The Things That Follow You: Installment Two - The Art of Being Helpful

 

THE THINGS THAT FOLLOW YOU

A Penny Dreadful · Installment Two

By the end of Melody Hart’s first week at Whitmore, Hale & Pierce, she had learned that there were several kinds of help in the workplace.

There was the useful kind, which involved answering questions, explaining procedures, and occasionally pointing out that the printer everyone had been cursing for twenty minutes was unplugged.

Then there was the other kind.

The kind that arrived uninvited, rearranged your calendar, corrected you in front of your colleagues, and somehow left you feeling indebted to the person who had made your day considerably worse.

Caroline Voss, Melody was beginning to suspect, had perfected the second kind.

Of course, Caroline was always smiling.

And that, Melody thought, was probably the most unsettling part.

Chapter Two: The Art of Being Helpful

By Friday, Melody Hart had learned three things about Whitmore, Hale & Pierce.

First, the coffee machine on the eleventh floor was temperamental enough to qualify as a hostile witness.

Second, Graham Whitmore had a remarkable ability to appear in a doorway precisely when someone was saying something they shouldn't.

And third, Caroline Voss was the most helpful woman Melody had ever met.

She was also, Melody was beginning to suspect, the most observant.

Caroline knew which attorneys preferred their documents printed single-sided, which ones became unpleasant before lunch, and which ones had been divorced so many times that their former spouses had acquired their own informal filing system in the firm's shared drive.

She knew that Melody had moved from out of state, that she lived alone, that she had a dog she missed terribly, and that she had once worked for a company whose name Caroline pronounced with a faint curl of the lip.

"Well," Caroline had said, "we all have our pasts."

Melody had laughed.

It seemed the appropriate response.

She was beginning to understand that Caroline had a way of making people feel they had been told something important without ever quite being able to identify what it was.

On Monday morning, Caroline brought her a muffin.

On Tuesday, she left a sticky note on Melody's monitor recommending a restaurant downtown.

On Wednesday, she sent an email containing a list of "helpful tips for navigating the personalities on our floor."

The email was twelve pages long.

Melody printed it.

She did not know why.

Perhaps because it seemed rude not to.

Perhaps because some primitive instinct had already begun whispering that anything Caroline put in writing might one day become important.

Or perhaps she was simply the kind of woman who printed emails.

There were, after all, worse character flaws.

On Thursday, Melody made her first mistake.

It was not a serious mistake. It was not even technically a mistake.

She asked a question.

The firm's administrative restructuring had turned out to be considerably more complicated than Graham had suggested. Melody was responsible for coordinating calendars, reviewing workflow, and ensuring that several departments stopped scheduling meetings over one another as though the entire operation were a competitive sport.

She had discovered that Caroline still controlled several of the systems she was supposedly relinquishing.

When Melody asked whether she should begin transferring the relevant permissions, Caroline looked up from her desk.

"Why would you need to do that?"

"Well, Graham mentioned that some responsibilities would be transitioning to me."

"Eventually."

"Right. I just thought—"

"You thought you should start changing things before you've learned how we do them?"

Caroline's voice was gentle.

That was the problem.

Had she shouted, Melody could have responded to the shouting. Had she been openly hostile, Melody could have identified the hostility and dealt with it.

Instead, Caroline looked concerned.

Almost maternal.

"No," Melody said. "I just wanted to make sure I was following the plan."

"Of course you do."

Caroline smiled.

"You're eager. I like that. But eagerness can be a little dangerous in a place like this."

Melody felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Understood."

"Good girl."

Caroline turned back to her computer.

Melody sat motionless for several seconds.

Good girl.

She was forty-seven years old. She had managed deadlines, difficult clients, complicated projects, and people whose professional accomplishments appeared to consist primarily of making everyone around them miserable.

She did not need to be patted on the head.

And yet, somehow, she had just been patted on the head.

She opened a spreadsheet and began typing with unnecessary force.

At eleven thirty, Caroline appeared beside her desk.

"Melody, sweetheart?"

Melody looked up.

"I hope I didn't upset you earlier."

"No, not at all."

"Because I would hate for there to be any misunderstanding between us."

"There isn't."

Caroline studied her face.

Then she reached out and touched Melody's shoulder.

"Wonderful. I knew we'd get along."

She walked away.

Melody watched her go.

For the remainder of the afternoon, she found herself wondering whether she had been rude.

It was an absurd question.

She knew it was an absurd question.

She nevertheless spent forty minutes considering it.

The following week, Caroline invited Melody to dinner.

"Just the two of us," she said. "A proper welcome to Nashville."

Melody hesitated.

She had planned to go home, walk her dog—well, call the person looking after her dog—and spend the evening unpacking the remaining boxes in her bedroom.

But Caroline had been so kind in the beginning, and the invitation seemed like an opportunity to repair whatever awkwardness had developed between them.

"That sounds lovely."

"Excellent. I'll pick the place."

Of course she would.

They met at a restaurant near the Gulch, where the lighting was flattering, the wine was expensive, and the menu appeared to have been written by someone who considered ordinary descriptions of food an admission of defeat.

Caroline ordered for both of them.

Melody let her.

She was beginning to understand that resisting Caroline over small things was exhausting.

"So," Caroline said, unfolding her napkin, "tell me about your family."

Melody gave her the usual answer. The safe answer. The version that could be offered to a colleague without inviting follow-up questions.

Caroline listened with the intense concentration of a therapist who had forgotten to mention the fee.

"And your relationships?"

Melody laughed.

"Oh, that's a rather large subject for dinner."

"Don't be silly. I'm interested."

"There's not much to tell."

"Nobody moves to a new city without a reason."

Melody looked at her.

"I moved for a job."

"Of course."

Caroline took a sip of wine.

"But sometimes we tell ourselves a job is the reason because the real reason is harder to explain."

Melody set down her fork.

"Is that what you did?"

For the first time all evening, Caroline appeared genuinely surprised.

Then she laughed.

"Oh, I like you."

She reached across the table and squeezed Melody's hand.

"I really do."

The gesture should have been comforting.

Instead, Melody noticed that Caroline's fingernails were painted a deep, glossy red, and that her grip was just a little too tight.

They talked for another hour.

By the time dinner ended, Caroline knew more about Melody's past than several of Melody's friends did.

Melody, meanwhile, had learned almost nothing about Caroline.

Whenever the conversation turned toward Caroline's personal life, she redirected it with effortless grace.

A joke.

A question.

A story about someone else.

And whenever Graham's name arose, her expression softened.

"He's been very good to me," Caroline said at one point.

Melody nodded.

"He's been very welcoming to me, too."

Caroline's smile held.

"Has he?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's Graham."

She lifted her wineglass.

"He's always had a weakness for promising women."

Melody wasn't sure what to say to that.

She didn't have to.

Caroline was already speaking again.

On Friday morning, Melody arrived at work to find a bouquet of white lilies on her desk.

There was no card.

She looked around, hoping someone might explain.

The office was quiet. A few people had arrived early, but nobody seemed particularly interested in the flowers.

She touched one of the petals.

White lilies.

They were beautiful, but they made her think of funerals.

She had no idea why.

At nine fifteen, Caroline appeared.

"Oh! You got them."

Melody turned.

"Are these from you?"

Caroline looked delighted.

"Of course."

"That's very kind. What's the occasion?"

Caroline tilted her head.

"Does there have to be an occasion?"

"No. I just wondered."

"I thought you could use a little cheering up."

Melody frowned.

"Cheering up?"

"Well, you've seemed a little tense lately."

"I have?"

"Just a little."

Caroline rearranged the flowers, turning the vase so that the largest bloom faced outward.

"New job. New city. It must be overwhelming."

"I'm fine, really."

"Of course you are."

Caroline gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"That's what I like about you, Melody. You're resilient."

She said the word as though it were an accusation.

Then she left.

Melody sat down.

She stared at the flowers for a long time.

At ten, she received an email from Graham asking her to review a scheduling report.

At ten fifteen, she discovered that the version he had received contained several errors.

At ten twenty, Graham called her into his office.

"Melody, I need to ask you something."

She sat down.

"Of course."

"Have you been making changes to Caroline's schedules?"

"Only the ones that fall within my new responsibilities."

He turned his monitor toward her.

The report contained a list of appointments that Melody had never entered.

Beside several of them were notes indicating that she had approved the changes.

"I haven't seen this before," she said.

Graham studied her.

"Caroline seems to think you may have misunderstood the transition."

Melody felt something tighten in her chest.

"I've been following the instructions I was given."

"I'm sure you have."

"Would you like me to show you the emails?"

He paused.

Then he smiled.

"That won't be necessary."

It was the smile that frightened her.

Not because it was cruel.

Because it was kind.

"These things happen, Melody. You're new. Caroline has been managing this operation for a long time. We'll work it out."

She returned to her desk and opened her inbox.

There it was.

An email from Caroline, sent the previous Tuesday, instructing her to make precisely the changes Graham had just questioned.

Melody forwarded it to herself.

Then she saved a copy.

She was not entirely sure why she did that, either.

That afternoon, Caroline stopped by her desk.

"How did your meeting with Graham go?"

Melody looked up.

"Fine."

"Good."

Caroline glanced at the screen.

"Busy day?"

"Yes."

"Well, don't work too hard."

She started to walk away, then turned back.

"Oh, one more thing."

Melody waited.

"I hope you don't think I'm trying to undermine you."

The words were so unexpected that Melody simply stared at her.

"What?"

"Sometimes transitions are difficult. I know that."

Caroline's eyes shone with what appeared to be genuine emotion.

"I've put eleven years into this place. It's been my life. And I know I can be a little protective."

"I understand."

"I just want us to be friends."

Melody swallowed.

"I'd like that, too."

Caroline smiled.

"Wonderful."

She leaned closer.

"Because I would hate for you to get the wrong impression of me."

Then she straightened, smoothed the front of her blouse, and walked away.

Melody watched her disappear into her office.

A moment later, her computer chimed.

An email had arrived from an unfamiliar address.

No subject line.

No message.

Just an attachment.

Melody hesitated before opening it.

It was a photograph of her apartment building.

Taken from across the street.

The image was grainy, but she could clearly see the coffee shop on the ground floor, the narrow windows of the second-story apartments, and the small balcony outside her bedroom.

She recognized the angle immediately.

Someone had taken the photograph from the parking lot behind the building.

She looked at the sender's address again.

A string of letters and numbers.

Nothing recognizable.

Her hands went cold.

For several seconds, she couldn't move.

Then she closed the email.

She opened it again.

The photograph remained.

She checked the date.

It had been taken the previous evening.

At 7:43 p.m.

Melody remembered that evening. She had been unpacking boxes. She had stood at the bedroom window for several minutes, trying to decide whether to hang the black out curtains she had brought from home.

She had been alone.

She was certain she had been alone.

Her phone rang.

She nearly dropped it.

Caroline's name appeared on the screen.

Melody stared at it.

Then she answered.

"Hello?"

"Melody, sweetheart!"

Caroline sounded cheerful. Almost bubbly.

"Are you still at your desk?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch on Monday. There's something I wanted to discuss with you."

Melody looked at the photograph on her computer.

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing important."

Caroline laughed softly.

"Just a little something about your future here."

Melody swallowed.

"My future?"

"Of course."

There was a pause.

Then Caroline said, in a voice so warm it might have belonged to a beloved aunt:

"We're going to take such good care of you, Melody."

The call ended.

Melody sat motionless.

Outside the window, the city glimmered in the late-afternoon sun.

She looked at the photograph again.

Then she did something she would later wish she had done sooner.

She printed it.

She placed it in a folder.

And on the front of that folder, in her neatest handwriting, she wrote:

NASHVILLE — PERSONAL

She did not yet know that, in the months to come, she would fill dozens of such folders.

She did not know that she would begin recording the times she left her apartment, the cars she saw on her street, and the names of people who seemed to know things she had never told them.

She did not know that she would eventually leave Nashville with a suitcase, a handful of documents, and the conviction that somewhere in the city, a woman named Caroline Voss was waiting for her to make one final mistake.

For now, she knew only this:

She had moved to Nashville for a better life.

And someone had already found her home.

And so, dear reader, we leave Melody with a folder, a growing list of questions, and the unsettling feeling that someone has taken an interest in her life.

Perhaps it is nothing. Perhaps Caroline Voss is merely a difficult woman with too much time on her hands.

But then, the most troubling things in life rarely announce themselves as trouble.

Until next time, dear reader, be careful what follows you.

CK