In our circle of two, we call ourselves Yin and Yang.
Our birthdays—hers a 12 and mine a 21—a shared belief in the spiritual, and our being Northern Babies led an easy work relationship to an easy camaraderie over drinks and long chats over everything and nothing.
Kathryn and her boss, Josh, finished each workday with clementines and conversation. An uptick in leasing and an early project completion allowed me to work with, but not for, him. Later, when Kathryn became slammed in her work, and with her blessing, he asked me to fill in the gaps.
Josh stood in my doorway. “Would you like to join Kathryn and me at four o’clock? I’ll share my clementine with you,” he teased, flashing a boyish smile.
Kathryn’s face peeked over Josh’s shoulder. Her ringlets framed a flushed face, her brown eyes boring into mine.
I shook my head. “Oh, Josh,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation, “that’s Mom and Dad Time. I get you all day, but Kathryn doesn’t see you. I won’t intrude.” Delivered as a joke, the truth was that, like a well-mannered five-year-old, I knew my place in the world and left the grown-ups to discuss things.
I certainly didn’t see myself as a threat. I filled in, wanting to prove my professional worth.
The following day, Kathryn appeared in my doorway. “Fancy a drink?”
I got my coat, and we, Yin and Yang, discussed everything and nothing over a cheeseboard and wine. But not the previous day.
“Hell of a place to run out of gas.” Josh had turned on his car’s flashers and opened the trunk. “Does Gwendolyn have flashers, or is she too classic for that?”
The narrow lane beside the golf course, littered with bronzed oak leaves, had one wide point. Gwendolyn coasted while I prayed the whole way. My beloved Jaguar, nicknamed Gwendolyn, hadn’t run out of gas. That was impossible. She had two tanks, and I had flipped the switch to the second tank. Or had I?
“I’ll open up Gwendolyn’s bonnet, you know, the English way,” I said with a sheepish grin. “I’m glad you stopped.”
Josh pulled on work gloves and reached inside. “Oh, I see the problem. The battery cable jostled loose. Try it now.”
I slid in, turning the key. No results. I flipped the gas tank switch and tried again. Gwendolyn rumbled to life, and I gave Josh a thumbs-up. He walked over. “I’ll follow you, but let me know if you need to borrow my car.” He caught a bronzed leaf between his fingers. “Listen, thanks for the work you are doing.” Walking away, he turned back to me. “If only your car and my employee were half as reliable as you.”
I waved him away but couldn’t wave away the knot in my stomach.
“Kathryn, I can’t send out the letter you wrote. It’s probably,” said Josh, grasping his scalp as if it were ready to fly off, “no, it is the worst thing you’ve ever written.”
Her response was inaudible, but the translation wasn’t necessary.
“What? You sent this, this, piece of kindergarten garbage, to our clients? How am I supposed to dial this back?” I dropped my eyes to the spreadsheet on my computer. Too late. “Next time, if I’m not around, ask her. She, at least, knows what she’s doing.” He turned to me. “You can’t go on vacation with this mess going on.”
Kathryn rose, closed the door, and pulled the blinds facing out into the office. Seconds passed before the online office gossip kicked in. Ping. “What was that about?” Ping. “Did you hear all the yelling?” Ping. “Josh slammed the door.”
I pretended I was away from my desk. After two minutes in a locked bathroom stall surrounded by silence, I scurried further down the hallway to the elevator. As the doors opened on the main floor, the dappled sunlight beckoned, and I debated inventing an appointment before my vacation so I wouldn’t be back. But I hadn’t left an out-of-office message, hadn’t turned off my computer, hadn’t really departed. I’d only escaped.
I slid into the buckskin embrace of my beloved Jaguar. In my mind’s eye, I saw Kathryn’s face, her demeanor crumpling under Josh’s wrath. A pang of pride that Josh trusted me was stabbed by decorum. He shouldn’t have involved me, but he was frustrated. Everyone would get over the disagreement, and work would return to normal.
But I was in escape mode because I witnessed Kathryn’s ego pummeled by the person she trusted the most. I should go back up to my office. And do what? Get in the middle of an office spat?
A sharp rap on the passenger window pulled me out of the dilemma. Kathryn opened the door and slid in. She stared straight ahead. I reached over to pat her arm, but she pulled away, her shoulder nearly nicking her ear.
Well, if that’s the case, what am I supposed to do? I turned toward her, but as I did, her hand moved toward the door handle. I shifted back, and she mirrored my movements. I started the engine, slowly exiting the parking lot.
Opening the sunroof, Kathryn leaned back, tilting her chin. Gwendolyn glided forward toward an unknown point of demarcation – one pointing to a place where my friend would let me in and tell me how I could help. The sunlight highlights her curls, absolving whatever sins might have transpired.
I drive everywhere and nowhere until the sun is at our backs, and, as if by signal, it disappears behind a lone cloud. Kathryn looked over at me and nodded. There have been no words exchanged.
Approaching the office building, I positioned Gwendolyn into a cove of privacy. “I can get your things . . .” I said, but Kathryn’s eyes flew open as I uttered this, and a chill passed into my bones. She slowly turned her head toward me as if I spoke gibberish. A preposterous idea crossed my mind. What if I left my car? Would she follow? What would she do next?
I cut the engine. Hand on the wheel, I turn again toward her. “What do you want to do, Kathryn?” She opened the car door, and I secretly breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared inside the building.
A tapestry of clattering keyboards was the only noise in the hallway. I slowed as I approached Josh’s office. It was empty. Mustering every fiber in my body to forge ahead, slip into my office, and pretend that the last hour or more hadn’t occurred, I ignored the half dozen instant messages and, drawing a breath, stole a glance at Kathryn’s closed door.
The door opened, and Kathryn stood in the doorway and smiled at me. I half rose from my chair, but she shook her head, and I sat back down, returning to work. A minute later, I looked in her direction, but she, like me, had her head toward her monitor, her fingers clattering the keyboard.
At four o’clock, she rose, withdrew two clementines from her desk drawer, and walked down the hall. Fifteen minutes later, I stepped to the break room to rinse out my coffee cup and cocked my ear toward Josh’s office. From his banter and Kathryn’s light tinkling response, the crisis had been adverted, and peace restored.
As I climbed into Gwendolyn’s driver’s seat and began the drive home toward a long-awaited vacation, inwardly, I congratulated myself for letting Kathyrn be, glad that I hadn’t intruded or spoken negatively.
When I returned ten days later, she was gone.
“She didn’t bother to leave a note,” said Josh, brushing at an imagined stray lock of his crew cut. His blue eyes searched mine. “She would have told you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shook my head. She hadn’t texted, she hadn’t called. I was as much in the dark as Josh.
In the three years that followed, I heard nothing about her except through social media. I learned that Kathryn had found a wonderful, patient man. Her posts reflected a life filled with painting and gardening. Her soul had found her song in life.
A finger tapped my shoulder at a ballet intermission. Kathryn was with her lovely man. Her arms outstretched, we embraced as Yin and Yang, assured once again. “Would you like to grab a drink at the Olympia Bar after this? We can celebrate our upcoming move,” she said.
The Olympia’s band played loudly, so I resorted to visual cues as we settled in with our drinks. She was doing the same. “How are you?” she asked. When I said I was doing fine, she put her face closer. “No, really? How are you doing? At work, I mean. Josh . . .”
“Kathryn,” said her lovely man, “we said we wouldn’t bring that up.” His eyes met mine as he spoke, “I’m sorry, maybe this was a bad idea.”
How to tell her Josh has a great assistant and never speaks of her?
“Josh, well, our paths don’t cross. The office has expanded so much, so many new accounts. It’s not like the old days at all,” I said with a bright smile.
But like a festering wound, she began to question and pick at the life she had abruptly left. Josh’s name came up, and her lovely better half quietly but directly stated that they should not discuss that.
Too late.
Like an overly wound-up toy, her internal spring began to unwind, revealing not a soul finding strength in the love of a wonderful man and a supportive family but something far uglier.
With the look I had seen over Josh’s shoulder three years before, she leaned forward. “I had to leave. I lived in constant, paralyzing fear that I would harm someone at work, and I couldn’t live with that.”
With that, her lovely better half yanked her up and, with a curt nod, turned her toward the door, and within seconds, they were gone.
My eyes flashed as the wretched inner workings of her soul continued to reel and spin. I had no idea that she had such hatred for Josh and that he had betrayed her in such a way.
Leaving the venue with my wonderful man, I remarked that I was glad she was moving far away to give herself time to heal.
I thought it was spam, but then I recognized her e-mail address. More than three years had passed since I had seen Kathryn and her lovely man at the Olympia Bar.
The message was cryptic. “Please forgive me. Blessings, Kathryn.”
Yawning, I figured I would have just enough time to send a reply before going to bed.
Dearest Yin (or is it Yang?),
No matter, there is nothing to forgive. I hope this e-mail finds you well and happy.
Work proceeds as it always does with projects to dive into. Our family is well, and I hope yours is too.
Best,
Yang (or is it Yin?)
Reading it over, I decided it was fine. I pressed “Send.”
The sun rivaled the bright emergency vehicle lights flashing in my rearview mirror. I checked the speedometer. “What the hell? I’m not speeding.” Pulling over, I drove Josh’s car to the curb and reached for my license.
The police car zoomed past me, joined within seconds by seven more squad cars. Six more crest the hill. As I turned left to go to my doctor’s appointment, a hive of vehicles clustered a mile away.
After giving my name to the receptionist, I put Josh’s keys in my wallet and recalled our conversation ten minutes before. “Were you serious about letting me borrow your car? I’ll fill it up with gas.” He grabbed his keys and walked with me to where Gwendolyn had refused to budge. “I tried everything, but I will call the tow truck when I return,” I said. Without a word, he had fished me the keys and, with an absent wave, walked back into our office building.
After making a follow-up appointment, I glanced at the television screen on the wall and stopped in my tracks. “It happened down the street about twenty minutes ago,” called the receptionist.
I read and re-read the scrolling headline on the TV. “Suspect kills former co-worker then turns gun on self.”
The news cameras panned the tiny parking lot I knew all too well. In the background was Gwendolyn, my prized Jaguar, whose windows were broken out. A large scratch on the door panel, highlighted by the cameraman, were the words ‘DIE BITCH.’ I clasped my hand to my mouth and screamed.
After being hustled into my doctor’s office and offered water, I pulled out my phone, and an e-mail notification popped up. Through sobs, I said, “Why would she do that? Everything was fine. After she sent me a message, I wrote that there was nothing to forgive. Now, there’s an e-mail from her.”
The doctor’s gentle hand squeezed mine. “You two are or were friends? Have you read it? The message, I mean?” she asked.
I shook my head to both questions, wiping my tears on my sleeve.
“Do you want to read it? Do you want me to be with you?” The doctor’s voice was like a hug.
Wiping tears, I nod, and together we read the message.
Hello –
Clearly, you don’t understand or want to understand the pain you have caused me, but you will soon answer for that. You shirked your responsibility in what happened between Josh and me. In fact, you took advantage, like you always do. Moreover, when I needed you, you stood aside and did nothing.
I wanted to harm someone in the office six years ago, but I had stopped myself. You need to understand that taking action and not taking action have consequences.
Kathyrn.
I sat up straight. There was that phrase—‘I wanted to harm someone in the office’—word for word—again.
Six years after her departure, I realized who the intended target was.
Yin and Yang. East and West.
Troubled and untroubled.
I know everything and nothing.
