running smoothly. Appointments, filing-" The bell signaled that the front door had opened again and Aaron looked toward the sound apprehensively.

"There you are!"

"What are you doing here?" A male voice responded. An exchange of lowered voices drifted through the conference room door and although I couldn't make out the words, I felt quite certain that Mark was telling Joe about my interview in the next room.

There was another uncomfortable pause on our side of the door as Aaron and I sized each other up. I thought about my limited prospects and trundled on.

"I certainly have experience with all of those things. How many clients do you currently have?"

"Our clients vary from those who only turn up during tax time to those who need more-" There was a crash in the outer office. The conference room door opened and Mark stuck his head in the room.

"Uh, Aaron, could I speak with you for a moment?" Mark smiled my way reassuringly.

"Maybe, we should reschedule?" I offered while reaching for my purse, but Aaron and Mark simultaneously stopped me. Aaron asked if I would please bear with them for just a moment and assured me that they were very interested in me for this position.

So, I waited. I sat alone in the conference room and looked at the painting on the opposite wall. It was quite nice, a restful seascape, and I wondered if it was a local artist.

"Teresa, please!" It sounded like Aaron's voice now coming through the wall. There was a commotion coming from the office, drawers being opened and slammed roughly.

I continued to study the painting. There was a small art gallery two doors down. This was a lovely old stretch of town with quaint shops and cafes. I could pick up lunch for two and have time to visit Mom during my lunch break.

Aaron came back into the room and sat down rather miserably across from me. He tried to smile and I did the same. Joe and Teresa were openly yelling at each other now, with Mark feebly attempting to calm them down. I mentally reviewed this morning's want ads.

I wondered if Aaron would try to continue our interview, but he only stared at the glossy table. I glanced behind me, hoping to see a back door. No luck.

"So, what? Now I can't take my things?"

I idly wondered what the neighbors thought of Teresa's yelling and whether Joe's wife knew about this situation. I began to imagine taking this job and having to face Joe's wife if she ever came in to see him.

"Of course you can take your things. I said YOUR things! That is NOT yours!"

"Oh yeah? I say it is? Want me to call your wife and see what she thinks?"

The door opened again and Mark slipped quickly into the room. He stood with his back pressed against the door and took a deep shaky breath.

"We should probably just wait this out," he told us with an embarrassed shake of his head. "I'm sure she'll leave soon."

Uh huh.

I stood up and slipped my purse firmly over my shoulder. Aaron continued looking at the table. Mark still leaned against the door. He looked at me in amazement.

"You're not going out there, are you?" He looked at Aaron helplessly. Aaron looked up from the table and sighed.

"You're not going to take the job are you?" He suddenly seemed very young to me.

"No," I shook my head with a firm, but hopefully kind, smile.

I passed the sheriff on the way to my car. She glanced at me quizzically as I walked down the front steps.

"Office 2B," I told her. "Just follow the voices."

She gave me a grim smile and I wished her good luck. I decided to check out the art gallery, maybe they were hiring.

Learn more about this author, Susan Quilty.
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