Chapter 19

The following Monday I went in to work with my father. I had visited his office before, as a kid, and always enjoyed it, but it had been some years since that had happened. I knew Dad had been promoted in the meanwhile, changing divisions of the company, which was what had brought him under his current boss. I had never seen his new office, or met his boss, which when I thought about it was kind of strange; we'd seen his former boss fairly often, and socialized with his family. Perhaps that was one more symptom of the trouble Dad complained about.

I thought about it during the car ride, as a way of trying to stay awake. I'd gotten very little sleep over the weekend; I'd put Shirley and Cindy through all their paces, and they'd put me through mine. I hadn't started planning what I would do when I got to Dad's office until I'd finally staggered home, Sunday night. I would have to play it by ear.

The fact was, I had very little idea what my father actually did. He went to an office every day and came home; he went on "business trips;" he wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and got paid. That was about all I knew. I realized that if I were serious about having a say in what the family did, I would have to learn more. On the trip down I had Dad explain much of what he did, and why it was important to the company. He seemed pleased that I took such an interest, and I felt a little guilty at having cared so little in the past.

Dad had his own assigned parking spot in the company lot. He escorted me in past security, and we rode the elevator up to the third floor, then down a corridor and around a corner. There was a secretary's desk there, in front of a closed office door labeled 'David Ross.'

"This is it, John," Dad said. "My home away from home."

At that instant the office door opened and a young woman stepped out. She flashed Dad a smile, and said "Good morning, Mr. Ross!"

"Good morning, Carrie," Dad said. "This is my son, John."

Carrie turned her smile on me. "Pleased to meet you, John."

I had actually spoken on the phone to Carrie many times, when I had reason to call my Dad at work, but this was the first time we had met in person. I could appreciate why Mom had called her a 'sex-pot.' She was medium-height, about five foot seven, with a very nice figure hugged by a dark blue dress. Her hair was very dark, almost black, and her eyes were a startlingly pale blue-gray in contrast. She had a straight nose and full, almost pouty lips, that looked made more for kissing than anything else. It wasn't just her looks, though. Something about the way she held herself, hip slightly cocked, eyes wide, exuded sensuality. She might almost have carried a sign saying "this body is made for sex."

Unfortunately, my extra senses also detected something else. In spite of her professional smile, Carrie was miserable. Depression seemed to flow from her so thickly that I was surprised my father couldn't sense it himself. A quick glance at him confirmed that he had no idea that Carrie was unhappy. I would have to talk to him before I tried meddling with his secretary.

"John," Dad prompted, and I started.

"Uh, pleased to meet you, Carrie," I said. "Sorry... I was woolgathering."

"No problem," Carrie said, flashing me a smile that had no effect whatsoever on her underlying mood. She sat at her desk, and my Dad led me into his office. It was a good-sized one, with a couch and a small conference table as well as his desk and filing cabinets. I closed the doors after us.

"So, that was Carrie," Dad said. "What did you think?"

"She's gorgeous," I said. "But... do you know anything that's bothering her?"

Dad looked a bit surprised at the question. "Well, she just recently broke up with her boyfriend. Why, did she seem unhappy to you?"

I waved a hand by my head. "Not outwardly. But I have a sort of sense... it goes along with my talent. I can feel people's emotional states. She's not just unhappy, she's totally miserable."

Dad looked concerned. "I had no idea! She always seems cheerful."

"She hides it well," I said. "And that's a little worrying, too. If she's this good at hiding her emotions, who knows how long she's been like this?"

We sat on the couch while we discussed the issue. "Well, I know we were planning to... um, recruit her," Dad said, "but I wouldn't want to do that if it added to her troubles. Do you think you could help her?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I could try. I don't want to make matters worse, though. I mean, I could make her happy for the present; but probably something is causing it, and if I didn't change that it wouldn't work in the long run."

"If you think you can help her," Dad said, "I'd like you to try. I like her. And the fact that I didn't even realize something was wrong makes it worse."

I thought about it briefly. "All right," I agreed. "I can at least talk to her and make her answer my questions. If I think I can help her, I will."

I got up. "I'll talk to her first, and when I've done what I can, I'll deal with your boss."

"OK," Dad agreed. He sat behind his desk and got out some work. "There won't be a problem with people seeing you, will there?" he asked as an afterthought.

"No," I told him. "I can keep people away, and stop them from noticing anything. And this corner of the building is fairly private. This might take a little while, though."

Dad shrugged and gave me a smile. "Not like I can't keep myself busy. Take your time."

I left the office and closed the door behind me. Carrie looked around at me as I came out, and gave me another smile. I was struck again by the disparity between her expression and her mood, which was as black as ever.

"Hi, Carrie," I said, grabbing a chair from next to her desk and dragging it around so I could face her. She looked a little puzzled by my actions, and I eased some influence over her, to make her believe that everything I did was perfectly normal. "I've got some questions to ask you, and I'd like you to answer them with complete honesty. Can you do that?"

"Sure, John," Carrie said, focusing on me.

"I'm going to ask you some very private questions," I said, "but you'll answer them all frankly, and not think it's strange that I ask them. Got it?"

There was a little surge of resistance at that, but I was easily able to overcome it. She blinked and nodded.

"All right. Ask me anything."

I sat. "Good. So, first: you acted quite cheerful when my Dad and I came in, but in fact you're very depressed. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," Carrie said. "I feel awful."

"Why do you hide it?"

"I don't let my private life interfere with work. It wouldn't be fair to David... to Mr. Ross."

I noted that correction. "Isn't he your friend, though? Wouldn't he want to help you?"

Carrie sighed. "He's always been very good to me. But it's my job to take care of him, not the other way around."

"I see," I said reflectively. She was clearly quite devoted to my father -- more, perhaps, than he realized. "Can you tell me why you're so unhappy?"