McKenna

I DISCONNECT THE call and write down the names of the nurses from Elaine’s agency who will be coming here to be interviewed for the second shift position. Even though the decision about the national competition isn’t for another month, I want to be ready to jump if the exposure itself brings in new clients.

Wandering into the living room, Mom’s watching the soap she’s been hooked on ever since I was a kid. “Monica looks so old. Why did the makeup people do that to her face?”

I glance at the screen. “What do you mean? I think she looks the same.”

Mom shakes her head. “No. It’s like they aged her at least twenty years. And why isn’t she with Rick? Who’s this guy? I don’t understand.”

But I do. My body sags, recognizing her mind has regressed decades. I’ve been spoiled for the past week, when she didn’t have any “incidents.” Guess she’s about due.

“You know how these soaps go, Janice,” Elaine says, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table. “They always have to mix things up to keep people interested.”

Mom sips her tea and sighs, “Yes, you’re right. Have to keep us viewers on our toes, I guess. But, I don’t like her makeup one bit. If I were the actress, I’d complain.”

Elaine sits in a chair opposite, watching Mom as she drinks the hot tea and replaces the teacup onto the saucer. “I bet you would,” she chuckles. Elaine’s been a godsend. When Mom retreats into herself, I don’t know how to handle her. Elaine never flinches.

“Thanks,” I whisper. In response, the nurse smiles and nods, then turns her attention back to Mom.

A jogger catches my attention and I walk to the bay window. He’s wearing a pair of shorts and nothing else, and both of his arms are tatted. His abs are cut just like Ozzy’s, yet neither of his nipples is pierced.

I picture Ozzy jumping out of the pool, naked. His tattoos and piercings on full display. My body yearns for him, but I know that part of my life is over. My eyes follow the jogger as he turns a corner and only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Exhaling the stale air, I close my eyes and let the raw feeling of loss shower over me.

He seemed to be well over me, by the looks of him yesterday. Two bimbos on his arms, drunk and high, yet able to express exactly how he felt about me. He was so wrong. I would still be with him but for Matt. All I meant to do was keep him safe.

Opening my eyes, I notice Matt driving by, stopping in front of my house. When he sees me looking at him, he honks the horn and waves, then takes off leaving squealing tires in his wake.

“What’s that racket?”

I turn around. “Some jerk driving like a maniac, Mom. He’s gone now.” If only he’d stay gone, for good. Or, stick around long enough for me to get the police here.

“Don’t know what’s wrong with your generation. When your father gets home, I’m going to have a talk with him about what we can do.”

My eyes meet Elaine’s. I say, “You do that, Mom,” knowing full well she’ll forget her outburst within the hour.

Sighing, I leave the two of them and return to my bedroom. My journal catches my eye and I pick it up, opening it to a random page. One that’s filled with all sorts of amazing details about a tryst with Ozzy. When I wrote it, I knew we wouldn’t last, which is why I wanted to capture every single moment. So I’d never forget. As if I could, even if I become like Mom.

I flip the pages, skimming over memories of being taken by him in all sorts of places—the stairs, the patio, his music room—and open up to a blank page. Picking up a pen, it stands poised to take down my innermost thoughts. Only, I don’t have any. I’m as blank as these pages.

All because of Matt. Everything flows back to him.

The doorbell sounds, followed by Elaine’s voice. “McKenna, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Ozzy! Dropping my journal on the bed, I rush out to the front door. My shoulders droop when the lanky journalist from the Big Reveal stands in the open door. Shit! I forgot all about him.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I welcome him into the house and usher him to the kitchen before Mom engages. “Would you like something to drink?” I motion for Jeremy to sit while I prepare his requested cup of coffee.

“I hope you don’t mind, but Felicia gave me your home address. When you didn’t show up at the coffeehouse, I figured our meeting had slipped your mind.”

I purse my lips, mentally berating myself for forgetting such an important interview. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. With all the fuss from yesterday and, uh, things, I totally forgot all about it.” I put his coffee down in front of him, in a mug that says I’m Silently Judging Your Font Choice.

Jeremy takes out a notebook. “No harm done. Is it okay with you if we run through the questions here?”

Not really. “Sure thing.” I grab another mug—this one says I’m a Graphic Designer. What’s your Superpower?—and set my coffee to brew. “Give me a sec, okay?”

He nods and I take my time walking out to the living room. Can’t let him see I’m panicked. Smiling at Mom, I bend down to Elaine and whisper, “The guy’s a journalist. I was supposed to meet up with him but forgot, so he came here to do the interview. Can you please keep Mom out of the kitchen while I do it? I’ll try to be quick.”

“I’ll do my best. Sometimes she gets a thought in her head and I can’t control her, but I’ll keep her entertained out here. Or, maybe we’ll go for a walk.”

I dart a quick look to Mom. “Don’t disrupt her rhythm.” With that, I return to the kitchen, praying Mom stays put.

Forcing a smile, I get my coffee and add creamer and sugar. Stirring the brew with a spoon that I drop into the sink, I say, “So, what do you want to know?”

He smiles back. “Oh, everything.”

His quip makes my heart flip. No way will I tell him anything more than about my work for the Project. And even that will be censored. “Then it’ll be a very short interview.” I offer a half-grin.

After pressing a few buttons on his phone and giving me a questioning look that I accept, he turns on the recording and flips open his notebook. “So, tell me, why graphic design?”

Exhaling at his softball question, I launch into my spiel about what brought me into the industry. From there, the interview goes on a rather predictable course and I find myself relaxing in his presence. Jeremy’s a very good journalist, judging by how he gets me to open up and share slightly more than I anticipated. But still in the safe zone.

“Rose was right about you. You are a bundle of energy,” he quips as he writes something down.

“Rose?”

Hazel eyes meet mine. “Yes. I met her, I don’t know, a year or so ago.”

Everything clicks into place. He was at Rose’s big introductory party after the Billboard Music Awards. “You’re that journalist! I knew you looked familiar but I couldn’t place you.”

His hand moves across his chest. “Guilty as charged. Rose calls me up from time to time with some scoops and stories of interest. She pointed me toward the Big Reveal, and talked you up. When you were named as the finalist, I knew I had to interview you.”

“Well, I’m flattered. Rose is a great friend.” The best.

He looks down at his notes. “Where were we? Oh right. Please tell me how you got inspired for each of the musicians who you created designs for. Starting with Ozzy Martinez.”

All of the good will we created dissipates. Standing, I dump the rest of my coffee down the sink, all the while trying to come up with some plausible tale. Rinsing the mug, I put it into the dishwasher, then retake my seat.

“He was the most difficult of the musicians to work with because he was in the process of writing new music. All of the other acts mainly used older stuff, but he wanted to introduce new songs.”

When I stop talking, he presses, “Go on.”

And he didn’t have a muse, until me. Until his lips covered mine and his body made mine scream in pleasure. Shaking my head, I reply, “So, I got to see him not only as a performer, but also as a creator. It was fascinating, really.” Inhaling, I continue, “It was fun to see how another creative-type works. Of course, he’s in a totally different medium.” I take us down the rabbit-hole of performance versus design. We move on to discuss the other musicians in my presentation.

“McKenna, I have only one more question. I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you about your relationship with Ozzy. Would you like to make a comment about it?”

I force out a laugh, hoping I don’t sound like a deranged Christmas elf. “Don’t believe everything you read in a tabloid. You, of all people, should know that.”

“Gotcha. Well, I think I have everything I need. I really appreciate your taking the time to meet with me—and for letting me crash your place.” He offers a wry smile while adjusting his glasses. He really is very cute.

“I’m sorry you had to hunt me down.”

He stands and rubs his hands on his thighs. “I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, but I really enjoyed talking with you. I’d love to take you out and continue our conversation.”

Before I can stop myself, the words, “Like on a date?” fly out of my mouth. I slap my hand over my lips.

His eyes fall to the floor. “Yeah. Like on a date.”

He’s a really good guy. Not the typical bad boys I’ve been with—well, Ozzy is the only guy I’ve been with since Matt, and both of them could win awards for being bad boys. Although, Ozzy’s great in so many respects and nothing like Matt. I shake my head. For his own good, I need to let him down gently. “Jeremy, I would like nothing else, but I’m getting over a really bad break-up. Maybe another time?”

His cheeks flush. “Sure. I get it.” After clearing his throat, he says, “Your article should be in this week’s magazine.” He turns his head. “Oh, and the magazine got photos from the event, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Great,” I croak. “I really did enjoy meeting you.”

Mom shuffles into the kitchen, Elaine at her back. Time to usher Jeremy out. Pronto. “This is my mother and her … friend, Elaine. Jeremy’s just leaving now.”

Mom nods at us and walks to the cupboard. I almost push Jeremy out of the room. “Sorry about the interruption,” I say as I urge him to the front door.

He stops and turns to face me, then hands me his business card. “In case you change your mind, my personal cell is on the back. Feel free to use it.”

I take his card. “Thanks.”

After he leaves, I toss the card into the trash. I bet he’s a great guy, but I’m not in the market for one. No. I need to focus on my responsibilities. I can’t get sidetracked ever again. Every time I do, someone gets hurt. Especially me.

DAYS GO BY, which I spend interviewing potential evening shift nurses. I click with Mandy, and go through all of the paperwork associated with hiring her. Tossing my pen onto the kitchen table, I clap twice. “I really like her.”

Elaine replies, “It’ll be good to have your mother with full-time care. You’ll be freed up to live your life without worry.”

“Mom’s my responsibility. I just need some help with her.” I make a neat pile of the paperwork. “Besides, it’s not like I have a life,” I mutter.

Elaine puts her hand on my shoulder and walks toward the living room. “Good things are about to happen. I can feel it.”

Rolling my eyes, it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud. Elaine believes the best for everyone, but I’m a realist. Looking at the holiday cards adorning the kitchen walls, my mind roams to the upcoming holiday. I already got presents for everyone. Except Ozzy. I snort—no need to get him one now. The past few days proved that to me. Not to mention an online photospread of him at his concert last night. He had some red-headed slut hanging off his arm. I really have to stop torturing myself by googling his name.

Pulling out the flour and sugar, I start baking some more Christmas cookies. Everyone enjoys them, and it usually calms my nerves to bake. But not today. Every cookie reminds me of what I had to give up. Rather, who. Thanks to Matt and the bad decision to date him I made all those years ago. Not to mention calling Daddy to be my knight in shining armor that fateful night.

Elaine walks in as I’m mangling a Nutella chip cookie. “These were just dropped off for you.” She hands me some magazines.

“Thanks.” I wipe my hands and open Jeremy’s, the Record News. Sitting down, I flip the pages until I find the one with the headline, “Local Graphic Designer Finals in Competition.” There’s a photo of me at the Big Reveal.

Taking a deep breath, I start reading. Jeremy’s words jump off the page and paint a picture of me I don’t recognize. Of a woman in charge, taking control of her career and putting her best foot forward. Well, I guess that’s me. I certainly put everything I had into the presentation.

I finish the article and toss the magazine to the side. A supermarket tabloid is underneath it. Looking on the cover, my heart cramps at a huge photo of Ozzy, half naked and walking backstage at the Jade. I trace his torso with my finger, wanting it to be real. But, it isn’t. The caption under the photo catches my attention next: “Rockstar Dumps Murderess!”

What?

I flip the pages and land on a huge photospread—of me! The photo of Ozzy with me taken by the paparazzi now sports the headline: “Ozzy’s ex tied to her father’s murder.”

I can’t catch my breath. “Oh my God,” I say to no one. My eyes greedily read the words, trying to make sense of the story. The writer focused on my testimony at Matt’s trial. It paints me as a total party-girl who was into drugs and alcohol with Matt. They even dug up some old photos of me out on the town with him, which they must have scored from an old Facebook reel or something. I deleted my account in the aftermath of the case.

“It seems that James’s father caught wind of the extreme partying his daughter was doing and drove over one night to stop it. A fight ensued, at the end of which her father was dead. During the trial, the defense argued that Lopez acted in self-defense, and that Ms. James herself provided the knife that killed her father. Lopez was convicted of manslaughter, based on James’s self-serving testimony. Seems to us that Ozzy is well rid of this modern-day Lizzie Borden.”

I scream, “No, no, no!”

Mom rushes into the kitchen. “What’s up, McKenna?”

Wiping the tears streaming down my face, I pick up both magazines and jump to my feet. Not wanting to share this horrible story with her, I lie, “I thought I burned the cookies, but they’re all good.”

“I’m sure we’ll love them.” She nudges me and winks. “Your father loves everything you cook, even if you burn a couple. You know that.”

I suck in my breath. It’s too much. I toss the oven mitt to Elaine as she enters the room. “Can you get the cookies out? I’m suddenly not feeling well and have to go lie down.” I don’t wait for her response but rush into my bedroom and close the door.

How could the magazine print such lies? What can I do to stop this story? The tabloid is dated today. I hop online and the story is plastered all over. I’m too late to do anything about it. Even if I asked Rose to intervene, there’s nothing she could do.

I didn’t give Matt that knife. I didn’t want Daddy dead. How could they print utter lies? I put my face into my pillow and cry, sobs making my whole body convulse. The whole world knows my secret—even though it’s all wrong.

My cell phone rings. Out of habit, I check to see who’s calling. It’s the President of Project. “Fuck.”

Sniffling away the tears, I croak, “Hello?”

“McKenna, this is Peggy Laswell.”

I lift my chin, trying to stifle my sobs. “What can I do for you?”

“I just finished the most disturbing article about you. The other board members read it as well, and we’d like to give you the opportunity to come in to the Las Vegas office tomorrow to explain before we send the second place finisher to the national competition.”

I suck in my breath. This can’t be happening. “Peggy, it’s all lies.”

She cuts me off. “Save your explanations for the full board meeting. You’ll be there, correct? We start promptly at ten.”

I clear my throat. “Yes, of course—” Before I can get the full sentence out, the call disconnects.

Another sob escapes, followed by countless more. I try to catch my breath—I have until tomorrow to get my thoughts in order for the meeting of my life.