Just Like Em

“Sure.”

“Did someone come in today?” Roger asked. “Pink suit. Tall. Blonde. Hair pulled back in one of those severe—you know—things?” He flipped his finger around the back of his head in an attempt to find the word.

“Yes. But the newest company policy states we can’t have any new hires. You’ll have to pick an administrative assistant from the displaced group or settle for a temp.”

“I don’t want to hire her. I just want to know her name.” He held the pencil poised. The pause that followed was long enough that he realized he should have prefaced his request with further explanations.

“Even a VP has to follow policy, Roger.”

He chuckled as he pictured Linda in full HR regalia. “The woman knew my name,” he said, “and I can’t place her. I thought you could help me out.”

Another pause. “I know who you mean. She comes once a week to see if anything’s available. Wasn’t too happy to hear about the downsizing.”

“Who is?” Roger muttered.

“Here it is. Emmy Lou Turner. Ring any bells?”

Emmy Lou Turner. Roger scribbled the name across the pad and repeated it under his breath. “Turner, Turner.” He didn’t know anyone with that name. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Her maiden name was Masters.”

Masters, he wrote and drew several lines under it. That sounded more familiar, but he still couldn’t place the name.

“No.” He sighed with genuine disappointment. “I haven’t the slightest idea who she is, but I appreciate your help. Thanks, Linda.”

Roger hung up, annoyed with himself for letting such a nonsensical issue take up so much of his time. Who was Emmy Lou Masters Turner, and why couldn’t he place her? In a fit of exasperation, he tossed the pencil across his desk. It came to a halt in front of Karen’s picture.

“Do you remember an Emmy Lou Turner?” He sat up in his chair. “Right. Forget her and get back to work.”

* * *

LATER, AFTER A HEARTY supper of enchiladas, courtesy of Sophia Sanchez, their housekeeper and nanny, the Holden family relaxed in the pool to cool off. An enthusiastic game of catch followed between Roger and his six-year-old twin sons. His daughter preferred to continue doing laps in the pool.

Roger unobtrusively watched Samantha. At thirteen, she no longer cared to be part of the family group. Come August she’d start her freshman year in high school. Already he saw physical changes that she attempted to hide under baggy shirts, not to mention all her mood swings. One minute she was giggling like his little girl, the next she was wearing makeup and behaving like a young woman he hardly recognized.

He had tried broaching the subjects a mother would normally handle. Boys, dating, bras, menstrual periods—subjects he himself hardly understood. At least she had Sophia and Jodie to help her in those areas. He could deal with the physical changes. After all, they were to be expected at her age. But the mood swings and flippant attitude had him climbing the wall. Now that Samantha refused to involve him in her personal life, he couldn’t even talk to her anymore.

The ball whizzed by his ear and Roger made a hasty catch before flinging it to one of the twins.

“Hey, Dad. We gonna have to move?” Chip asked as he caught the ball. Both boys had most of their dark hair cut off for the summer. Another toss in Roger’s general direction sent him dashing for the softball so it wouldn’t land in the pool.

“No, sport.” He threw it to Chaz, the other twin. “Why do you ask?”

“My friend Tommy’s dad lost his job. He had to move.”

“Yeah, Dad,” both boys chorused. “We don’t wanna move.”

“Hey, didn’t I tell you there was nothing to worry about?” He tried to sound upbeat, as though losing a job held no consequences. Yet the distress he faced daily was becoming more difficult to disguise in lighthearted chatter.

* * *

LATER, WHEN HIS children were in bed, Roger continued to brood over the downsizing. He had begun to second-guess every decision he made, and his heart ached as he searched for answers. Would he be able to find another position in Phoenix? Assuming he did, would it pay enough to keep their home and present lifestyle? If only he had someone to talk to, confide in. At times like these, the need for his wife became unbearable.

Roger entered the living room, with its white walls and turquoise rug, and settled on the dark turquoise recliner that faced the painted portrait of his wife. “What am I going to do, sweetheart?” he whispered. “What on earth am I going to do?”

The portrait had been a gift from his in-laws to celebrate Karen’s thirtieth birthday. It had been painted only months before she discovered the lump in her breast. The artist had captured the softness in her dark brown curls. And that dress...

In the painting she looked so vibrant and full of life, as though at any moment she could join him on the chair and encircle him with her warmth. Why did she have to leave them when everyone needed her so?

Roger looked away from the painting as his thoughts returned to the present. Downsizing, damn! He’d been at Metro since college graduation, and had climbed steadily in a company that had provided his family with security. Or so he’d thought. Now he was going to be tossed out with several hundred other employees.

Movement caught his eye. When he glanced over, he saw Sophia in the doorway, wringing her hands.

Her usually neat coif looked mussed. She had been with him since the twins were born, had nursed Karen through her cancer. He wouldn’t know what to do without Sophia. Would he be able to afford her once his job disappeared? He had to.

“I hope you’re not worried about this downsizing business. Your job is always secure here.”

Pushing several strands of her white-streaked black hair back, Sophia eased onto the white leather couch. “It’s not that,” she said in a thick Spanish accent, wrapping her arms around one of the pink-and-turquoise pillows. “I have my own bad news. I’m getting married in a month.”

Roger moved to the edge of his chair. “That’s wonderful news. You and José finally set the date?” José was their weekly gardener, and he and Sophia planned to move into Sophia’s small suite once they finally wed.

“Labor Day weekend.”

With a quick slap to his knee, Roger stood. “Well, that’s not much time, but we still can have the reception in the backyard....”

Sophia shook her head. “We’re getting married in Tucson. José wants to move back there and take care of his mother. She’s very sick.”

Roger fell back into his chair and grasped the arms for support. “You’re leaving us?”

Sophia wiped away a tear. “I don’t want to, but my José...”

Although his insides had twisted into knots, Roger controlled his emotions so he wouldn’t upset her even more. He waved his hand and said, “No, no, Sophia. We wish you the best. We’ll manage. A month, you say?”

Sophia nodded.

After she left for her suite, Roger sat numbly, staring at Karen’s picture. “You hear that? Life can’t get worse. How can I ever replace Sophia?”

The telephone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Samantha shouted from her upstairs bedroom. She pounded down the steps with enough noise to wake the whole house. Why wasn’t she asleep? But then, she considered herself above her brothers and usually read until her eyes drooped shut.

“No, I’ll get it. It’s probably for me anyway,” he said, rising from the chair. Maybe it was Hilda needing another chance to vent or a manager wanting to consult with him before Monday’s major meeting.

He arrived at the staircase in time to hear Samantha say, “Yeah, he’s here. What’cha want?”

When he reached for the receiver, she maneuvered away from him and held it close to her ear. Soft brown curls, still damp from her swim, complemented a delicate long neck. She looked more and more like Karen every day.

Roger put his hands on his hips and waited, not too patiently, for his call. How come he could handle a whole boardroom of people and never feel out of control? His boys didn’t give him trouble, either. Yet in his own household he felt powerless, his authority usurped by this teenager who flaunted hers.