We Three Kings

Chapter 2-2

I keep telling myself to say something: to stop staring at him with the wide-eyed astonishment of a Catholic getting introduced to a real-life angel. And all the while, he’s staring back at me with an oh-s**t look on his face that I believe is recognition. I mean, I would remember me if I were him. I would have stored every little nuance of my face and inflection of my speech, and I would have branded it on my heart. Mine is the right to retribution, I would have told myself, and I will never forget the pain and the disgrace.

It only takes above five minutes of him not running and screaming for me to realize that he might be shaking in his boots as he stands a polite four feet away from me, but he has no damn idea who I am.

I am not the wiry, angry boy that I used to be. The gym has given me solidity, and hard knocks have firmed my shoulders, jaw, and spine in a way that I am more than proud of. Long hours and pressing deadlines have started to strip the black out of my hair, even though I just celebrated my thirty-second birthday last October. Regardless, one would imagine that my eyes are just as dark. That my voice is still as cold.

Stacy was right; he’s gorgeous. But then, he always was. Small and blond and five years my junior, with eyes like ocean skies before a storm—a dozen different shades of gray all rolled together. One just knows by looking at a sky like that it’s about to bring trouble.

“You’ve already hired someone, haven’t you?” he asks me, and my heart starts beating as if it’s trying to break through my ribcage and bolt. It’s the only thing in me that could, as my feet are frozen in place.

I shake my head, too stunned to speak, and lower my eyes to his resume. Jimmy Rose. Would I have known the name to hear it in passing? Probably not. But I’ll never forget his voice. It’s deeper now, although not nearly as much as one would expect after a couple of decades. But his tone is still soft, his cadence is still sweet, and the sound of it pleading is suddenly the only thing I hear. “Please…please…”

Fate, you wicked, vile b***h; how dare you? “It’s just…you’re not saying anything,” Jimmy says. “Did I do something to offend you?”

Yes, I want to tell him. You offend me for every reason that you offended me back then: that you’re gorgeous and sweet, and soft and afraid; that you can still seem so nervous standing in front of me; that you somehow didn’t turn out hard like they made me. Why did you get to stay so precious when I had to turn out so damaged? Of course, I don’t say any of that. I clear my throat and gesture for him to sit at one of the tables then force my legs to walk me to other side of it. I don’t catch his anxious gaze with my own. On the contrary, I make a pointed effort not to. This is not the place for him to recognize me. Not even with Mark and Devin just a few steps away. I try to focus on his resume, but I can’t seem to read the words on it. I’m looking at them, I see shapes that make up letters, and the collections of those letters into words and phrases that should be legible.

“I, uh…”

I look up in time to see Jimmy lick his lips and swallow hard, and I have to drop my eyes back down while he tries again.

“I, uh, I have experience. It’s not a lot or anything, but I’ve definitely done purchasing. Um, ordering and inventory management, you know? And I’m good with people.” He laughs; all edgy tension and shaky breath. “Well, more so when I get comfortable. I’m a little nervous right now, so that’s probably not coming off quite as well as it should.”

Jimmy rests both palms on my desk, be it in an effort to stabilize himself or an excuse to cling to something, and my eyes are drawn to the thin silver ring on his left pinkie. I know that finger. I know that finger because I broke it. Me…this grownup, successful, helpful man once broke this other man’s finger. I hadn’t meant to. I was just trying to get him to give up…something…God, I don’t even remember what it was. How insignificant could it have been that I don’t even remember what it was? Yet, I had twisted that poor tiny finger back, and I felt it snap in my hand.

I wonder if it aches in the rain.

Words start coming to my tongue that I’m having a hard time swallowing back. Phrases like: I’m not who I was. I’m a good person. I help people. I try. I pay my bills and I make donations and I even empty my pockets into the cups of homeless people. I don’t hurt people that are smaller than me. I don’t hurt anyone. I swear to God…

When I look up, he’s staring at me, waiting for me to continue, and I try to recall which of the words I might have said out loud.

“…that it’s too damn hot in here.” I tug at the open collar of my shirt again, desperately wishing I would stop but unable to force my fingers to comply with the demand. “Don’t you think?”

He smiles. And everything inside my body feels like it melts into a pool of muck on my chair. “Nah, I’m good. I don’t really like the cold. Warm makes me happy.”

No doubt. Damn, it got cold in there sometimes, didn’t it? It was as if they didn’t put the heat on unless someone important was coming by to check on things. You’d think they could have at least made sure we had proper clothing and blankets…

I realize I’m having a one-sided conversation with him in my head. Tension butterflies erupt into panicked flight inside my guts and for a moment I think I’m going to get sick. I breathe on to his papers, pushing air out through my lips in a long, slow whisper, and then drawing it back through my nostrils just as carefully.

“Why are you here?” I finally manage to say, and immediately regret my choice of words.

“Oh,” Jimmy adjusts himself in his chair with a pleased expression. Had we been in a classroom, he’d be the kid with his hand up in the air, probably even wiggling it, with a wide I-know-this-one smile. “You guys are the best. I researched your company when Maggie was talking about it, and I was blown away by some of the developments you guys have worked on.”

My mind is stuck on the “Maggie.” While he rambles on about how amazing our company is, I’m trying to stumble through the obstacle course my brain has become and figure out who in the hell Maggie is. “Do you mean Haley?”

I cut him off mid-sentence, no doubt mid-gush, and he looks at me blankly for a few seconds. “You said Maggie,” I explain. “Did you mean Haley?”

Then he blushes, pink and pretty, and my mind sputters through an internal monolog of “please don’t do that, please don’t do that” while I try not to look at his eyes, or his ring, or the freckle on his cheek, or the hang of his shirt over his shoulders.

“Maggie is short for Maguire. He’s Haley’s girlfriend’s brother. Sorry, I should have mentioned that,” he swirls his finger beside his temple. “I’m so nervous that my brain isn’t really working with me at the moment.”

“Why do you want this job?”

I don’t even know why I ask. I can’t hire him. There’s no way. He might not recognize me, but out of the three of us, somebody’s going to spark something. I only let him lock our gazes up because I don’t know how to break free from it once he has. His expression is so honest; his resolve so set.

His eyes are stunning.

“I need this job,” he says, nodding for emphasis. “I’ve been trying for a lot of years to get some stable ground under my feet and I think I can do that here. I know I can do it, actually. And while I might take a little more training than some, I can guarantee you that if you put in the time with me, I will be one of the most loyal and hard-working employees that you’ve ever had.”

“Oh?” It’s the only answer I can find. Because even though I hear his words, I can’t stop staring at his eyes. I’ve seen them cry. I’ve made them cry. And knowing that, dealing with that face-to-face is destroying me from the inside out. I don’t want to remind myself that I can be a horrible person. Not when I’ve tried for so long to make things right. “If you give me a chance, you won’t regret it.”

Everything I’ve done in the last decade, every step I’ve taken and every decision I’ve made, has been an effort to forget the person who I was. No one goes hungry, no one stays cold. I make people feel good—I smile, and I joke, and I tell people they look fantastic. I may live well, but I give well too. “I swear I can do this.”

Trying to show myself that I’m better than I was is probably a foolish gesture. One can’t simply erase one’s mistakes by playing nice now. But penance should count for something, shouldn’t it? “Why will this job make you stable?” And why am I still asking questions instead of showing him to the door with a polite I’ll-need-some-time-to-consider?

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Because it will make me secure financially. It will give me a sense of purpose. And mostly, I’ll feel like I’m doing something worthwhile: helping an awesome company make awesome things that will last for lifetimes.”

I hear his words, but they barely register after “secure.” Because it dawns of me, right then and there, that I can make him secure. There was a time in our lives when I was the opposing force. I was the chaos and the fear and the devil that made Jimmy shake. But now I have the power to level that out. Maybe, just maybe even overcompensate for it—tip the scale towards favor and grace. A good plan…but for the fact that it’s a completely ridiculous idea. What would Devin and Mark say? We’ve put the past behind us, and none of us want to look it in its bigoted, hateful face again. Jimmy is the past personified. In fact, he could only represent it more if he’d walked in wearing a robe and a notched collar.

I lean back in my chair, both arms up and lock my fingers together behind my head. I blow a couple of long breaths at the ceiling before I realize how that probably looks. He has to think that I’m nuts.

“Jimmy, can I ask you a question that has absolutely nothing to do with me hiring you, and that you can refuse to answer without running the risk of consequence?”

“Uh…I guess so?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“I…” I can tell by the way his lips purse and the way that the skin of his cheek catches that he’s biting it from the inside.

“Do you believe that people should have the opportunity to redeem themselves?”

Jimmy’s eyebrows lift to comical heights, and his bottom lip falls away from the top one. Now I know he thinks I’m insane.

“Do you believe that life gives us opportunities to do that? And if, oh, let’s say it was offered to you, would you accept the chance? Or would you back away from it?”

“Umm…are you like…” Jimmy tilts his head and frowns. “Are you like a priest or a counselor or something, too?”

“No.” That was probably the firmest, clearest word he’s heard from me so far.

I can see he’s debating whether or not he should be excusing himself and slinking toward the door. And in that moment, I realize that’s probably the best thing that could happen. Go, Jimmy. Go now and don’t look back. Here? This here and this now? This can’t possibly end well for either of us.

The past leaves behind some vicious scars. I know that just as well as he does. Ripping these wounds open to see if they’ve set properly is around and about the most ludicrous type of healing one can imagine. It’s voodoo masquerading as medicine. It’s prayer pretending to be solution. It’s such a bad, bad idea.

And I shake my head as I realize I’m talking to him in my head yet again. Once again, I’m lost for words.

“I guess I’m not really sure what you’re asking me?” he says.

So, I smile. “I’m asking you if you can start the day after tomorrow.”

“Then I’m answering yes.”

I nod. “Then I’ll see you then.”

His grin is a beacon in the sea of my turmoil. “Yes, sir,” he says. “Yes, sir, you definitely will.”