“What’s the matter?”
“The door handle is stuck,” she said, squatting a little to look at it closer. “It doesn’t seem to have a lock.”
“It sticks sometimes,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask Maintenance to fix it. Let me try.”
I turned the handle and pushed against the door. Nothing happened. I tried again.
“Damn it,” I swore softly. “It’s really jammed.”
Behind me, Grace sighed impatiently.
I made a fist and pounded on the door. “Hello! Is anyone there?” I yelled. “We need help!”
When a few minutes of pounding didn’t yield a rescue, Grace spoke up again. “I’m going to break a window.”
There were large windows on both sides of the door. She looked around for something to throw through the glass.
“You can’t break the window,” I said.
“I’ll pay for the damage,” she said sarcastically. “What’s it going to cost? A thousand bucks? I’ll gladly pay that to get out of here.”
“No,” I said. “You literallycan’tbreak the glass. It’s bulletproof and shatter proof. It’s rated to withstand hurricane force winds and being shot at.”
“Damn it!” she swore again. “Are you guys laundering money for the mob here or something?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then why do you have bullet proof glass in your fuckingconference room?”
I shrugged. “Dad’s a little fanatical about security.”
The poor guy had been in the wrong place at the wrong time during a mass shooting incident. He was one of the only survivors, and after watching gunmen shoot out windows he’d vowed to never let anyone get killed because of windows. Their house was like a fortress, and so was mine.
“What are we going to do?” Grace asked impatiently.
I wondered if she was getting claustrophobic or something.
“Oh I know!” I said brightly. “I can use my nail file as a screwdriver. I’ll disassemble the door handle.”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Have you ever disassembled a door handle?”
“Well no, but how hard can it be?” I asked. “Let me just get my purse… oh no!”
“What now?”
“My purse is in my office,” I admitted.
“I can’t believe this!” Grace threw up her hands, her long hair flying behind her. “I should have known you’d pull something like this if I came to your office.”
I was immediately angry. Our parents had set up this little collaboration, as she well knew, and I wasn’t any happier about it than she was.
“It’s not my fault,” I said, stalking towards her. “It’s not like I regularly trap people in conference rooms. How about you quit whining and help me figure something out?”
She moved a little closer until we were only about a foot apart.
“Whining? I’m whining?” she said incredulously. “God, you’re just as annoying as you were when we were kids.”
“And you’re just as much of a shrew,” I shot back.
