was a puzzle to Ben. She was lively and loved to sit and chat, especially with Ben. He certainly enjoyed talking to her as well. It kept him from cranking at work, but he felt he needed to be her friend if only to shield him from storms. Sheila was well known on the local party circuit always had multiple stories to tell about last night, when all Ben could come up with was the girls’ bedtime and crashing early. Sheila was bright, but there were times when clouds appeared and all was wrong with the world. Sometimes she discussed the clouds with Ben, who was all-too well versed in her various personal situations. She was always complimentary about Ben’s work, but could hit him broadside like a Mack truck with issues he never dreamed were his problem or area.

“I assure you it will all come together in time for shipping,” Ben said as he turned around to leave.

“Don’t forget about the O’s game…I need to know, like, today,” Sheila said. She had invited Ben and Caroline to the upcoming Os game against the Yankees. He really wanted to go, but forgot about asking Caroline.

Ben walked back to his office. He stared out the window at the Inner Harbor and could almost see Camden Yards if he torqued his head enough. This made him feel good. Long hair or no, he was in an office with a window and could see some pretty cool things from it. His job was challenging in and of itself, and those challenges grew every time Sheila got involved in the process.

FLEXIBLE WHEN PRESENTED WITH INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT SITUATIONS. He remembered his last performance appraisal reading something like that. He was flexible, too. He was Gumby.

Ben continued to stare, realizing that his mind was shutting down for a brief nap. He watched the stream of traffic pour down Pratt Street, and he tried to identify vehicles, then occupants. They were too far away. As if the hypnotist snapped her fingers at him, Ben was out of it and turned around to his desk. So many piles, so little interest in them.

“Hi, my love,” Ben said into his cellphone.

“Hi, honey! What a nice surprise!” Caroline said on the other end, “It is a nice surprise, right?”

“Depends on your point of view, I guess. Sheila wants to give us tickets to the O’s and Yankees this Sunday to go with her and Collin.”

“Really? Wow, that sounds fun,” but then Ben heard the accompanying sigh, which he knew was Caroline’s instantaneous realization that they had to figure out what to do with the girls while they played around at Camden Yards. They hadn’t started running out of options yet, so there was hope. “I guess I’ll call Amanda—she owes me one for a couple of weekends ago. If she’s not busy, I think we’ve got a date. Yay!”

“Let me know asap, though. Sheila has to go to Plan B pretty quickly if we say no, and she wants to do that today.”

“I wonder who Plan B is.”

“Oh, please do not kid yourself,” Ben said, “We are Plan B…maybe even Plan C. I’m sure there was someone else in the queue before us.”

The magazine shipped the following week in plenty of time, and no one knew there had been a massive shifting of resources in order to get the work of 10 done by a team of 4. At the next editorial board meeting, Jonathan, the publisher, used his opening remarks to commend Sheila for her foresight in shifting team resources to the research piece and still getting everything done in time. Everyone at the table clapped politely as she beamed in a way that said “oh, no, please…” but “oh, yes” in the same moment. Ben clapped lightly as well, but he was unable to fully conceal his shock and annoyance. He ultimately had to look around the room rather than at Sheila directly, and then he settled on Jonathan, so proud that he had made the right decision in promoting Sheila over many other candidates for the Executive Editor’s position, including Ben. He was under the rock again, where precious little light or information passed.

Ben thought about that as...