The Life Lucy Knew

by Karma Brown

  “I’m having a hard time getting the truth out of people these days,” I said, stretching back, as well. My muscles in my shoulders and lower back screamed, unaccustomed to spending so much time in a chair hunched over a desk. “So it’s refreshing when someone offers it without me having to ask.”

  “Happy to be of service,” he said.

  “But, Daniel,” I added, “you can’t ‘miss’ me. We can’t keep doing this, talking about all this stuff. I know it’s on me today because I asked the question, but still. We need to...stop.”

  “Why?” he asked, his mouth turning down into a frown. He hunched forward so his forearms rested on his knees, and furrowed his brow. “We’re friends, right?”

  Friends. My stomach recoiled and I stood to toss my nearly empty cup into a nearby trash can. I had definitely had too much coffee. “Of course we are.” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant but knew I had failed by the look on his face.

  He watched me for a beat longer, then stood, as well. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, Lucy. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget about it, okay?”

  I nodded and gave him the best “don’t worry about it” smile I could. Then he walked me to the subway as we chatted about things we had no emotional connection to—his classes, and Jenny’s most recent film project. Weekend plans, and a great book he’d recently read. But while I forced myself to stay engaged, my mind was split. Half of it with my newly resurrected “friend” Daniel, who had told me he missed me, and the other half with the Daniel I used to know, who I still felt connected to in a deeply meaningful, yet dangerous, way.

  I had to stop seeing him. Had to shut down whatever this was because it wasn’t good for me, and by what he’d admitted tonight it wasn’t helping him, either. I might have been overthinking it, assigning meaning to his words that wasn’t there: missing me, his snort-laughing friend, and missing me, the woman he once proposed to, were not necessarily the same things, and I wasn’t sure which version he had been referring to.

  Yet, no matter how convinced I was I had to let Daniel go, tonight he had given me a much-needed hit of a powerful drug—hope. You have the right to change your present if it doesn’t fit with the future you envision, Dr. Kay had told me. But did I also have the right to change someone else’s future, too?

  35

  I was at the office early again the next morning, catching up on email and some communication requests that had come through overnight. After seeing Daniel, I’d been unable to sleep, tossed and turned most of the night on Jenny’s futon. In reality his confession changed nothing, because he was still married, and not to me. Yet...

  What if things could be different? If Daniel still had feelings for me (wasn’t that what he had said yesterday, though not in so many words?), what could that mean for us? Would I want to be with Daniel again? Yes and no. Yes, because it continued to feel like I’d been ripped against my will out of our relationship. No, because I could see the carnage such a decision would leave in its path, and everyone who would get hurt. Also, not knowing exactly why we broke up cast a dark fog over everything. There had to be a reason why I’d ended things, and a good one.

  We wanted different things.

  My mind was elsewhere and so I jumped when Greg Harlow popped his head into my office. “Morning, Lucy,” he said in a deep baritone. Greg was a large man, and his voice was no exception.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, unconsciously putting a hand to my chest to still my heart rate. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Sorry,” Greg said. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It worried me—both the look on his face and the fact he was at my office door before nine. I had worked more closely with Greg over the years than any other partner, so I knew how to read his expressions. This has to be about the press release. I sighed imperceptibly, smiling to hide my growing concern. Already crafting assurances in my mind for Greg that it had been a “one and done” error.

  “No problem,” I replied. “Come on in.”

  It was then I saw Greg wasn’t alone. Susan Chong—Jameson Porter’s head of human resources—was right behind him. An intense prickle of anxiety moved through me, and I shivered. Susan also came into my office and then shut the door behind her. It felt crowded with the three of us in there, and I took a shaky sip from the glass of water on my desk.

  Greg and Susan each took one of the chairs across from me, and I noticed a file in Susan’s hands. Saw Sparks, Lucy typed on a sticker on its tab. My stomach dropped.

  “How are things going, Lucy?” Greg asked, while Susan fiddled with her gold lariat necklace with one hand and kept the other on the closed folder. I tried to avert my eyes from the folder and to concentrate on Greg.

  “Things are great, Greg.” My voice was high, definitely not relaxed. “Everyone has been fantastic, and I think things are going well.”

  Greg looked at me sympathetically, and Susan kept on fiddling, smiling. Am I being fired? The press release fiasco didn’t seem serious enough to warrant me losing my job. After all, it had only gone to Greg before the mistake was realized. We hadn’t yet pushed it to the media outlets, so it was an easy fix with zero fallout. But then I had a disconcerting moment of panic when I considered maybe I’d screwed something else up, something much worse for the firm. Maybe my memory had failed me again, and I hadn’t even realized it.

  “Good, good,” Greg said, shifting to cross his other leg over his knee. The chair was small for his large frame and he looked squished and uncomfortable. “I’ve asked Susan to join me today so we can talk about something that’s been brought to my attention.”

  My heart beat furiously in my chest and my mind raced as I tried to sort out what else it could be. I ran through the communications I worked on during the week, coming back to the press release. My mouth went dry. “What is it?”

  “There’s been some concern about the, uh, repercussions of your accident,” Greg said, the corners of his mouth turning down.

  “Oh?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I quickly uncrossed them, not wanting to appear defensive. Maybe I hadn’t been ready to come back to work. I should have given myself a bit longer to recover, to get back to who I was before. The Lucy we could all count on. “What ‘repercussions’ exactly?”

  Now it was Susan’s turn, and she was more direct. “Brooke Ingram expressed some concern about your memory issues.”

  “She’s worried about you, Lucy,” Greg added, setting his chin on steepled fingers. “We all are, of course.”

  I stared at the two of them, unable to keep my mouth from falling open in surprise. This was Brooke’s doing? The same Brooke who told me only yesterday she had my back? The worry morphed into something else...a sense of disbelief, and then one of betrayal.

  Susan opened the folder, pulled out a piece of paper and set it on the desk and I recognized it immediately. The incorrect press release. “Yes, I made a mistake,” I said, my voice not as strong as I’d intended. “But honestly, it has nothing to do with my accident or my memory. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I had two files on my desktop with the same client name. The old client name.” I shrugged. “I attached the wrong release to the email I sent you, Greg. But luckily we caught it before it went out to the media.”

  “Lucy, this is the second release you sent Greg. Not the first one.” She gently pushed the paper across my desk. I turned it around so I could read it properly, and saw the date stamp and the client’s name in the top line. It was the same press release, they were right—but I also could see it was the supposedly corrected one because at the top of the page was my email conversation with Greg. Please trash the other release, I’d written. This is the correct one. Sorry about the error.

  I looked up, confused. “I don’t understand.” Then I looked back down at it again, read the date again. How did I screw it up twice?

  “But it only went to you, right?” I s
tammered. Greg shook his head. “Unfortunately, you sent this to me as an FYI note. You had already sent the release to the media outlets.” He saw the look on my face. “But don’t worry, Lucy. Brooke retracted it before they turned it around and pushed it out. We got lucky.”

  “Brooke told me it was handled,” I said. I pressed my lips together and thought back to our conversation, after I’d realized the first release was incorrect. Yes, Brooke had told me not to worry. It hadn’t gone beyond Greg. She had sat in my chair as I fretted, found the correct release and then attached it to the email I’d drafted for Greg. She’d hit Send. Then I’d gone to the washroom to splash some water on my face and...

  Damn it.

  A cold realization settled over me. Brooke had done this on purpose. But I still had no idea why.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, the weight of what had happened pressing me into my chair. “I’m not sure how this happened, but I can assure you it won’t happen again.” I thought I might cry and took a deep breath. “I promise it has nothing to do with my memory. A miscommunication between me and Brooke.” I barked out a laugh, which surprised both Greg and Susan. “Which is sort of funny, considering I’m the head of the communications department.”

  Greg looked at Susan and then at me with some concern. “I assure you it won’t happen again,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

  “Well, glad to hear it,” Greg said. Susan seemed to have something else to say but took her cue from Greg, who was now standing. “But if you need anything, Lucy—even if it means taking some time off—you say the word, okay?”

  Susan nodded. I held up the printed email and release. “Do you mind if I keep this?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Susan said. “Let me know if I can help you in any way, Lucy. That’s what I’m here for.”

  I smiled at her, did my best to look appreciative. “I will. Thanks, Susan.”

  “Okay, good chat,” Greg said, now at the door. “See you at the one o’clock?”

  I nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

  And then I was alone. My hands shook as I held the printout, angry and unsure what I wanted to do next.

  Brooke walked by, stopped in front of my door and did her best to look concerned. I set the email on my desk, upside down so she couldn’t read it. “Did I see Greg and Susan leave your office?” she said, her voice an exaggerated whisper. “What’s going on? Is this about yesterday?”

  “No. Something else,” I replied, keeping my tone even. “Everything’s fine.”

  She looked momentarily surprised but recovered quickly. “Oh, good.” She leaned against the door frame and tucked her hands into her pockets. “Can I help you with anything for the one o’clock?” Normally I would have been grateful for her offer, would probably have delegated some of the work on my desk.

  “I’ve got it handled,” I said. “I came in early today.”

  “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” I replied, only dropping my smile after she left my office.

  Then I got up and closed my door before settling myself in front of my computer and going through all my folders. In only thirty minutes I found three duplicate press releases, including the one I’d sent to Greg—all dated this week and all with old client names in the place of new business mentions. For a moment I considered it was my mistake, a simple copy and paste error. But I’d cut and pasted only small bits of text and had written mostly new copy for all three releases.

  After dragging the duplicate, incorrect releases to the trash-can icon—emptying it to be sure they were gone—I clicked through my email archives during the time I was in the hospital and recovering at home, when Brooke had had access to my inbox. I found a number of outgoing messages she’d obviously handled but nothing that gave me any idea about why she seemed to be trying to sabotage me. Then I logged in to my personal email account and did the same search, putting “Brooke Ingram” into the query box. One email caught my eye, in my drafts folder. It was addressed to HR, but I obviously hadn’t sent it yet.

  Brooke—to discuss

  Why was this in my personal account? It was dated the week before my accident. I quickly opened it and scanned the contents, which turned out to be a list of grievances. Like her lateness (there was a note beside it she had agreed to be on time after I brought it to her attention) and an important conference deadline she had missed because she didn’t get the application in on time. Some of the items I’d highlighted to discuss went back a full six months.

  I sat back and looked at the list, realized my memory did have something to do with this, after all.

  Brooke Ingram was not who I thought she was. But somehow all of these issues had been lost in the shuffle of my mind resetting itself. I had believed my work memory had stayed intact, yet here was proof that wasn’t true. Now I had to admit maybe Brooke wasn’t the only hole at Jameson Porter. What else had I missed? Cold fingers of fear wormed through me.

  It was clear by the email I was organizing to have Brooke fired. Had been getting my ducks in a row, including a notation at the bottom of the email where I had written down a couple of other people on our team who might be good candidates to move into Brooke’s position. I had probably kept it in my personal email because I didn’t want Brooke to be able to access it. I hadn’t trusted her then, and I couldn’t trust her now.

  And then it hit me. Brooke had apparently been displeased when I was hired—Susan had confessed that when we discussed the team I would be taking over, feeling it relevant to my leadership strategies. Brooke believed my job should have been hers, and if everything was as it had looked on paper—Brooke was loyal and hardworking and knew the communications department inside and out—she was right. It should have gone to her.

  But there had been concerns about her ability to handle the leadership aspects of the job. Susan had further confided Brooke was a valuable employee, but she was a bit of a “lone wolf.” She wasn’t as skilled as she needed to be at delegation, had a hard time trusting others with the work. And that was a critical aspect of the director position—if you couldn’t delegate, you couldn’t lead a team.

  So Brooke had seen her opportunity with my accident. Was trying to erode my position within the company, clearly positioning herself to take over the role and using my memory challenges as ammunition. I felt weak as I thought about everything I’d shared with her recently—especially the personal stuff, like the part about forgetting Matt and remembering someone else as my husband. That certainly didn’t sound like someone who should be trusted with my workload and responsibilities.

  I suspected Brooke had divulged this conversation to Greg and Susan. That, coupled with the release flubs that I now understood were Brooke’s doing and quite purposeful, meant a worrisome picture of my fitness for this job was being painted. And it had been only one week. What if I hadn’t figured this out now? How much damage could she have done?

  No. This wasn’t going to happen. I was not going to let Brooke Ingram destroy my career. With the rest of my life in shambles, Jameson Porter mattered more than ever.

  36

  When I called Daniel to tell him I needed help, I ignored my promise to put some distance between us after the whole “I miss you” conversation. I asked if we could meet the next morning for breakfast because I needed to pick his lawyer brain.

  “My lawyer brain is on permanent hiatus,” Daniel had said with a laugh. “But it’s all yours if you’re willing to put up with the cobwebs.”

  We met late morning at Aroma, a restaurant chain with an all-day breakfast option that served a square of chocolate with every coffee order. Daniel tucked into his croissant and egg sandwich while mine sat untouched on my plate. “Not hungry?” he asked, his mouth half-full, glancing at my food.

  I shook my head, picked up my latte instead.

  “So what’s up?” He was focused on his san
dwich, dragging the croissant through a splash of hot sauce on his plate. “How can this ex-lawyer help?”

  I filled him in on the Brooke situation.

  “So you never sent the email?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t appear so.”

  “And are you sure you didn’t talk about this with anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. I picked at my sandwich, tearing off a small piece of the croissant.

  “Not even Matt?” he asked. I felt nauseated, hearing Daniel say Matt’s name, and dropped the piece of croissant without eating it.

  “No one. Or not that I can remember.”

  “Which is why I asked.” Daniel cleared his throat. “You said before your memory has been a bit unreliable?” The implication in his words was obvious.

  I sighed with frustration. “Trust me, you’re not suggesting anything I haven’t already considered. But let’s assume this is what it looks like, which is Brooke trying to steal my job,” I said, and Daniel nodded. “I need to know how much trouble I’m in and what I can do about it. About her.”

  He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Look, this is sort of out of my wheelhouse. Employment law was not my area,” he said, his tone measured. “But you’re positive you didn’t send that email, right? From your work account, maybe?”

  “It wasn’t in any of my work inboxes. Just my drafts folder, in my personal email.”

  Daniel frowned and leaned forward on his elbows. “So you have this whole list of things Brooke had been falling behind on. Things that would have given you cause for firing her.” I nodded. “But you wrote that list preaccident and never shared it with anyone.”

  “And?” I had a feeling I knew where this was going and I wasn’t going to like it.

  “And so it’s going to look like you wrote that email after she started messing with your work.”

  “But...but I have everything written down! Can’t I use it to prove she’s the one who’s incompetent, and is clearly trying to set me up for a fall?”