Beautiful Sorrows by Mercedes M. Yardley Read Free Book Online

concentrating on the crazy ma—I mean, while being distracted by nothing at all.
    It took seconds to delete the wrong information and retype the correct names and numbers. There. I leaned back in my chair and sighed happily. I have saved the firm from certain disaster! Imminent destruction! They shall all laud me and shower me with gifts and a toe-curling raise. Or at least a decent paycheck. I shook my hands over my head like a champion.
    “Good heavens, you’re absolutely insane.”
    I stiffened in my chair, and whipped my head up. My hair obscured my vision for a second, but I tossed it out of my eyes with a practiced jerk of the head.
    “You!” I pointed at the crazy man, who had inched closer and was now standing in my window. “Haven’t you jumped yet?”
    He shook his head, not at all hurt. “Not yet.”
    “Are ya gonna?”
    “Now that doesn’t seem like a very neighborly thing to say to somebody. Didn’t your mama raise you better?”
    I kicked my shoes off, put my feet on the desk and crossed my ankles. “My mama would have pushed you off herself by now. You are incredibly frustrating. In or out.”
    “What’s that?”
    “In or out. You can’t hover in my window all day like a maniac. It’s poor form.”
    I could see him thinking about it. In fact, I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. He eyed my stark, gray office, and then glanced almost longingly over his shoulder at the ledge.
    I felt my eyes narrowing. “Hey, you. I see the way you’re looking at the place. You really think jumping would be preferable?”
    He shrugged and leaned in a little farther. “Well, it is pretty dreary. I mean, maybe if it were more welcoming, or something. Out here, I can see the people and the birds. There’s a lot to look at. But your office...” He trailed off mercifully. Then he added, “You need some art.”
    I felt crestfallen. “I don’t have any art.”
    “That’s apparent.”
    “I don’t even know how to go look for art.”
    He was taken back. “Really? It’s not hard. You just wander around and find something that speaks to you.” He was looking at me in a new light.
    I pulled my formally jaunty feet off of my desk and tucked them under my chair. “I am an art loser.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    “Yes, I am. There is not an artsy bone in my body. I know nothing about color and light and movement and shape. I’d pick out a poster and somebody with taste would shame me into putting it back. It’s just too daunting.” My stomach growled. “And now I’m hungry.”
    He almost smiled. “For your steamed vegetables and the daily crossword?”
    I groaned and dropped my head on the desk. “Move over, fella. I’m jumping with you.”
    I heard him moving around, felt the desk shift under his weight. I looked up. “What are you doing?”
    “Coming in. We’re going to go get you some lunch.”
    “But your glorious plans to end your life. I’d hate to mess them up!”
    He shook his head and hopped off of the desk onto the floor. “I’ll get over it,” he said. He held out a hand. “Ready?”
    I reached out to take it, but drew my hand back again. His tie was watching me with wide eyes. It was drooling a little bit.
    He followed my gaze, and then pulled the beige tie from his neck. He held it outside of the window. The tie gasped and then started to scream out some very crude language. I ran to the window to watch.
    Beautiful Crazy Man winked at me and let the tie go. The tie whooped and hollered and shrieked as it drifted almost to the ground before being hit by a speeding taxi. I smiled. Served it right.
    “So,” he said casually, looking not at all guilty about his nasty tie murder. “Lunch?”
    “Lunch,” I said.
    “And we shop for art?”
    “Don’t push it.”
    He reached out and took my hand.
    Well, maybe a little art.

 
    THE CONTAINER OF SORROWS

    There was a girl. She sat at a white desk in a white room with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
    Peter