Page 268 of Love in Riverbend
“He left in a hurry,” I say to myself as I bend down and pick up his suit. There’s no sense having it wrinkled. I smooth the fabric before hanging the pants and suit coat on hangers in his closet.
Remembering my task at hand, I look around for his charger. It isn’t on his bedside stand, so I check his desk. The first thing I see is a spiral notebook. Peering toward the door to see if Max is watching, I open the notebook. Before I can read his words, I chastise myself for snooping.
That condemnation only lasts a millisecond, before I see what Ricky wrote. It’s about his meetings with people from Parker and Stevens. Each entry is dated all the way back through last September, when he first decided to apply for a job.
I sit on the side of his bed and quickly read his entries.
With each one, my heartstrings are pulled. He mentions how much he wants to work at a reputable firm. He knows more about the history of Parker and Stevens than I do. I flip the pages until I get to the dinner two weeks ago.
* * *
Friday, January …
I was dreading the dinner after what happened last night. To be clear with myself when I read this later, I didn’t write this entry until Sunday night, after the dinner. Let me say, Friday night exceeded all my expectations. To my honor and shock, Marilyn James kept her word. I didn’t think she wasn’t a person who kept her word, I just didn’t think I deserved for her to show. She did!
I met Ralph Stevens, and we talked about farming. His grandfather owned a five-hundred-acre farm in southern Michigan, and he has always had respect for the profession. He’s asked me to speak to him on the phone on Monday. I also met Herold Parker. He’s younger than Mr. Stevens and very interesting. I’d read that, originally, Herold’s father had partnered with Ralph at Parker and Stevens. After the father died unexpectedly from an aneurysm, Herold Jr. went into business with Ralph Stevens. Marilyn introduced me to everyone in the room. It felt unreal that I, a nobody from Riverbend, was at that level. Cinderella at the ball and my Prince Charming was the most beautiful woman at the dinner. Maybe I can deserve Marilyn. I sure as hell am going to try.
* * *
I close the notebook, not wanting to read more.
“Did you find the charger?” Max asks, peeking into the room.
Laying the notebook back on the desk, I see the white cord and plug. “I found it.” I hurriedly take the charger and stuff it into my purse. “I’m headed back down to Riverbend after work. I’ll take this to Ricky.”
Max laughs. “You’re the only one who calls him that. It sounds like some name from a comic strip.”
I can’t come up with a Ricky in a comic strip. Richie Rich is my only connection. “It’s the name he went by back in our hometown.”
“You’re from Riverbend too?”
“I am.”
“Bet you’re glad you’re out of there.”
“Not always.” I pass by Max and head toward the front door. “Thanks for letting me in.”
“I have to be at the mall at nine thirty. You saved me from being late.”
“I need to get to work too.” I open the door to their apartment. Max shuts it after I pass through.
My only thought is that Ricky deserves the job he was offered. I learned more about Mr. Stevens and Mr. Parker in that one entry than I have learned in three years.
“Don’t give up your dream,” I say to myself as I make my way to my car.
Chapter 27
Marilyn
A watched pot never boils, my grandma used to say. Apparently, watching a clock also doesn’t make time go any quicker. Thankfully, my last meeting of the day cancels, giving me the out I’ve been wanting, the out to head back to Riverbend—to Devan, Justin, and Ricky. I send Devan a quick text message and one to my mom, telling them both I’ll be down in a few hours. I fill my mom in on what happened to Justin; however, seeing as she’s in Riverbend, I would expect she already knows.
Texting Ricky is unnecessary since I have his phone. I’ve had it plugged in all day, and it’s charged. The only thing keeping me from snooping is the face ID security and the fact that I don’t want to be that girlfriend, the one who looks at his private things, like the notebook I accidentally read.
It wasn’t exactly an accident, but that sounds better in my mind.
Gathering all my things, I make my way down to the front of the building, hoping to sneak out a little early without drawing too much attention. The elevator doors open on the first floor, and my hopes of an invisible escape are dashed.
“Marilyn,” Mr. Stevens says, eyeing me up and down, no doubt assessing by my long coat and computer bag that I’m on my way out of the building.
