Free Crimson Footprints by Shewanda Pugh

preparatory school, all the while
loathing the subsequent phone call with the school’s chancellor.
She was a nasty old woman with a pension for drama who preferred to
choke rather than hold the school’s purse strings. The woman
salivated over haggling, and when the time came, Deena knew she
wouldn’t disappoint.
    “ Is it really necessary to
raise the toilets?” croaked the disciplinarian. “It seems to me
that if we left the toilets as they were we could save thousands of
dollars.”
    Deena stared at her
fingernails, already annoyed. “It’s a matter of safety, Miss
Gleason. It’s the same way with the grab rails. These are small
alterations with big benefits.”
    “ Big benefits? Benefits to
your firm, perhaps. I’ve heard that you guys mark up the price on
everything anyway.”
    She hated this part. The
haggling, the selling of a vision, the educating of the
ignorant.
    “ Miss Gleason, I can assure
you that you’re being charged the customary 8% of construction cost
and not a penny more. I’ve slashed every possible expenditure to
make this affordable—there’s nothing left to cut.”
    “ That’s what you say. But
why is it that when St. Charles was renovated it cost half of what
you’re quoting me?”
    Deena sighed. “I don’t know,
Miss Gleason. It could be anything. Your building might be older,
or larger, or, or—”
    “ Or it could be you. You
ripping me off.”
    “ If I wanted to rip you off
I wouldn’t suggest cost-saving measures, now would I?”
    “ I don’t know what you’d
do. But I’ll tell you this. I don’t like your tone. And quite
frankly, I never have. I think you’re a snob.”
    Deena froze. “I beg your
pardon?”
    “ I said you’re a snob.
Right from the beginning you’ve been rude and impatient
and—and—”
    “ Miss Gleason, hold on a
moment. I don’t think—”
    “ Don’t tell me to hold on.
I’m paying you. Now all you’ve tried to do, right from the
beginning, is rip me off. We need this and we need that—way more
than what we asked for!”
    “ Your building wasn’t up to
code!”
    “ Says you. Look, I don’t
have to tolerate this,” Miss Gleason said. “I refuse to work with
you one more moment. Not one more!”
    “ Miss Gleason, please.
Let’s gather our bearings and—”
    Dial tone.
    With a sob of frustration,
Deena heaved the phone across the room and buried her face in her
hands. All that work, all that fighting, only to be
fired.
    The woman was impossible.
Life was impossible. She wished herself away from this plain-faced
office, and on a beach. With Tak and his guitar.
    The first time she heard him
play was evening she cleaned out Anthony’s room. The hour grew late
as they sat on the beach, nothing but the gentle strumming of his
guitar between them, and on occasion, a few melodic verses he’d
conjure on the spot.
    She’d been stunned by his
voice and the feelings it stirred in her. Smooth and sultry, his
tenor was lulling and seductive, and on that night, made exquisite
by grief. She’d closed her eyes and let his sound wash over her,
pain alleviating with the notion that he somehow shared
it.
    Deena closed her eyes with
the memory, attempting to recall something of the notes which
soothed her.
    “ That bad, huh?”
    Startled, she lifted her
head to find Tak. Deena smiled.
    “ How long have you been
standing there?”
    He shrugged. “Long enough to
know you need a raise.”
    Deena grinned. “Try getting
that one by your dad.”
    He stepped inside and closed
the door.
    “ School marm?” he said with
a sympathetic smile.
    Deena sighed. “School marm.
Not to worry though. She fired me this time.”
    Tak waved a dismissive hand.
“Screw her. She was beneath you anyway.”
    “ No one’s beneath you when
you’re as poor as me.”
    He shook his
head.
    “ Deena, listen. Sometimes
the slammed door is just a distraction. You know, to the
opportunity in the other direction. Every week that woman took a
hacksaw to your work,