her mom feel worse than she already did.
Glancing at her bracelet-style watch, she realized she’d been gone for six minutes, and hoped her supervisor wasn’t actually timing her. Mr. Lundqvist took great pleasure in embarrassing people, especially the female staff. But at the moment, Jordana didn’t care. Helene was upset, and she wasn’t going to abandon her mom in her time of need.
“I’m going to lose my house...the house I raised you and your brothers in...”
Hearing a bang, Jordana cranked her head to the right. What was that?
“Jordana, are you in there? You’ve been gone seven minutes. If you don’t come out right this instant I’m writing you up for insubordination!”
Startled, she stared at the bathroom door. Her supervisor was yelling her name like a deranged lunatic, but Jordana didn’t move. Screw him. She’d explain the situation to him later, and if that didn’t work, she’d take the matter to HR. She wasn’t letting a psycho with a superiority complex bully her.
The banging stopped, and Jordana released the breath she was holding.
“Mom, I have to get back to work, but can you read me the letter before I go?”
Panic streaked across her face. Growing up in Haiti in a family of eight, her mother had never gone to elementary school. She didn’t learn to read and write until she immigrated to America at nineteen. In spite of the setbacks she’d faced, Helene had tried her best to be a good mother. She didn’t always get it right, and continued to struggle with her own inner demons, but Jordana adored her mom, loved her more than anything in the world.
Her dad was another story.
At the thought of him, her stomach churned. Fernán, was an athletic recruiter for a professional soccer team. The more money he’d made, the less time he’d spent with their family. He traveled the world, living it up like a frat boy with no responsibilities. Jordana resented him for leaving them behind. And for favoring her two older brothers, Carlito and Raymon. She’d never had a good relationship with her dad, not even when she was a kid, and these days they rarely spoke. They’d had a heated argument at Carlito’s wedding, and a year later Jordana was still seething about the hurtful things he’d said about Helene. For that reason she’d never ask him for financial help. “Take your time, Mom. You can do it.”
Jordana heard papers ruffle, watching as her mom wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put on her eyeglasses. “Go ahead,” she prompted, with a nod of encouragement. “I’m listening.”
Helene straightened in her chair. Holding her head up high, she rested a hand on her chest and cleared her throat.
“Dear Ms. Sharpe. This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account number 573189. This account holds a current sum of thirty-nine thousand dollars, payable on June 30...”
Her mom struggled to read some of the words, but it didn’t matter. It was a foreclosure notice, the worst piece of mail a homeowner could ever receive, and the more Helene read, the sicker Jordana felt. Slumping against the tile wall, she touched a hand to her clammy face. Her mouth watered, craving a cold drink to quench her thirst. In the past, when she felt stressed, she’d hit the clubs with her girlfriends, dancing and drinking for hours.
God, I’d do anything for a— Jordana pressed her eyes shut, blocked the thought from entering her mind. I’ve changed. I’m a different person now. And I won’t live in the past.
“This amount has been overdue for ninety days, and you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment,” Helene continued. “Unless the current sum is paid by the listed due date, we have no choice but to begin the foreclosure process on your home...”
The air thinned, and the walls closed in, making it impossible for Jordana to breathe. Her head was spinning, throbbing in pain, and her throat was so dry it hurt to talk. “Ninety days? Mom, why haven’t you been making your mortgage payments?”
“I didn’t have the money. My hours were cut, and I don’t have any savings.”
Jordana nodded in understanding. Her mom earned peanuts as a housekeeper, and the families she worked for often canceled at the last minute. “I was just there. Why didn’t you say anything? I could have gone with you to the bank and spoken to the loan officer.”
Helene dropped her gaze to her lap. “I was embarrassed and ashamed.”
Jordana’s heart overflowed with sympathy. Her mom was a proud woman who’d rather go without than ask for help. Jordana understood. She was the same way. What am I going to do? Her salary was barely enough to support herself, let alone Helene. But she’d never forgive herself if she stood by and let the bank take her mother’s home. She considered calling her dad, but he’d made it abundantly clear, on more than one occasion, that Helene wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Her parents had never legally married, and after twelve years together her father had checked out of the relationship, leaving her mother to fend for herself. Her mom had been in financial troubles for as long as she could remember, but even during her worst moments, she’d never seen Helene lose her smile. Until today. She was shaking, sobbing uncontrollably, nothing like the strong, confident woman who’d raised her. “Mom, don’t cry.”
“I don’t want to lose the house. It’s all I have.”
“You won’t. We’ll think of something.”
Helene dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. “We will?”
“Of course. We’re in this together, right, Mom?”
A sad smile touched her lips. “But, the letter says—”
“I don’t care what the letter says. I’ll get the money.”
“How?” Helene reached into her blouse, took out a Kleenex and blew her nose. “Your brothers will never help, and you earn minimum wage.”
Mom, I know, don’t remind me.
“I’ll think of something. Just trust me, okay?”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said quietly. “You’re such a good girl.”
“Mom, I have to go. Are you going to your meeting tonight?”
The silence was deafening, lasting so long Jordana had to repeat the question.
“I don’t feel like it. Not tonight. I want to stay home.”
Jordana didn’t push. Not this time. “Okay, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
“Have a good day, honey. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mom. Try not to worry.”
Ending the call, she dropped her cell in her purse, and tiptoed toward the bathroom door. Opening it, she peered down the hall, in search of her crotchety supervisor. Finding the coast clear, she hustled down the corridor as fast as her ballet flats could take her.
Approaching her cubicle, she heard male voices, and frowned. Her supervisor was talking to someone, and the person sounded a lot like Dante. No way. It couldn’t be. He was surely at his fancy downtown office, not at
