Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

Work was hell that day. The thirty-line phone system at the Sure-Co office rang incessantly, though the phone on her ugly metal desk remained silent -- mocking her. The computer screen stared at her as though to suggest she look for entertainment elsewhere.

Monday’s were pandemonium at the office -- couples browsed the Sunday newspaper listings and gathered a list of interesting properties to view. On Mondays, she had more messages than calls she could make in a ten-hour work day; she had more fruitless appointments than actual minutes in the day.

And if she wasn’t pulling out her hair because of her computer, she was hovering over Mr. Hinkley’s shoulder trying to figure out which keyboard buttons he pushed to make his computer do whatever unwanted thing it was currently doing. If the man would just stop messing with his computer and stick to what he knew how to use on the keyboard, she wouldn’t be hauled into his office every hour to fix his mishaps.

But, truthfully, her half-hearted complaints were just that -- half-hearted, because the seventy-one year old man spent less time on a computer than a five year old child raised in a society obsessed by computer technology. He had been widowed for thirteen years, last spring, as he would say each season while gazing at the black and white wedding photo perched upon the edge of his desk at all times.

He would tell Raven, almost weekly, she spent too much time at the office, she was too generous with the buyers, and she should stop lollygagging around with that man of hers and settle down. A statement she was grateful he never made in front of Tom.

Now, it didn’t matter. Raven considered telling Mr. Hinkley she no longer needed to concern herself with any so-called lollygagging because now it was unnecessary to focus on settling down, as there was no one with which to settle. She decided to bury herself in her workday and ignore thoughts of Tom. But, she growled, glaring down at the silent phone, this workday is not cooperating.

She expected to hear from Tom -- hoped his anxieties would subside, and he would calm down to realize it was senseless to throw away their years together. He was closer to starting a family with her than with someone he had yet to meet. But she didn’t hear from him on Monday and by the time she crawled into bed on Tuesday, there was still no word. Raven lay in bed questioning her future.

She constructed her future in such a webbed way that it required Tom. For how many years had she mapped out a life with him by her side? Right now she was unwilling to have kids. Did that mean never? Did it? It was baffling trying to determine what she wanted out of life, or needed to have, before she would be ready. Fear of the unknown was debilitating. For as long as she could remember there existed this sense of listlessness -- of not knowing where she was going, or where she was supposed to be.

The one surety she had was Tom. Now he was gone and it was essential to reevaluate her plans; to look, with new eyes, into the murky depths of her future to discover where she belonged. The answer remained elusive, no matter how many years she spent asking the question. Raven just didn’t know who she was supposed to be.

“Raven, I have an assignment for you.”

She hit the refresh button on her office keyboard for the hundredth time in the last hour. Her AOL email page refreshed each time she pressed the button and each time the computer screen presented her with the same empty inbox. Sighing inwardly, she shifted her attention to Mr. Hinkley, who peered down at her through the tiny spectacles perched on the tip of his long nose. Raising twin brows at him, Raven forced her lips to stretch in an interested smile.

“Whatcha got?”

“I have an important project requiring someone with a careful touch towards clients; someone who is knowledgeable about both architecture and the housing market; someone people respond to and feel comfortable with. I’d like you to handle it for me.”

“Important?” she repeated without enthusiasm, her mind already revisiting the lonely echo of her voice in the empty apartment. “How important?”

“Uh...” he paused, rubbing an arthritic hand around the base of his balding head before flashing an awkward smile. “According to the property listing, it is about a million dollars worth of importance.”

“A million dollars?!” Raven whispered with a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one heard her exclamation. “Who am I to meet with? A celebrity? A politician?” Her eyes widened with excitement at the prospect of working directly with someone of such influential standing, who could offer additional leads.

“Maybe,” Mr. Hinkley hedged, leaning over her desk with the proffered file. “Here’s the sale -- take it home, see what the client is looking for, what their taste is -- the usual study.”

Raven flipped the folder open, peeking at several pages with a cursory glance. “Why are you sending me?”

Mr. Hinkley looked down at the folder in her hands, then shifted his eyes across the room towards the employees filing from the elevator, and briefly met her eyes before glancing at the file again. “I told you why.”

She slanted her eyes at him. “Okay and I’ll buy, with a wooden nickel, you think I may be good enough to handle this but you’ve never thrown me a sale like this, and certainly not one with all the appearances of a high profile sale. What gives?”

“Nothing gives, Raven, honestly. I would go myself but I’m an old man and I don’t handle the travel as well as I used to, besides -- I don’t have a companion to accompany me and the romanticism of the trip would be wasted.”

“What?” Raven turned back to the folder and scanned the first sheet for the location.

“It’s further back in the file, maybe the fifth or sixth page?” he leaned sideways over her desk in an attempt to read the paperwork as she flipped through it. Then she found the property listing sheet she was looking for.

“As you enter into the soaring atrium of Providence Homestead,” she whispered to herself, falling into silence as she read. You feel transported to a centuries old Mexican Palace. You sense the warmth of the ancient chestnut floors, and marvel that they are radiantly heated...a million dollar property located in the heart of Puerto Rico. Raven stopped when the report began going into further detail. “Puerto Rico...” she murmured.

“Yes, it will be nice Raven. I’ll put you in a safe hotel. You should take Tom and make a mini vacation out of it.”

Raven’s attention paused on the listing before she raised her eyes to Mr. Hinkley. “About that,” she said, pausing to wet her lips. Her thoughts whirled in search of a nonchalant way to suggest not bringing Tom. “I think I’ll take the trip alone this time. A little R and R.”

Gentle gray eyes looked down at her and she realized he already knew about Tom. Maybe he simply suspected and was giving her the opportunity to bring it up. The heavy weight of her silence pulled at her insides until it seemed she may come out of her skin.

The following day Mr. Hinkley handed Raven the plane tickets and she sat at her desk staring at the pink boarding pass. Row seven, seat B. She wondered about the passengers in seats A and C, who would sit next to her. She hoped, whoever they were, there would be no screaming baby involved.

The phone on her desk jangled. Shifting her gaze from her boarding pass to the blinking red light on her phone, Raven forced herself to remain immobile. It could be a showing request, and it most likely was. But it was possible that Margaret was trying to reach her. Raven had been avoiding her cell phone for nearly a week and hadn’t responded to her adoptive mother’s voicemails. Getting nowhere with leaving messages at Raven’s apartment, Margaret would try the office.

When the phone fell silent, Raven slid her gaze to the pink cardboard, groaning when she noticed the departure time -- nine a.m. “Flight number seventy-four, here I come.”

It was the final day before her trip and, though Mr. Hinkley suggested she take the day off to prepare, Raven was at the office working -- something she found more palatable than moving around her empty apartment like a ghost.

She spent more and more time forcing her thoughts to the excitement of Puerto Rico or, rather, what she should find exciting. Mr. Hinkley did her the added favor of booking a room at the Rincon Beach Resort; scheduling activities, and provided every travel brochure he could find. She was prepared to witness crystal blue waters, white beaches, cliffs, and rain forests.

It sounded exhausting.

Her flight departed in less than twenty-four hours and she was in no way prepared for the trip. Not true, she corrected herself -- she read and reread the file, which turned out to be an author’s getaway house. Raven mulled over the idea of a getaway house.

A nice long vacation would be perfect.