Do-Over

by Dorien Kelly

  Bri didn’t question her, she simply answered, “I had an anxiety attack in the middle of the Miami airport. I wouldn’t recommend it as a method of self-discovery.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’d been gone about a week doing spot-checks of our stores’ Juniors departments. I was sick of hotels, guys’ pickup lines and denim clothing, and to top it off, my flight home was delayed. So there I was, bored out of my skull, when it suddenly struck me that I couldn’t remember having made arrangements for someone to feed Wenda.”

  “Not that Wenda couldn’t do with a spa regimen,” Cara pointed out. Bri’s cat was obese.

  “Don’t dis my cat,” Bri replied. “Anyway, I grabbed for my planner to look up my neighbor’s number, but it was missing. I totally spazzed and emptied my carry-on bag onto the concourse floor. It was as if I didn’t find that planner, I was going to die.”

  Cara had an ugly vision of herself digging for keys the night she’d missed Bri’s shower.

  “Weird, huh?” Bri said with a shrug. “In retrospect I can see that stuff had been building up for a while. But at that point, all I knew was that I was a horrible person and that I’d just starved my cat to death. I snapped. Airport Security wasn’t very impressed.

  “I got home and obviously discovered that I had remembered to take care of Wenda. Of course, I couldn’t quite get past that lost planner hurdle, so I phoned a therapist, got some antidepressants and then went about changing my life. And here I am, poorer but happier.”

  The phone rang and Bri picked up.

  “It’s Mark,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Cara shook her head vehemently.

  “She can’t come to the phone right now…. Yes, I promise you she’s okay.” After saying goodbye, Bri hung up. “He’s really worried,” she said to Cara.

  “I know. I think I scared him. Except for that cat-starving thing, right now I’m pretty much you in the middle of the Miami airport.”

  Bri settled next to her on the couch and draped an arm over her shoulders. “So what’s it going to be, girl?”

  “A week off work, to begin with,” Cara said. Making that decision took the edge off the panic. “Then we’ll see.”

  Just after lunch, Cara returned to work. News of her earlier sprinting departure must have must have made the full loop of the gossip circuit because people kept asking her if she was okay.

  Yes seemed much simpler answer than, “I don’t even know what the hell okay means, as it pertains to my life.”

  Mark was behind his desk. When she came in, relief was apparent on his face.

  “Are you—”

  Cara smiled what was probably a crazy-chick smile. “Yes, I’m okay. Would you mind coming down to Howard’s office for a minute?”

  “All right.” She could tell that, like Bri, he was curious about where she was going with this. But also like Bri, he was friend enough to give her some latitude. Her throat tightened at the thought of Mark as just a friend.

  One crisis at a time or you’re a goner for sure, she told herself.

  Once they were in Howard’s office with the door closed so that the firm’s snoops would have to work a little harder, Cara said, “I need to take the rest of the week off.”

  “Impossible,” Howard replied.

  She glanced to her left, at Mark. She couldn’t tell whether he was angry.

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling,” she said to Howard.

  “The Newby closing is in less than two weeks and you’re going to what—go work on a tan?”

  Cara stood. “I haven’t taken more than a long weekend in three years. I need this time. This isn’t a whim or even fun for me. I’ve got some issues, which you of all people should understand, okay?”

  “Whatever issues I have, I’ve never—”

  “I’ll wrap up Newby,” Mark interrupted.

  “What?” Howard said.

  “There’s not a whole lot left to do, and if Cara needs some personal days, she should have them.”

  Howard’s eyes grew as narrow as his stupid little glasses. “You’re not in charge of this practice group.”

  “And maybe you shouldn’t be, either, if the way you reward your best associates is by working them to death.”

  Cara raised her voice a notch. “At the risk of repeating myself, gentlemen, I was telling you, not asking.” She focused on Mark. “Let’s run though everything before I leave.”

  And that was that.

  OBSESSIVE IS AS OBSESSIVE does, and Cara seized life-rebuilding with a vengeance. Monday afternoon, she stopped in the bookstore and picked up a hardcover journal. Then she plopped herself down in the sidewalk café at her favorite coffeehouse and started writing lists: what she liked, what she was good at and what really mattered. Cara looked to see where the three converged.

  Volcano goddess was first on her preference list, then lawyer, but she couldn’t imagine there was much of a hiring market for volcano goddesses. At least, not much of a market—other than Morgan—she cared to serve. So she was still going to be a lawyer, which was a major relief considering the years and money she’d thrown in that direction.

  But she also wanted variety. Other than covering for Howard on one of his innumerable speeding tickets, she’d never been inside a courtroom. She knew that plenty of lawyers could say that, but it made her feel like a fraud. Plus in her limited experience, it had been kind of fun locking horns with judges. What all of this meant was that she needed a new job—one at a firm smaller than Saperstein, Underwood—a place where people weren’t pigeonholed.

  She’d been pushing through life as though pleasure was the big reward at the end, instead of something one savored along the way. The big trick, best as she could see, was grabbing that “en route” happiness. She’d never thought about things like family and children, but she had to admit that she had room in her heart for a few green-bean stuffers—someday.

  As afternoon was drifting into evening and her stomach was demanding food, Cara stopped at the market, then headed back to her apartment. She wasn’t surprised when at just past eight, Mark arrived at her door. He wore the look of a man who had resolved to choose his words carefully.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not.”

  She led him into the living room, preferring that he not see the dinnertime reading she’d left scattered across the kitchen counter—information on the recruiters who had, at one point or another, contacted her to see if she might be interested in making a move. Though she hadn’t been at the time, she’d also been smart enough to keep a list. Friday was Independence Day, and the coincidence didn’t escape her. If she really hustled she might be free of Saperstein, Underwood by then.

  “So what are you going to do with your week off?” he asked once they were seated on the couch.

  Her body had automatically sought the comfort of his, and with her head cushioned against his chest, Cara listened to the solid beat of his heart.

  “I’m going to take it easy, mostly.”

  This afternoon, while list-compiling, she’d also come up with a substantial number of reasons why she preferred not to drag Mark into her job-change campaign. They ranged from the concrete: As a man half a step from partnership, he might feel compelled to share her plans with the other partners, and until she had a new position lined up, it was none of their business. Then, there were the more nebulous reasons: She loved Mark, but this love was so tangled in both her problems and the steps that she needed to take to fix herself, she simply didn’t know where to begin.

  “Would you mind having me around?” he asked. “I mean, after work?”

  She smiled and snuggled closer. “Checking up on the local crazy lady, huh?”

  He resettled her so that their eyes met. “You hung on longer than anyone else I know would have, faced with all that work.”

  “My fault…my craziness. I should have asked for help weeks ago.”

/>   He smiled. “Yeah, well I told myself I wasn’t going to mention that.”

  “I always knew you were a smart guy.”

  “Smart enough not to mess with a volcano goddess.”

  Smiling, she curled closer. Sometimes it felt as though she’d known him forever. She thought back to law school, to the competition, the beginnings of desire, to the last time she’d seen him…before he’d reappeared in her life. A recollection niggled at her.

  “Okay, this is a bizarre question, but the night after we finished the bar exam…” She trailed off.

  He nudged her. “Yeah?”

  “I don’t have a totally clear memory of that night. I mean, I partied through three bars with my study group before I saw you and I was just wondering if—”

  “If you might have thrown up on my shoes?”

  Cara cringed. “Oh…my…God.”

  Volcano goddess had just taken on a whole new meaning.

  13

  Cara’s Rule for Success 13:

  Self-sacrifice is the fuel of progress…

  so prepare to burn.

  IT WAS A CLOSE CALL, deciding which held the greater misery factor—staying in a job Cara could no longer stomach or finding a new one. By the time she returned to work at S.U., where everyone was watching her as though snakes were about to sprout from her ears, she had been trotted past more hiring partners in more law firms than she cared to count. At least the prospective employers seemed to view her as a hot commodity. Her six years of grinding might not have been a total waste.

  After the first few job interviews, Cara had learned to go with her instincts. If a firm’s associates were almost too friendly and had glassy and dazed eyes, that meant their lives were absolute agony, and they were looking for a fresh body to drag down with them. If the firm had a marble bust of anyone, anywhere on firm property, she had left. And if their billable hour requirements were mathematically impossible to fulfill while conducting an honest-to-God life, she’d left even more quickly.

  As the week whirled by, Cara had also been forced to create excuses not to spend time with Mark. Since she was a horrible liar, she knew that he’d immediately sense she was up to something. Better that he thought she was making up for lost days with her family and with Bri—which was also true—but to a much lesser extent than she’d claimed.

  Wednesday, as she began the final countdown to get the deal from hell packaged and ready to be taken to Merchant’s New York offices for signing, Mark dropped in. And as happened every time he appeared in front of her, Cara’s heart drummed faster. Love was proving to be a lazy girl’s cardiovascular workout. This time, nervousness added to the pace, too.

  “Nic just told me you won’t be going to the loan closing on Friday,” he said. “Was she right?”

  She’d been waiting for this confrontation since she’d canceled her flight on Monday. “You guys can handle it perfectly. I’d just be wasting the firm’s money.”

  “But you deserve to be there.”

  On a deal this size, the loan closing—including a stay in a posh hotel and a celebration afterward—was the carrot the partners dangled to make associates work hard enough to be invited. Except that Cara had a second interview coming up on Friday morning with a twelve-person, general-practice firm in downtown Royal Oak. The vibes had been good, the setting—an old Queen Anne-style home converted into offices—inspiring and the people, wonderful.

  “I’m not up for it,” she said to Mark. Her response wasn’t precisely a lie.

  “What’s not to like?” Mark came around to her side of the desk, settled his hands on her shoulders, bent low and murmured in a voice that could seduce a vestal virgin, “You…me…a four-star hotel with a five-star bed…”

  That was the part she wasn’t up for. It was tough enough to keep her employment plans to herself. One caress, one deep, thrilling touch and she’d confess all.

  “Don’t make this so hard,” she said.

  He brushed the hair away from the side of her neck. She shivered at his touch. Eyes closed, body humming a hot tune, Cara tilted her head to give him better access.

  “Why not? Fair’s fair,” he teased. And then he kissed her “I’ll do anything” spot.

  “Cheater,” she said through a broad smile.

  “Checking her pulse?” asked a female and none-to-friendly voice.

  Gail Eberhardt stood in the doorway.

  “Sorry, I should have shut the door,” Mark whispered before stepping back. “Do you need something?” he asked Gail.

  “Just came to chat,” said the least chatty woman on Earth. She pinned Cara with a flat stare. “A friend of a friend tells me that you interviewed at McGill, Stevens last week.”

  That had been the firm with the associates clinging to the wreckage of their careers.

  “Your friend was mistaken,” Cara replied with just enough emphasis on friend to let Gail know that she found the concept of her having one, quite suspect.

  Gail shrugged. “Whatever…but I’d be looking.”

  “Gail, was that a threat?” Mark asked.

  Cara noted how very talented he was at sounding amused when he was actually ticked-off. She wished she could learn that trick.

  “M-more of an observation,” Gail stammered.

  “Great,” Mark said in the same pleasant voice. “Now here’s an observation for you…. You don’t stand a chance in hell of making your minimum billable hours on Merchant Financial’s tab this month—or any other—until you lighten up. Got it?”

  Gail stalked off, and Mark closed Cara’s door. His eyes were dark and a little disturbing.

  “Are you interviewing?” he asked.

  “No.” Cara worked to keep her gaze direct, her expression neutral and her heart from slamming. She was screwed, as usual, by her redhead’s blush.

  Mark didn’t pursue the question, and Cara knew that was because he’d decided he had his answer.

  “You know you can trust me,” he said instead.

  Letting her gaze drop to the surface of her desk, she nodded. Trust wasn’t at the heart of the issue; pain management was.

  “Come to New York,” he asked again. “We need this.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I see.” He walked to the window and looked out. “Then lunch. You must be able to handle lunch with me.”

  Cara toyed with her crystal paperweight. It was so clear, so cool under her heated palm. “I had planned to sneak into my condo at lunch and do a walkthrough before I commit my income for the next thirty years.”

  “Your mortgage came though?”

  She nodded again. “Finally…on Monday. I still have to schedule the closing. Everything’s been so up in the air.”

  He turned to face her, and she knew immediately that she’d said too much.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “So, do you want to come to the condo with me?” she blurted. It was dangerous, being alone with him, but she could think of no other change of topic to distract him.

  “Sure.” Mark’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She was hurting him, she knew, but she also hurt.

  “Good,” she said, then opened the file folder in front of her. Mark took the hint and left.

  MARK WATCHED CARA pocket the unit keys she’d cajoled from the condo sales agent. She closed the door behind her. Excitement like he hadn’t seen in days lit her blue eyes. The sight should have pleased him, but it didn’t.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  He let her take him by the hand and lead him through her home-to-be. The fact that he could actually feel her warm fingers pressing into his was a good thing. It meant she hadn’t managed to disappear altogether, because she sure as hell was trying to.

  Until about ten days ago, it had been less arrogance and more truth to say that he’d never had much of a problem keeping a woman’s attention. Now, even on those rare moments when Cara was with him, she wasn’t. And he was well-experienced with this kind of act
. His dad had been pulling it since he was a little kid.

  “Over here to the right is the kitchen area.”

  She sounded like a damn tour guide. All she needed was a bad polyester dress and a little sign on a stick that read, Adams Tours: The Incredible Escaping Woman.

  “As you can see, the kitchen is galley-style. The stove and fridge will be along that back wall. And once I tell them whether I want black or gold granite, these cabinets will actually have a countertop over them.”

  “Counters are good,” he said in a half-assed display of courtesy.

  She stopped and let go of his hand, leaving him feeling empty, anchorless in the middle of the enormous room.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

  He curbed his frustration the best he could. “No. Really, you’re not. I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  About what it would take to get you to connect with me again.

  “It’s nothing,” he said aloud. “Come on, show me the rest of the place.”

  They walked to the front of the unit and looked out the broad bank of windows at the balcony. “I want to have a container garden—as lush as one in New Orleans,” she said. “Or as close as I can come here in the frozen north. I just need to watch the sun for a few weeks to see if I can pull it off.”

  The central air-conditioning hadn’t been switched on, and without any of the windows or patio doors open, it was getting damn hot. Or maybe he was just growing angrier.

  He flipped up the lock on a sliding glass door and opened it. Noise from Main Street, five floors below, rose to them.

  Mark tried out a piece of small talk. “So you’ve got Bri’s store right across the way.”

  Cara smiled. “Pretty cool, isn’t it? I like knowing I’ll have her so close by.”

  His jaw began to ache with the effort of holding back his words, telling her how he could take an out-and-out rejection, but not this acting as though they were nothing but acquaintances.

  “So what do you think of the place?” she asked.

  He couldn’t do this anymore. He’d never been rough with a woman—never—but he wanted to grab Cara, to shake her.