Chapter 2

After a third round of screaming, Jim's alarm finally managed to convince him to retreat from his bed to the relative quiet of the bathroom. The face which greeted Jim in the mirror was one which had become all too familiar in the past week. Grizzled and drawn from the absence of a razor and even more prominent absence of an appetite, eyes half bloodshot from a lack of sleep and abundance of drink. Looking into the shallow reflection of his hollow eyes, for the first time in two weeks Jim felt something other then numbness and depression. He felt anger. In a brilliant moment of clarity he knew with absolute certainty that if Jeanette could physically be with him now her hands would be firmly on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as she tried desperately to shake his teeth out in an attempt to get him to come to his senses. He knew that it would kill her to see him killing himself in his grief, but he knew not how to find the strength to do otherwise.

Half a pot of coffee and ninety minutes later Jim found himself firmly installed in the leather chair behind his desk. The drive in had been easier then he expected, owing more to the routine of the thing then his own mental state. It was once he stepped out of his car that things had become more trying. Cynthia at reception had let him off with a genuine condolence and slightly less genuine but nearly to be expected 'if you need anything... '. A simple solemn nod of the head and he was on his way, glad at least to put the first encounter of the day behind him. The halls between Cynthia and Jim's office where mercifully quiet this early on a Monday morning, something Jim had kept well in mind. He had in fact crossed paths with only two other people on his way in. Sam had just recently been hired, fresh out of high school. Jim remembered he had a job running odd errands or something of the sort. By any means he was a quiet kid and tended to stay out of people's way, something Jim could understand and appreciate. He hadn't escaped quite so unscathed from his second encounter.

"Hey, Mr. Brewer," the voice called out from three doors down as Jim prepared to enter his office.

"For the third time in as many weeks Sara, my name is Jim. Perhaps I need to start addressing you as Mrs. Wayland," Jim replied.

"Well first off buddy, that's Miss Wayland to you, and forgive me for showing a little respect to a senior vice president, I am after all little more then a humble and lowly manager in this land of giants," came Sara's response.

Jim couldn't help but smile even as he let out an exaggerated sigh, "I don't know what I'm going to do with you Sara. A transfer to Antarctica sounds like a good idea at the moment though."

"Might I then call to your attention that we don't have any facilities in Antarctica?"

"Well damn, the best laid plans... I guess I'll just have to put up with you then."

"I guess you will at that," She looked at him with a smile shining in her eyes and hinting at her lips before continuing, "have a nice day Jim."

"You too Sara, you too."

As Jim sat going over memos and staring at the daunting pile of papers marked 'IN' he couldn't help but be thankful that Sara was the one he ran into this morning. Even after having been at Tindell for ten years, Sara was one of the few people who knew him well enough to realize that hollow words of comfort would do him no good. She was one of the handful of people from the company who had attended Jeanette's funeral, and even then had never vocalized her condolences. He knew she would never speak of it, the look in her tear filled eyes and the hug she had given him after the service had been more then enough to convey her heartfelt sorrow. While he had been smiling thinly and nodding to people paying their respects all day, feeling her tears for him on his cheek had touched him in a way words, no matter how honest, never could. He clung to her like a life raft that day, and he was very glad she had been there first thing to help lighten his load yet again.

It wasn't long before Jim had immersed himself once again in his work, almost forgetting about everything outside the walls of his office, almost. At any rate, the morning quickly gave way to lunch time and Jim was less then surprised to hear a knock on his office door.

"Hey Jim, Dave and I are going out for lunch. You're coming."

"Yea, okay Ron, whatever you say."

"What? I'm the boss around here, or so they tell me, that's gotta be good for something."

"True, I guess if you can't warp your employees actions and will to conform to your own there's no point in running a business."

"Now you've got it. We leave in ten minutes."

Lunch was good, a casual affair. Jim always had to chuckle at the idea of millionaire business owners eating lunch three days a week in the same sports bar they had frequented in their college days. That's the kind of men Ron and Dave were though, rich men who didn't flaunt it to anyone, least of all themselves. Jim did have to admit though that he saw the appeal of the place, good food, lots of it, and waitresses dressed in outfits scientifically proven to cause more heart attacks then all the high cholesterol food on the menu put together. In short, just the kind of place Ron and Dave would be sure to love.

"While the food and the view may be excellent," Dave began, "I'm guessing you figured we hauled you along to do something other then overload your taste buds and eye muscles."

"The thought had occurred to me, yes," came Jim's response.

"Here's the thing," Ron took over, "and understand this has nothing to do with Jeanette. You've been with us since the beginning, you've worked just as hard to make Tindell work as either of us have, and while you may not have been blessed with the same exemplary genes and corresponding last name as us, we both feel we can't exactly hold that against you."