A Soul Ensnared

Sixteen

July 26, 2013

"There you are," Noah said, staring at a sheaf of papers as he ambled into her office. "I thought you were coming into the office yesterday, but you never showed up. Nancy mentioned you took a personal day? Not that that matters. I'm glad I found you. Listen, I have a few ideas I want to run past you. You have a few minutes?"

She was standing with her back to him, at the window of her office, staring out at the view of the back nine. Her hair was cinched back tight in a bun. A gray cardigan had been pulled over the top of a modest cream blouse, and she wore a pair of navy slacks that ended at the ankle.

Upon hearing Noah's arrival, she turned, eyes vacant. Underneath the small amount of foundation she'd half-heartedly applied, there were darkened circles beneath those eyes, and a slight red tinge to her nose.

"Did you need something?" Sonya asked, turning hollow eyes back toward the window, where she stared, unseeing.

Noah paused his approach, lowering the papers at his side. The woman with the flowing hair and pulling allure had been replaced by the cold matron in front of him. Concern pulled his eyebrows together, and, as he walked past her desk, he dropped the contents in his hands on it, forgetting why he'd popped into her office.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stepped over to meet Sonya at the window. His back was to the green as he leaned against the sill, where he gave her a lengthy gaze, taking in the modest clothing and gaunt expression.

He gestured to the image in front of him. "As a matter of fact, I do need something. I need to know what this is about, because I need to know how to fix it."

His kindness was her undoing. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she brushed at them with an impatient hand. The arms around her ribs tightened to seal in the pain, and she let out an exasperated breath at his presence. "I'm fine, Noah. Why are you here?"

"Fine," he said, drawing out the word. He ignored the tone of her voice as his eyes contemplated the woman before him. "I know that word. I've heard women say it before—occasionally to me, which I regret admitting. I believe the word 'fine' is the universal sign for 'Piss Off.'" He pulled his hands out of his pockets, and propped them by his hips against the sill, curling his fingers over the sides. "Who is he, and what did he do?"

Sonya didn't answer, but she felt her entire body tense at the unwanted questions.

A voice intruded over the intercom system. "Ms. Lancaster? There's someone here to see you. He says it's urgent."

"I'm not taking visitors today, Meghan. Tell whomever it is to reschedule for tomorrow," she replied, voice terse.

"But, Ms. Lancaster, he seems ... upset," the receptionist said, voice trailing to a whisper at the last word. It was clear she didn't know what she was supposed to do.

Sonya's voice didn't lose it's edge. "I don't care who it is, or how upset he seems, Meghan. I am not taking visitors today."

There was a small burst of static as Meghan murmured, "Yes, Ma'am." The line went dead.

Turning back to Noah, the man who was patiently waiting in her office for acknowledgement, she demanded, "What makes you think it's a man?" There were construction markers on the tenth hole, beside the Pro Shop, which she'd been staring at for over an hour. Instead of answering him, she deflected his question by stabbing a finger at the window. "You know what? Maybe it is a man; maybe that man is you. Tell me, Noah, why haven't they finished that eyesore, yet? What's taking so long? Tournament is ten days away. Why on Earth would you start construction this close to the biggest event of the season?"