Guilty of Love by Pat Simmons

terribly. A major pipe had burst over the computer
room, damaging several computers used for dispatching 911 calls and
medical emergency alerts. She was able to have service routed to
another building while the repairs were made, so customers wouldn’t
experience any phone interruption.
    Then that morning, she confronted a
middle-aged employee with more than twenty years of service. Rumors
surfaced that he’d been cheating the company for years, charging
excessive overtime for changing a light bulb, reprogramming a door
code, or restarting a fan after a power outage. She could still
hear Clint Kent’s stuttering excuses.
    “ W-well, Cheney, it’s a
technical thing. It may s-sound s-simple, but it takes years of
training to troubleshoot a problem and correct it.”
    What Clint didn’t know was the phone
company had enrolled her in property and facility management
classes. Without question, Cheney was certified to fully maintain
her office buildings. She knew restarting a fan took sixty
seconds.
    “ Hmm, I see. I’ve checked
your hours against your coworkers’. They seem to do the job in less
time; maybe I’ll save the company money and remove you from the
call-out list.” The look on Clint’s face was priceless. Cheney
wanted to laugh.
    Clint took a deep breath as his face
turned red. “Look, you just can’t come in here and think you know
how to run this department. You and I both know they hired you
because they needed somebody Black.”
    No he didn’t go there. Closing the
distance, Cheney had braced herself for a professional battle.
“First, I was hired to manage this building from top to bottom, so
I run the show. Second, if you ever imply, whisper, or gossip that
I’m not capable of doing this job because of the color of my skin,
I’ll take disciplinary action against you for discriminatory
remarks. Don’t give me two reasons to fire you. You’ve only got one
left.”
    She left Clint standing outside her
office with clenched fists. Luckily, all the men in her crew didn’t
share his viewpoint.
    Now, Mrs. Beacon was like a loaded gun
with plenty of ammunition ready to finish off the headache Clint
had started. Cheney was not anybody’s fool. Not anymore.
    “ Considering I live at 947
Benton and pay the house note to prove it, I’ll choose what to put
in my bay windows. Oak wood shutters will be installed before my
upcoming house-warming party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running
late.” Whew, did I say that? Imani would be proud. Rubbing
her already throbbing temples, Cheney didn’t need this
stress.
    Cheney was convinced everything and
everybody was out to get her. You can run, but you can’t
hide, she thought she heard a mocking voice she couldn’t
identity. First, she was imagining things about a child who never
lived, now she was hearing things when no one was around. “I am not
going crazy, so what am I going?” she mumbled. Lifting her mail
from the box, Cheney unlocked her front door, walked inside, and
locked it without looking back to see if Mrs. Beacon was still
there.
    Moving back home was supposed to be
easy, reconnecting with family, making new friends, and living her
life to the fullest. So far, she was questioning the move. Her
world consisted of no close relationships—family, friends, and
definitely not men. Her sister, Janae, was busy with a family. Her
dad, Roland, was always at work.
    Cheney alternated between sorting
through her bills and turning on lamps. Her mind didn’t stray far
from her family. She wanted to confide in her older brother,
Rainey, but could never form the words to describe what she’d did
and what she had gone through as a result. He knew a job
opportunity had brought her home.
    It was she who needed to make the
first move. He called and called her in Dunham, and finally took a
flight to see her. Only she wouldn’t—couldn’t—see him because the
abortion had left her too weak. So now here she was at home and it
was payback. Cheney had made