“Of course,” my head just moved in agreement without any signal from me, like some plastic doll. “I’ll get started on it right away.”
“Good girl,” his wolfish grin cut into me in ways I had seen it destroy others.
Any connection that I believed existed between us before my mother’s funeral, the good humor we shared, it was all a lie, and I saw that in his eyes. Cal Rogers was no one’s friend, but as long as he believed one served him well, he was a real good pretender.
“Is that all?” I started to push up out of the chair.
He turned his head downward, a slow smile drawing at his mouth, “Don’t go getting all emotional on me, Jan. You know I love you like my own, and I’d give you the shirt off my back. You’re a good kid, a strong writer, but if you want to get ahead in this business you’ve got to make sacrifices.”
Again, my head responded in that docile agreement, like I had no control over myself. “Sacrifices. I understand completely.”
“You can go,” he gestured toward the door with his head.
I started walking out of the office, a part of me feeling numbed, while another part of me seemed to just hover behind myself in disbelief at what just took place.
“Oh, and Jan,” Cal called as I approached the edge of the door. “I know I don’t even need to say this, but make me proud.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Of course, you know I will.”
But all I could think about as I wandered in a fog back to my desk was how ridiculous I was going to feel interviewing Santa Claus at the North Hills Village Mall and a handful of Giant Eagle managers about free turkey raffles before Thanksgiving. It was kid’s stuff, the type of assignment Cal gave to annoying interns and pretentious staffers with ego problems.
And I wasn’t going to do it. I sat at my desk for ten minutes trying to decide how to handle the extreme measures my mind was telling me to take. I played over everything in my mind, the talks Troy and I had about making rash decisions because of my mother’s death, but I knew one thing for sure right then: I was not going to wind up like Cal Rogers. I would never sit in his desk, barely lamenting over the fact that I didn’t even know my children’s names.
That was not who I wanted to be.
I didn’t even say a word, but cleared off my desk, stuffing my few person effects into my purse before I walked out of the building without so much as a goodbye. I walked home in a daze, not even sure what I’d just done. When I arrived home, I took the elevator to my floor and let myself in, dropping my purse on the counter.
It was probably foolish, the first step to having no choice but moving back home with my father, but despite it all, I knew that I never wanted to give up so much of myself to a job ever again. For the first time in my life, I wanted to live. I passed by the answering machine, noticing someone called while I was at work. Figuring it was probably Cal calling to scream at me, I almost passed it by, but curiosity won me over and I pressed play. I wanted to take satisfaction in his shock over the mistake I’d made, his promises that I’d never work in that town again.
There was the sound of shuffling in the background, and then, “Hi Jan, it’s Mom.” Every nerve in my body froze at the sound of her voice. “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I know that we usually come out there for the holidays, but this year maybe it would be nice if you came home. Now before you call me back to tell me how much you hate this place, just think it over. It’d be so nice to have you here at Christmas, just like when you were a girl. So anyway, think about it and we’ll talk later, okay. Love you, babe.”
My breath caught in my chest, and for a minute I thought I was going to hyperventilate as I gasped to try and catch it again. A light-headed numbness like the one that came up on me at her funeral gripped me, and I backed into the nearest chair. Why I hadn’t heard it before, I couldn’t be sure. I’d probably come home late and gone to bed without bothering to even check the messages. There was a tired warning in her voice, and I wondered if that message was from the same day she had her stroke.
The machine beeped again and the next message started, “Uh, hi. I know you’re at work, but I wanted to start practicing this phone thing.” I couldn’t help but laugh a little through my tears. “So, yeah, I’m really tired. I wish you were still here, but you know what they say about that absence thing, though I think if I get any fonder of you this distance thing will have to go.” He paused a second. “Eh, who am I kidding? It already sucks. Anyway, have a good day. I miss you.”
Wiping the tears from my cheek, I considered carrying the answering machine into bed with me and just playing those two messages over and over again. Cal’s message was enough to deter me, and it was just as I’d expected. A raging promise that I’d gone too far, and he wouldn’t welcome me back when I was ready to come crawling. But I wasn’t going to crawl. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but at the moment I almost didn’t care.
I crawled into bed and let the waves of delirious exhaustion wash over me. I slept so hard I didn’t even dream, and when I woke again at four that afternoon I wandered disoriented out into my kitchen to find something to eat. As I sat down to a steaming bowl of ramen noodles, the cobwebs of sleep clearing from my mind, I needed to face the aftermath of the morning’s events.
I was fairly certain given the time and effort Cal Rogers invested in training me, he would give me my job back if I called in and kissed up to him, even though he’d said he wouldn’t. He would chalk my rash behavior up to grief coupled with female hysteria and make me promise to go on some kind of emotion-inhibiting medication, and that would be that. In my heart I knew the decision I made was the right one. Flipping open my laptop to check my emails, there were five from Cal in the same folder, the title of which read in all capital letters: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR EFFING MIND?
His first email confessed he didn’t know what my problem was, and maybe that alone was a problem in and of itself. The second was a long-winded diatribe about how throwing away my opportunity with him was career suicide, and just as I’d guessed he said he’d welcome me back, but only if I agreed to see a grief counselor in my spare time, on my own dime to help me get my head back in the game. The emails got progressively worse, with him finally telling me in all caps that ignoring him wasn’t helping my case.
Maybe I was out of my mind. All I knew for certain was that I’d changed, and no job was worth the hassle he was putting me through, especially not in the wake of losing my mother, whom I’d let grow distant because my ego had gotten too big for my own good.
The second week I spent in Sonesville getting to know and love Becky, and letting myself fall for Troy had been the most amazing week of my entire life, and given the history of my supposed success as a Sonesville escapee, it certainly seemed like a time to reevaluate where my life was headed.
On the other hand, I really felt that Troy was right about making rash decisions. Quitting my job was something I would more than likely experiences moments of doubt about, but if I went rushing back to Sonesville without really evaluating my reasons for wanting to be there I might regret my choice later. Pushing away the bowl of noodles without having eaten but a few bites, I stretched my neck along my shoulders and sighed.
“I’d love to blame this on you, Mom,” I jested out loud, though I was fairly certain her ghost hadn’t followed me all the way back to Pittsburgh. The silence of the empty apartment confirmed that, but I went on to add, “You never interfered with my life, never told me what a self-absorbed little twit I was all those years… and now when I actually wish you were here to stick your nose in and tell me what to do, you’re not there.”
Spotting the tightly wrapped tin-foil pack of brownies Lottie Kepner sent home with me, I stretched across the table and grasped them, drawing them toward me. I opened up the package and placated my confusion and lovesickness with bite after bite of fudge walnut decadence. By the time I wolfed down three of them (and they were fairly large in portion, let me tell you,) I had a vague idea of what n
eeded to be done.
My finances were in order for the time being, and I could manage to stay in my apartment and maintain my bills until well after the holidays without seriously stressing to find another job. I could freelance if I really needed to. I’d made plenty of contacts over the years that not even Cal Rogers’ grudge could diminish.
Before the end of December I would make a decision about where I was supposed to be.
I reached for my cellphone and quickly punched in Becky’s number, which I used so often just the week before that I had memorized it easily. On the third ring she picked up and said, “Hello.”
“Hey Becky, it’s me.”
“Funny, I was just thinking about you,” she laughed.
“Maybe I was sending signals,” I said. “I’ve got some big news…”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Becky’s mind was blown when I told her what I’d done, and she didn’t know what to think. I guess I didn’t either because I didn’t think much about it at all over the next few days. Cal was still sending me emails, which I read but refused to respond to.
I focused on writing in a way I hadn’t done since high school, from the heart.
Because that was the thing I’d always loved about words. They could be used in so many ways to really appreciate everything going on in the world around me, but for the last four years I’d been using them in much the same way I scorned Amber Williams for doing to the people she felt were beneath her. I’d written more than my fair share of stories for the Tribune that probably ruined a few lives, and though there’d been excitement in catching stories like that, there were also plenty of times I felt like a snoopy jerk who got her jollies airing other peoples’ dirty laundry.
Troy said he thought I was a damn good writer, but how could he say that if he’d really read my work at the Tribune. That hadn’t been my ambition in high school. I always loved writing about entertainment and music, movies and theatre—things people enjoyed about life and the real irony was that the slap-in-the-face job Cal tried to give me before I walked out would have actually been closer to the kinds of things I wanted to write about when I started out. Human interest, local happenings, reflections of the world’s moments before they passed us by.
There had been no sign of my mother’s ghost since I dreamed about her sitting next to my bed while I slept, but I continued to read through forums and websites looking for some kind of explanation about what happened while I’d been home. Despite the lack of paranormal activity, which was more than a little disturbing, I kind of missed the feeling of certainty that she was nearby and watching over me. I kept the message she left on my machine, maybe that was a little crazy, but sometimes when I really felt like I needed to hear her voice, I played the message back and just listened for comfort’s sake alone.
I didn’t let the guilt eat at me, though there were days it really wanted to swallow me whole. I tried not to let myself wonder too often whether things might have turned out differently had I called her back that day.
I didn’t tell Troy or my father right away about quitting my job. Troy planned to drive down to see me the following Sunday after I’d gone back to the city, and I figured talking with him about my decision would be easier face to face. Besides, our time talking was not usually spent on the mundane, especially once Troy started to feel more comfortable on the phone. There were nights that I’d just crawl into bed with the phone and turn off the light, pretending he was there beside me confessing the reason behind his lacking spiritual faith.
Between confessions and plans, we explored each other’s hopes and dreams, and for the first time in my life my own aspirations felt a little bit murky.
That Sunday evening when we lie in the dark of my bedroom together, hidden away from the city beyond the walls, we lay wrapped in the sheets and each other’s arms continually unraveling each other’s darkest secrets and desires. Propped on his elbow on the pillow beside me, he listened as I let it all out, how I’d quit my job and didn’t know where I was going to go from there, and when I finished he shook his head, offering a knowing grin.
“I knew it! What other people think really does bother you.”
“But it doesn’t,” I insisted. “I mean, it does, but not how you would think. It’s sort of messed up, I guess. Like, take Becky, for instance. She can talk about me all she wants because she’ll do it with a good heart and nature. But the people who talk just for the sake of trying to unearth some twisted secret they can smear all over town…”
“Like your old friend Amber?”
“Yes!” I rolled back into my pillow. “And there are a lot of Ambers in Sonesville, Troy. You know there are. I saw a good handful of them at church last Sunday.”
“Yeah, but there are a lot of Becky’s too,” he pointed out. “The world is full of people who only feel joy when they’re causing other’s misery, Janice, but you can’t let them interfere with your life like that. That’s what they want, to get under your skin.”
“I guess,” I reached up and tangled our fingers together. “But that is the thing that really makes it hard to even consider coming back there for good. Here, I can be anonymous.”
“Is that what you really think? That just because you’re out here no one’s talking about you?”
“No,” I shook my head. “People back home may still talk about me, but I’m not there to see the looks on their faces when I walk through the produce section at the supermarket, or when I sit down next to you in church on Sunday morning.”
He shrugged, “I suppose, but I always just stand there and grin like I know something they don’t. It seems to really mess with their heads and make them wonder what they’re missing.”
I giggled. “I guess that makes you a braver man than I.”
“God, I hope you’re not a man,” he leaned over the mere inches that separated us and grazed my lips. “I mean, that certainly would give them something to talk about, but it’s the girly part of you that turns me on.”
“You know what I mean,” I laughed.
“Yes, and I will vouch for the fact that you are one hundred percent girl.” He kissed the tip of my nose and added, “Cooties and all.”
“If I have cooties, I got them from you, Mr. I’m Going to Chase All the Girls at the Church Picnic and Kiss Them.”
He fell backwards with a dramatic groan, “You remember that?”
“How could I forget? In fact,” I crawled across the bed and rested atop his chest, “when I first saw you that day at Mom’s funeral that was the first thing I remembered about you.”
“Was that before or after you fainted?”
“How do you know that wasn’t why I fainted?”
There was something about his laughter that made me feel full inside. “What you saw me and fainted?”
“You were that gorgeous,” I made big, playful eyes at him. “One look, and I knew I had to do something to get your attention.”
“That’s probably exactly what happened. You women and your wicked games, I should have known.”
“But seriously, even though it was probably one of the scariest things that ever happened to me, I’m glad it was you that came to my rescue that day.”
“Being rescued was scary?” He leaned back in mock surprise. “I thought that women liked that sort of thing? Knights in shining armor, and all that nonsense?”
“Fainting was scary,” I corrected him. “The rescuing thing was very attractive.” I slid up into his kiss, and for a few moments we let ourselves be carried away.
At last he lifted his hands to my face and held the hair away as he looked into my eyes. “So, quitting your job…does this mean you’ll be coming back home?”
“Not yet,” my eyes darted away for a moment, quickly returning to his. “I really don’t know what I’m going to do just yet.”
I thought I noted a hint of disappointment, but he veiled it well before asking, “So, you’re going to stay here then?”
“I think I have to,
” I said. “I keep thinking about what you said to me, about how I shouldn’t make any quick decisions so soon after my mom dying, and I think you’re right.” I traced my finger over his collarbone so lightly it raised goose bumps across his chest. “I mean, yeah, quitting my job was probably a super rash decision, but my reasons for doing it felt right at the time, and they still do, but moving back home so soon… I don’t know,” he lowered his hands, allowing the hair to fall back into my face. “I want to come back for all the right reasons, not just one or two.”
“I understand.”
“But I’m still going to come home on weekends, and holidays,” I assured him. “Just like I planned before I quit my job. I just feel like I need some time to figure out who I am and where I belong.”
After a moment’s thought he nodded and said, “I think that’s a very wise choice.”
“Thank you,” I watched his face for signs of discontent, but saw nothing. “I had such issues with that place all my life, you know? Yeah, when I came back this time it felt different, and I felt a connection I hadn’t ever felt before, but…”
“But what if it’s not enough?” He finished my thought. “What if you come back and feel like it’s imprisoned you again?”
In that moment I knew that inside he understood the claustrophobic effect Sonesville had on me, that restriction I’d always felt, as if the very town itself closed in all around me to stifle me from growing. Reaching out, I touched his hair and ran my fingertip along the curve of a renegade curl standing out among the rest. “Why did you want to leave, Troy?”
His eyes moved away from my face, toward the candle I left burning on the bedside table. I watched the flame flicker against the blue of his eyes while he thought out his reply. “I don’t know, Janice. I just… I mean I got that scholarship and suddenly I was on my way out of there. It wasn’t something I ever planned or considered, I mean I just always assumed I’d be doing what I’m doing now. But then I was at the university, and I saw that there were all these opportunities out there, and I don’t know. I guess I let myself get carried away.”
Heart and Home Page 23
