Page 6 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
“You really would’ve sent a text to cancel on me tonight? Damn, J, that’s foul.” Vanna didn’t want to sound like she was whining, but like she’d just said—damn! This was the kickoff to the festivities. She, Jamaica, and Ronni were supposed to hit Glitz, an upscale nightclub, tonight. They were doing dinner, drinks, and dancing, just the three of them because Vanna wanted the kickoff to be with those she was closest to.
She was also hoping this would be the night she found a viable candidate to end the three-month-long sexual drought she’d been experiencing. Not by choice, but by lack of suitable contenders.
“Look, I’m off this weekend, and Davon has been complaining about us not spending time together. So I figured I’d hang with him tonight, then meet up with you tomorrow for ... What’s happening again tomorrow? I don’t have that long-ass schedule you emailed in front of me.”
Vanna rolled her eyes. “The schedule’s not that long,” Vanna said. “And you and Davon have been a couple for four years—plus, y’all live in the same house. How much more ‘spending time together’ can y’all do?”
“Don’t do that,” Jamaica replied. “When you were sittin’ in that house waiting for Caleb to decide when he would come home, you didn’t hear me complaining.”
“Um, yes, ma’am, you sure did complain. And called me all types of ridiculous for letting him walk all over me. So now I’m returning the favor—the only reason Davon is tossing out that ‘not spending enough time together’ nonsense is because you told him about FFSF, which I told you not to tell him about.”
“You can’t tell me to lie to my man, Vanna. You know that’s not right.”
Drumming her newly painted Pink-ing of You nails on the desk, Vanna replied, “I didn’t say ‘lie,’ I said don’t tell. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, you mean like how Caleb used to not tell you he was taking the mortgage money out of y’all’s account to go to Atlantic City for the weekend?”
Vanna sat back in her chair. “Wow. That was low, J. The man is dead.”
“That’s right. Okay, my bad. But you know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do,” Vanna said, then sighed. “Fine. But you better be at my house bright and early tomorrow for our spa day. I don’t want to miss a minute of my massage or that delicious mud bath because you’re running late. Spend the night with Davon and give him all the goodies you plan to give before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Jamaica laughed. “Hush up, girl. I’ll be there.”
They talked another few minutes about some mess going on at Jamaica’s job—because there was always drama going on at the jail. Whether it was with inmates or the COs, that place was like a big ol’ soap opera.
It was just after two, and Vanna was planning to leave at four instead of five like she normally did. She hadn’t taken a lunch today, so it wouldn’t throw off her time sheet. As she’d stated to Jamaica, she didn’t have a huge bank of PTO time to use however she pleased. HC Sr. and Jr. were firm on their policy of fourteen days per year, per employee, tobe used for vacation, sick, mental health, or I’m-just-sick-of-this-place days. It was an awful policy, one that, unfortunately, Vanna knew a lot of small law firms employed. Sanni and Neshawn complained about it all the time, since they both had children and often had to use their PTO for their kids being sick or out of school as well. She could relate to their complaints—not the part about having children, but the fact that there were only fourteen days for every possible scenario someone might need to miss work was asinine. But her job as office manager was to enforce the policy. Which usually meant the three of them ended up taking a few unpaid days throughout the year—Sanni and Neshawn more than her, since children hadn’t been part of God’s plan for Vanna.
Caleb had been sterile, something she didn’t learn until after they were married. And now that she was turning forty in four weeks, having a baby was only one slot from the bottom on Vanna’s long bucket list.
Her cell rang before she could push it aside and get back to the invoices she was reviewing to be paid. For a second, she started not to answer it, but noticed the DC area code and wondered if it was something about Granny. Vanna was listed as Granny’s contact person on everything, and one of her greatest fears was that something would happen to her grandmother and she might miss the call about it.
So she answered. “Hello?”
“Savannah Carlson?”
“Who is this?”
“This is Maggie from the DC Medical Examiner’s office. I’m just calling to see if you’ve decided on a funeral home and when they’ll be coming to pick up your husband’s body.”
“What?” Frowning, she grabbed a pen and scribbled the woman’s name on her desk blotter. “I told you when I was there the other day that Gail Carlson-Ledwig was authorized to handle all those arrangements.”
“We haven’t heard from anyone by that name. And nobody has come by to pick up the body. The autopsy was completed yesterday. So we’ll only be able to hold the body for another seven days before it’llbe shipped off to a funeral home of our choice and either cremated or buried in an unmarked grave.”
“Wait. What? An autopsy? I thought he drowned.”
“The police ordered an autopsy,” Maggie replied.
“Oh.” That made sense. Or at least, she figured it did. Vanna didn’t know what to think. Between Jamaica’s cancellation and now this, a headache was creeping up.
“Well, I guess I’ll call his mother and remind her,” she said, thinking it was odd that Gail hadn’t taken care of this already. The way that woman doted on Caleb like he was her man instead of child, Vanna thought she would’ve gone down to the ME’s office the second she got herself together the other day.
Obviously not.
“Okay. I’ll have to call you back,” she said.
“That’s fine. Just keep in mind the time frame I just gave you.”
