Elise wasn’t wrong.
It was crap.
And not just in the way she meant.
The one thing I remembered most about Moon Island was not the hot guys. It was the beautiful scent of the salty air that helped distill the stagnant smell of alcohol. It was the kindness of a man and not the insults of another. It was leaving.
And I wasn’t going to Moon Island this weekend for sandy toes or salty kisses. That was crap, too. I was going to settle the estate of the only person who ever cared about me enough to try to fix what was broken. And he wasn’t even my real uncle. He was my father’s friend and the one who had changed my life by introducing me to Al-Anon.
Step 1: We admit we are powerless over alcohol—that our lives have become unmanageable.
Alcohol.
It was a word that would haunt me forever.
I stared and stared and stared at my screen, trying to push back the terrible memories that threatened to bring tears to my eyes.
My finger hovered over the delete button, and even after I pressed it, I knew it was too late to undo what had been done. There was no taking anything back once it hit cyberspace.
Under normal circumstances, I would have questioned my new assistant on where she’d found such a hunk and how she’d managed to snap such a provocative pose under such short notice.
These past few weeks hadn’t been normal, though, and somehow in the chaos of my life, I’d let a very significant part of my job slip. And by doing so, I’d put my journalistic integrity on the line.
No one was to blame but myself.
My stare fell to the floor before shifting to the stacks of boxes lining the walls. They were all neatly labeled with no destination in mind. Drifters, like me.
When my gaze landed on the one labeled ‘Theodore Banks 1 of 2’, I quickly shifted my eyes away from it and toward the bright, sunny day. I had yet to open that box and doubted I ever would. There would be nothing good inside it. Nothing I needed to see. And nothing I wanted to know. Yet for some reason, I hadn’t thrown it away. It was all that remained of my father, a man who had flown F-14 Tomcats in Desert Storm and had once been thought of as a military hero, but who had turned into the town villain.
As for box 2, I had no idea where it had ended up. I didn’t really care, either. Box 1 was all that had been delivered.
Out of habit, I turned my wrist over and stared at the image of a rainbow inked right over my pulse point. It was a reminder of the brighter side. The symbol of hope. Balance. Good luck. Of a better future. It all felt so ironic now.
Hope.
I wanted to have it.
Wanted to be on the other side, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never get there.
Chloe stood and walked over to me. I blinked away my solemn thoughts and looked up at her. She had tears in her eyes when she whispered, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell Elise it was me. I know what I said, but I really need this job.”
Her voice shook.
She was afraid.
Fear.
I knew it well.
But she didn’t.
Not really.
And that was a good thing.
With no other choice, I leaned back in my chair and attempted to ease her mind. “She’s not going to fire you,” I murmured under my breath.
I knew this. Elise had hired Chloe to turn her into what she wanted. Me, on the other hand, could never be what she wanted. Me, on the other hand, my fate was unknown. I was writing a column about love and my heart wasn’t in it. Elise knew this. I knew this. But it was a start for me, and at the time I accepted the job, I didn’t realize I probably should really understand the concept better than I did.
Maybe know what love was.
The voice on the phone grew even louder. I held the receiver away from my ear, and yet I could still hear every piercing word my boss had to say.
As she spoke, I glanced around my modest, seventh-floor apartment. I’d lived here for just over a year. It was longer than I’d lived anywhere in a long time, and I still had yet to unpack.
Maybe subconsciously I knew all along I wouldn’t be staying.
“Sadie, are you listening to me?” my boss barked through the line.
Elise Petra wasn’t someone you didn’t listen to.
She demanded attention.
“Yes, Elise, I can hear every word you’re saying.”
“Sadie, are you still there?”
Crap.
I hadn’t unmuted the phone.
Quickly, I did so, and then I replied, “Yes, Elise, I’m still here.”
“Good, then open your door.”
I practically fell off my chair.
Wait!
What?
She was here?
In the short period of time since she’d taken over the company, she had never even asked me where I lived, let alone set foot in my apartment.
My Saturday couldn’t get much worse.
Just as my own heart started to pound out of my chest, there was a loud banging on my door. Poor Chloe turned a million shades of white.
“You should probably hide in the bedroom,” I told her. “It’s best if Elise doesn’t know you’re here.”
Chloe didn’t think twice as her gladiator sandals clacked against my hardwood floor.
I didn’t blame her.
I wished I could hide, too.
Once she’d closed herself on the other side, I hurried to the front door. Smoothing my hands down my shorts, I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach out of habit, although I didn’t need to, and then pulled the knob.
The perfect blonde bob with the perfectly made-up face and perfectly coordinated outfit stared back at me.
“Elise,” I managed. “What are you doing here?”
She pushed past me with so many shopping bags in her hands that they must have weighed more than she did. I couldn’t believe it when her high heels barely made a noise on my living room floor. Not only was she beautiful, but she floated as she walked. Crazy.
Then again, even the floors dared not cross this forty-something-year-old vixen. She was a force to be reckoned with. A cross between Miranda in the Devil Wears Prada and Carrie Bradshaw from Sex in the City, she was always stylish, always on the ball, and always right.
Elise whirled around, and even through the dark lenses of her Prada sunglasses, I could see the irritation in her eyes. With a threatening calmness, she said, “Sadie, I came by to tell you in person I think it’s time we parted ways.”
I closed my eyes.
As soon as I saw that photo site, I knew this moment would come. If I wanted to be honest, I knew this moment was coming for a long time. And yet my stomach still sank at the realization that it was actually happening.
This was it.
After all of my hard work, my passion for writing was being yanked out from under me.
I was going to be jobless, broke, homeless. I felt like I was going backwards with my life, not forward.
“Elise,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You know I didn’t do this.”
“You might not have selected the photo, but you posted it.”
“And you’re firing me over something as trivial as that?” I needed to be certain.
She set her bags on the sofa. “Don’t look at it that way, Sadie.”
“How should I look at it?”
“Like I’m setting you free.”
I laughed. “Setting me free? Is that a joke?”
She shook her head. “Sadie, I’m not heartless, and I’m not blind. You have a lot going on in your life right now. You need to get away from all the attention. You need time to heal. You’re a broken woman, and it’s going to take more than a long weekend off to fix yourself.”
I shook my head no.
She didn’t know anything about me. She only knew what she’d read in the papers. So what if the articles painted a bleak picture of my life? At Hotlanta, I was not Sadie Banks. I was SB. And I was not the same seventeen-year-old runaway who turned a town upside down.
I should have never told her the truth.
Determined, I lifted my chin and sucked in the shuddering, teary breath that threatened to break me. “What I need, Elise, is my job.”
“Listen to me, Sadie, you might think I don’t know you, but I do. And I know this job isn’t right for you. You’re a smart, determined woman with a big heart. You should be reporting world events, telling the country what to believe in, helping people—not writing about where to find love. You have a strong voice, and it should be heard. Once you pull yourself together, I’ll help you find a job that’s right for you.” The tenderness in her voice made me want to cry even more.
I pushed it away though and straightened my steel spine. “This column is a start for me, Elise, and it gives me exposure.”
She shook her head. “Gave you exposure, Sadie.”
“It still can. Don’t do this. I can do better. I will do better. Just say I can keep my job,” I pleaded.
There was no yes. Elise simply picked up her purse and walked toward the door. “You have a lot of passion, Sadie. Get yourself together and use it for something more than love advice.”
Tears fell from my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back, but I quickly wiped them away. That’s when I noticed her packages were still on my sofa. “Elise, your bags,” I shouted as the door was closing.
“Keep them,” she called back just as it clicked shut.
Were they supposed to be my severance, because if so, I didn’t want them. Before I could rush them out to her, I heard the bedroom door creak open. “I’m so sorry,” Chloe said.
I just looked at her, and then I mumbled, “What am I going to do?” to myself more than to her.
“If I can ever do anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
I nodded. “I appreciate it.”
She pulled me in for a hug.
Surrounded by dozens of packed boxes and designer bags, I couldn’t help but think maybe Elise was right. It was time for me to get my life in order and then do what I wanted to do.
Whatever that was.
Wherever that was.
But this time there was no need to hide.
I wasn’t running.
Then again, there was no one left to run from.
No one except myself.
I always was my own worst enemy.