Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
When I was younger, my parents separated for a time. I remember hearing them talk, even though I was supposed to be asleep. My dad was telling my mom they were two ships passing in the sea. Things were routine without connection. At the time, I didn’t understand. Being older now, truly taking in the way my dad engages my mom, I see the difference. Before it was a challenge each day, they had things going on, a house to keep up, and us kids to wrangle. There were a lot of distractions that easily take away from the spark, love, and passion that once thrived. I imagine marriage is hard. Marriage with kids is probably harder. My parents overcame that hard season and maybe Dillon and Anna will too.
Marriage is serious. I’m not sure if I’m cut out for it. Granted, I haven’t found anyone I can really be myself with. I’m learning that the older I get. As a teen, attraction, lust fueled what started a relationship. Now, I want someone who will engage my mind, my spirit, and cherish me soul deep. Only when I can find this level of connection will I be able to consider a commitment such as marriage or a partnership.
Two become one and I’m not sure many make those vows understanding the true level of commitment and sacrifice that means.
Two become one. Three words with a powerful impact.
In order for that to be, one must release of their own desires and think of someone else first. We are human, we are flawed, and most of us are selfish. It’s not a bad thing, it just is. Too many times, human nature is to get caught up in the happy emotions, the euphoria of love, and we are blind to the real compromises needed to build a solid, lasting foundation.
I’m taken away from my thoughts as a man walks in. He’s clean shaven, wearing a pair of navy-blue dress pants with a sky-blue button up shirt, finished with a navy tie. I assume he’s on his way to work.
“Hi, how can I help you today?” I greet him.
“Does Dillon Jacoby work here?” He asks and I can’t help my curiosity.
I study the man in the suit. There is something about him. He makes me think of a snake waiting to strike. “I’m sorry, I can’t confirm or deny any of our employees. What does this pertain to, and I can potentially get a message to Mr. Jacoby.”
He reaches to his back pocket, pulling out a wallet, and removing a business card. Extending his hand to me, I take the paper. “I am here on a legal matter concerning his spouse, Anna Jacoby.”
Hesitating, I don’t know if I should get Dillon or send the man packing. If I was married and an attorney (according to his business card) is standing at my place of employment, I would want someone to call me.
“I can call over to the shop and see if he’s around, hold please.”
Moving to my desk, I pick up the phone and call over to Pami who is running the garage side of things most days. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey Pami, it’s Maritza. Is Dillon hanging around today?” I try to remain vague. I know the man reads through it and any pay stub or checking into Dillon’s tax filings show he is indeed our employee, there is something about confirming it that bothers me. My instinct to protect I guess it what motivates me to not be direct with this man.
To me, it isn’t anyone’s business where anyone works. Even a damn bank to get a loan. As long as I have income and can prove I make money. Why does how I make a living matter as long as I pay the bill? My dad always laughs when I get on this soap box and tells me I was meant to be a gangster’s accountant. Whatever! I don’t do illegal shit, but I don’t judge either.
The man gazes around the office, casually looking around. “Sure is, I’ll send him over,” she tells me before muffling the phone to call out for Dillon to pop over here. “He’s on the way,” she tells me before I end the call.
“He’ll be right here. Can I get you something to drink?” I offer as we normally do for mini storage customers.
“No, thank you, though.”
It doesn’t take long, and Dillon is walking through the front of the office to join us. His eyes are laser locked to the businessman as he stands there in a pair of long Dickie’s style shorts and button up garage uniform shirt that all the guy’s wear.
“Hi, Mr. Jacoby, I’m Asher Owens and I represent Anna Jacoby.”
I watch Dillon’s face change to steel right in front of me. “Why are you are my place of employment?”