WE DID AS WE WERE ADVISED, STAYING HOME THE ENTIRE weekend. We saw no one except for Emma and Jason, who dropped by on their way home after third service Sunday morning, and the pizza delivery guy who delivered our dinner Sunday night. We spoke little, both of us wondering what the next morning would bring, both of us sure it wouldn’t be anything good.
On Monday, as Brad and I walked from the parking garage toward the In Step offices, I experienced true empathy for those women I’d seen on TV and in tabloids. Wives who entered courtrooms or made their way through a sea of microphones at the side of their embattled husbands. I realized they weren’t always naive, foolish, or blindly loyal. Sometimes they were simply swept along by the storm of events.
Reporters and cameramen from newspapers and television stations—local and national—waited for Brad at the main entrance of the Henderson Building. I ducked my head forward, the way I’d seen countless others do in similar circumstances. I’d thought it was to avoid having their faces captured on film, but I’d been wrong. It was to avoid eye contact. If I didn’t look at them, I could pretend they weren’t there. I could ignore the questions they hurled at us.
“No comment,” Brad repeated. “No comment.”
His hand on my back kept me moving forward until we entered the relative safety of the elevator. I waited until the doors closed and the car moved upward before I turned around.
Brad gave me a repentant look. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.”
“You didn’t know they’d be here.”
“It’s why Stan told us to stay home over the weekend. So we could avoid them.”
Okay, maybe he should have known, but we were in unfamiliar territory. Both of us.
The elevator doors opened. We exchanged another look—filled with trepidation—before we moved toward the glass doorway, Brad’s hand once again on the small of my back.
All eyes were trained on us as we entered the In Step offices. A hush hovered over the large main room. This time I held my head high, my back ramrod straight, and tried my best to look calm and serene—two things I wasn’t.
“Good morning, Sue,” Brad said to the receptionist.
“Good morning,” she answered.
“Morning, Kay.”
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Roberta.”
He continued acknowledging each person as we made our way toward his private office. Once there, after he gave his assistant the same greeting, he asked, “Are any board members here?”
“Not yet.”
“How about Stan?”
Lori motioned with her head. “He arrived a few minutes ago. He’s in your office now.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “I want you to know, I don’t believe a word of it. Not a word.”
He gave her a stoic smile. “I appreciate that, Lori. Thanks.”
“If there’s anything I can do . . .”
He nodded. “I know.”
Lori Kendrick had been hired as Brad’s administrative assistant about nine years ago. An attractive woman in her early fifties, she was totally dedicated to her job. And to Brad.
I could imagine what she wanted to do to Nicole Schubert.
Lori looked at me, sympathy in her eyes. “If I can help, Katherine, you need only ask.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d better see Stan now,” Brad said, “but as soon as the board meeting ends, I’ll need to meet with you, Lori. When the board members arrive, tell them we’ll begin promptly at nine o’clock.”He glanced at me.“Ready?”
I nodded, and Brad led the way into his office.
Stan stood when he saw us. “Katherine. Brad.”
I sat on the small sofa near the door.
“Thanks for coming.”Brad shook the attorney’s hand before rounding his desk to sit in the executive chair. “Was the press here when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Some mess.”
“Some mess.”
Brad glanced in my direction, although it was Stan whom he addressed. “What do you advise?”
“Short of suing Ms. Schubert for slander?”
“Yeah, short of that.”
“Stay away from the reporters. And if you can’t avoid them, keep saying, ‘No comment.’”
I hated this. I hated every part of it. Was that really all we could do? Hide out or run away?
“What about the attorney general?” Brad asked. “What’s happening there?”
“I believe they have everything they need for their initial review. Your bookkeeper and accountant have found nothing that raised any red flags, but they still have more records to comb through. Still, I believe you should be encouraged. I am.”
Brad nodded, but his expression didn’t change. He didn’t look encouraged.“How long will the AG’s review take?”
“I expect them to render a decision in a couple of weeks. Maybe three. If they decide a full investigation is needed”—he shrugged—“there’s no telling how long it will drag out.”
Brad glanced at me a second time, then back to Stan. “Will Nicole’s assertions have any impact on whether or not they do an investigation?”
“Although it shouldn’t matter, I can’t say it won’t, human nature being what it is.”
Brad rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, his head bowed forward. Was he praying or simply weary of it all?
When he straightened, he met Stan’s gaze. “This wouldn’t be so hard to bear if it was just about me. But innocent people will be harmed. The recipient families. The employees. The contractors and subcontractors. The volunteers. If giving doesn’t return to normal levels, staff will have to be let go. We won’t be able to follow through with some of the home purchases. People who might have been homeowners by fall—”His voice broke, and he made no attempt to continue.
I hurt for him. I hurt for me.
“We’ll do our best to minimize any negative effects for all parties.” Stan opened his briefcase and placed a file folder on the desk, sliding it toward Brad. “I went over In Step’s Articles of Incorporation and the foundation’s bylaws, as well as your contract. As you expected, this meeting should be brief and to the point. And I believe we can assure your reinstatement once concerns are addressed.”
It would be simple enough to address the public’s and the board’s concerns about misappropriation of foundation funds. Not so simple to address the matter of Nicole. Not if Brad was right, that it was his word against hers. As long as suspicion remained—
Brad checked his watch, then stood. “The board should be here by now. We’d better go in.”He shook Stan’s hand. “Thanks for standing by me.”
“Glad to, my friend.”
Brad moved toward me, and I stood too. He grasped my arms and stared into my eyes. Behind the strength, behind the courage, I saw the depth of his sorrow.
“This shouldn’t take too long.”
I nodded, wanting to say something to comfort him but at a loss for words.
He leaned in and kissed me. A fleeting brush of his lips upon mine. And then he left the room, followed by his attorney.
Tears welled in my eyes as I sank to the sofa a second time and reached into my purse for a tissue, determined not to give in to a fit of tears. I dried my eyes, sniffing all the while, then grabbed a second tissue and blew my nose. Finally, I sucked in a deep breath and released it.
Breathe in through the nose. Let it out through the mouth.
Breathe in. Let it out.
Breathe in. Let it out.
More in control of my emotions, I rose from the sofa and walked to the credenza to look at the many framed photographs that covered the surface. There was one of me and Brad on our last vacation to the Oregon coast. There were wedding photos of each of the girls and their husbands. There was one of Brad, holding a shovel, at In Step’s very first home remodel project. Sixteen years ago. No gray in his hair back then. A few pounds lighter. Otherwise, he looked much the same.
Then there was a photograph of the entire staff taken at the annual summer picnic. They’d used it for the foundation’s Christmas card last winter.
I picked up the photograph, my eyes focusing on Nicole. She stood behind Brad and to his right. I was beside him on the left. All of us were smiling. I set the photograph facedown on the credenza.
The sound of a man’s raised voice caused me to turn. The office door stood ajar. I moved to stand in the doorway. Throughout the large open space that held the desks of many of the employees, people had stopped working and were looking in the direction of the boardroom. I followed suit.
Sheer curtains covered the glass wall of the meeting room. Through the light fabric I saw Brad standing at one end of the long table. Four men sat with their backs toward me. Three sat opposite them. Which one was speaking? I couldn’t tell. His words were muffled, but not so much I couldn’t detect his anger.
Judged guilty. By one man or by seven, my husband had been judged guilty.
And by me?
I hadn’t yelled at him in public, but neither had I shown him unfailing support. Doubt and suspicion lurked in my mind day and night. He had felt it as surely as he heard his accuser now.
The boardroom fell silent. Perhaps one of the other men had intervened.
I looked away, letting my gaze travel around the central office. Many of the employees were young, in their twenties or early thirties. Most of them were women. A few talked softly to one another. Others appeared to be engrossed in their work, although I wondered if they were pretending. No one looked at me.
Did any of them believe Nicole told the truth? Or worse, did anyone in this place know that she told the truth?
I took a step backward, retreating into Brad’s office, and closed the door.