Snitches and Talkers

Sophie

Today marks the first time in history Henry called my office phone directly. I wasn’t sure he knew how to dial a number other than Joel’s. The fact he didn’t pass off the task to him makes anxiety course through my veins as I walk down the corridor.

My trip to Boston with Boyd last month was magical. A perfect reprieve from the weight that crushes me within this city’s limits. When we touched down at Pearson Airport, I could feel the pressure that comes along with being here. I used to feel it each time I returned from France. Almost enough to compress my lungs and make it hard to breathe. It has never had anything to do with changing cabin pressure.

The six weeks since we returned from Boston have been marked with more work stress, family drama, and time constraints, but Boyd and I are in a good place. I’ve been waiting for something to go wrong, and I have a sinking feeling this is the moment.

Joel isn’t at his desk when I pass, so I continue to Henry’s door and knock.

“Come in,” he hollers from the other side.

I walk inside, expecting my father, but am surprised to see Gerard Knoll and his son, Derek.

“Sophie, sit,” my father commands me with less affection than one would use with a misbehaving pet. Once I’m seated across from the father-son duo, he continues, “The paperwork is signed, so there’s no point in drawing this out. You and Derek are getting married on May sixth.”

If I wasn’t sitting already, I’d drop to the floor. Even from a seated position, I’m struggling to stay upright. “I’m sorry. What?” I glance at Derek, who is the result of giving out participation ribbons to kids just for showing up. He has mousy brown hair, a smug expression, and a neck I have a distinct urge to wrap my hands around.

“You and Derek. Marriage. More of a business arrangement, but you will honour it.” Henry rustles some papers on his desk as if this little meeting is inconveniencing his busy schedule.

“No.” I attempt to stand, but my legs are not working. That makes my act of defiance lose all credibility.

Henry shoos Derek and Gerard with his left hand, assuring them he’ll “get me in line,” and the wedding date will proceed as planned. The second they’ve exited the room, his expression changes to the one I’ve grown to know and fear since I was a kid. “I don’t know what kind of nonsense you think you’re pulling here, Sophie, but you will do as you’re told. This business arrangement is worth a lot of money, and more importantly, offers connections that we can’t make otherwise. You will not screw it up with your tantrums.”

Tantrums? Is this guy serious? He thinks not wanting to marry an entitled cretin, who has never spoken a decent word to me, is out of line? Maybe marriage hasn’t meant anything to him, but it means something to me. At least, I want it to someday.

“And if I refuse? I’m seeing someone. I can’t just go and marry someone else.”

“I know. That’s why we’re here.”

That declaration makes the coldness from Henry’s heart chill the blood in my veins.

“Did you honestly think you could run around like a little harlot with that miscreant and I wouldn’t know? Please, child. Give me more credit. If you had chosen anyone else, I may have let it slide, but I will not have you sleeping with the enemy.” Henry stands to loom over me. “This is happening one way or another. I suggest you accept it, because if you don’t, that loser you’ve been spending time with will feel the full force of my reach in this city. And don’t think I’ll forget about your brother—I know he’s had a hand in this.”

There are so many things in that one rant that bother me. For one, Boyd is the furthest thing from a miscreant a person could be. Our time together has been short, but he’s been nothing but hardworking and doesn’t have an immoral streak in him. Two, my father has been keeping tabs on me outside of work hours, which is a whole other issue. And three, he called me a harlot after trying to trade me as a commodity and encouraging me to unbutton my blouse to win over business deals. I’ve called Henry a lot of things before; now I can add hypocrite to the list.

But if I don’t follow through with this, everything I’ve dealt with to date will be for nothing. The changes I’ve longed to make to usher this company into the future with a healthy, non-discriminatory culture will be lost. The women working here will be left to fend off the wolves. My father is evidence that people who pursue a life only to please themselves are never fulfilled. What I want isn’t the priority here, and I’ll do what I have to do to protect Boyd and Caleb.

“Fine.” I stand to leave without being dismissed, but I refuse to let Henry see me cry. It’s been a decade since I’ve shed a tear and he will not have a front-row seat to see it.

I return to my office, fending off the choking sobs begging to escape, but the second I walk through my door, the wave hits. I collapse in the chair facing my desk, refusing to acknowledge my position here right now.

A long stretch of time passes as I sit and stare into space, detached from reality, with tears trickling down my cheeks. My office phone rings a few times, but I ignore each one. It’s not until a knock sounds at my door that I blink my eyes back into focus.

“Not now, Andy.”

Against my wishes, the door opens. Andy drops into the chair beside me and sits in silence for close to a minute, which is a personal record for him.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on,” he prompts gently. There’s no sign of sarcastic spitfire Andy.

But I can’t find the words. Can’t choke out anything more than a sob. Andy places his hand on my back and passes me a tissue. I’m mortified, heartbroken, and feeling utterly hopeless all at once.

Minutes pass before I utter, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what? I need some insight here so I can help.”

I shake my head again. “You can’t.”

There’s nothing either of us can do. This is Henry’s world, and we’re just pawns in his sick game. Puppets to be directed as he sees fit. Consequences for anyone else be damned.

After several more minutes, I compose myself enough to say, “I’m taking the rest of the day off.” I wipe my eyes with my tissue, toss it in the garbage as I stand, and walk around my desk to grab my coat and purse. “You can take the rest of the day off, too. If Henry is so convinced I’m no use around here for anything other than my anatomy, he can learn the hard way.”

“Sophie, what the…? What do you mean—”

“I can’t talk about it right now. Just set the voicemail that we’re out of the office, don’t check your emails, and take the rest of the day off. I’ll pay you out of my pocket.”

“What’s going—”

“Andy, I can’t say it out loud. I just… I’m not ready to explain yet, but once I am, I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

He obviously wants answers, but it’s going to be hard enough to get the words out once, and I need to reserve them for the one other person directly affected by Henry’s orders.

I get in my car to drive to Just Add Coffee, knowing what I have to do. But part way there, I ask myself why I can’t just tell Boyd the truth. See what he says. Ask if he’s willing to go to battle with Henry, so things between us don’t need to change.

I take a long detour and stop at a parkette about an hour east of the city. The parking lot allows me to stop close enough I can see Lake Ontario without getting out to stand in the cold. Water reminds me of home—even when it’s frozen. It makes me recall the peace and love I felt when I spent time with my grandparents and my cousins on the shores of Lake Muskoka. Somehow, the presence of a body of water washes away the misery that Henry brings about with the force of hurricane winds. Except it doesn’t today. I stare out at the water, crying, practicing different variations of the same conversation—each time with the same result.

Boyd is a good man. A great man. He’ll say he can deal. That he’s gone against Henry before and he’s no worse off. That Henry’s reach isn’t as wide as he thinks it is, so it’s not as much of a threat as he makes it seem. But I have a feeling Henry has kept his fury under wraps for exactly this moment. Once it’s let loose, there will be no recovering from it. I’ve seen him bury more people than I could count. There’s no way I’m allowing him to add Boyd or Caleb to his tally.

The reality of the next hours, days, even years ahead, makes me physically ill. More so because of everything I’m losing than everything I’ll be stuck with. Loss hurts more.

Even when you barely had a chance to hold on to it.