I managed to keep myself together, burning mostly on anger, until I was outside. I hadn’t even had the chance to collect my things from my office. Charlie, at least, ducked up and brought down my purse with my keys and wallet inside.
I knew I ought to thank him, but honestly, what was the point now? Who gave a rat’s ass what Charlie thought?
I unlocked the door of my car, collapsed into the driver’s seat, and buried my head in my hands. The anger ebbed away, replaced by desolation and frustrated sadness.
What the hell was I going to do now?
Chapter Three
Eileen
* * *
From there, things just went from bad to worse, even though I wouldn’t have believed that such a thing was possible.
How could things get worse than being fired, you might ask? Apparently, God looked down and took that as a challenge, to see just how much shit he could dump on me in a single day.
I stopped at a little bakery on the route home, one that made the best donuts and pastries I’d ever eaten in my life. Normally, I kept myself to a strict standard, only eating a single pastry when I’d done something extra-special to earn it. Today, I mutely pointed to half a dozen different delectable from behind the glass case, shaking my head when the guy asked me if I needed a box to keep them safe until they reached their destination.
I’d finished one by the time I reached my car in the parking lot, and ate two more before sticking my key into the ignition. Morosely, I licked sticky sugar off my fingers before setting them on the steering wheel.
“Okay, Eileen,” I said aloud to myself in the empty car. “Take stock of the situation. Focus. What do I do next?”
The business part of my brain spoke up, like an eager star pupil sitting at the front of the classroom, her hand waving in the air. I knew that she gave good advice. She pointed out that I might have done some damage to my reputation at Integrated Technologies with the way that I’d been fired, but I could probably repair that with a couple well-placed calls. Sanders would cave and agree to sign any letter of recommendation that I put in front of him. I’d find another job somewhere else, some other company that could use my organizational and management abilities. I’d be in high demand.
Once my severance check arrived, I’d have enough to tide me over and keep me comfortable for the job hunt. I’d been taking a few more vacations recently than might be prudent for my bank account, vainly hoping that on one of them I would finally have the strength to put aside the company phone, but if I didn’t eat out much and stretched my remaining bank account balance, I’d be fine. If I was careful with my spending, that severance check could easily last me a couple of months.
I ate another donut. I felt a little better.
Yes, everything would work out. I’d need to adjust my plans a little, but maybe this was a good thing. I straightened up behind the wheel, considering this new concept. Yes, I’d been getting a bit stuck in a rut, as of late. I needed something to give me a kick in the pants, get me out and searching for my next big opportunity! This might be a blessing in disguise!
I paused. “That’s taking things a little too far,” I told myself. This definitely wasn’t good news, no matter how much I tried to put some good PR spin on it.
But I’d recover. I’d go home, spend a few weeks lazing about on my sofa and watching daytime television as I waited for recruiters to get back to me, and then I’d happily accept another position with a fifteen percent bump in pay.
I could turn this around.
I ate the last donut, and then turned my car around, aiming it towards my house.
I heard the sirens from three blocks away and slowed down as I craned to see what was going on. It sounded like there were multiple sirens going, and as I stopped at a red light, I saw a fire truck go racing through the cross-way, its lights and horn blaring. Something was on fire?
Yes, that was it. My nose caught the scent of burned wood, drifting in through my car’s vents. What had caught on fire? Someone’s house?
I should have seen it coming, just one more little bit of shit landing on my head from the giant bird called Life. But somehow, I remained completely oblivious as I followed the fire trucks towards my house. I kept on thinking that they’d turn off on one of these side streets, veer away from my house...
...or, at least, what used to be my house. I finally had to stop as I reached where the big red trucks blocked passage through the street, staring slack-jawed out the window at the smoking pile of burned timbers and rubble. The burning pile that, until just a couple of hours earlier, had been my home. The rubble that contained the remains of everything I owned in this life.
“Stay in your car, ma’am,” said a nearby police officer as I opened my driver’s side door and climbed out.
I felt unsteady on my pumps and needed to keep one hand on the roof of the car to keep from falling, but I still managed a passable glare at him. “That’s my house,” I told him, pointing at the source of the black smoke rising up into the sky.
His expression turned a little more sympathetic. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that. Anyone else home?”
“No, it’s just me.” For once, it was a good thing that I didn’t have any pets. Lisa, my best friend, had been pushing me recently to consider adopting a dog, but I kept on holding off, insisting that I didn’t have the time to care for it. A cat was, of course, out of the question. I knew what kind of comments would follow a single woman who adopted a cat in her thirties. “What happened?”
The cop shrugged. “Gotta ask the firefighters about that.”
He turned away, apparently content to not ask me any questions. I bent down to wrench the keys out of my car, then headed towards the nearest firefighter I could spot.
I crested six feet in my pumps, putting me at the same level as the firefighter, although without his muscled bulkiness. “You say that this was your place?” he asked as I came up to him.
Was, not is. I didn’t miss the past tense. “Yes, I live here,” I said, pushing back with the present tense. “What happened?”
He glanced over at the building. There weren’t any flames coming out, but one of the other firefighters still kept a hose pointed at the wreckage, looking almost bored, like he’d been sent out by his wife to water the lawn. “Looks like there was some sort of electrical short,” said the man in front of me. “Old building?”
“Old house,” I said. “I liked it. It had a lot of charm that you don’t find in most of the prefab places these days.”
He nodded, sucking in a bit of air between his teeth in a manner that I found especially annoying. “Yep, sure, I’ve heard that before,” he said, somehow making those innocent words sound like I’d been the idiot here. “Lots of old wires in those walls, though, tend to get frayed. Probably just sent a spark into the insulation, and whoosh. Fire’s through all the walls and partitions.”
“So what do I do now?” I asked, failing to keep some of the annoyance out of my voice.
He looked back evenly at me. “Give it a bit to cool off, and you can go take a look to see if there’s anything you want to take away,” he said, in a manner that made it pretty clear I wouldn’t find anything. “We’ll file a report, and you can get a copy to submit to your insurance company.”
“And that’s it? What am I supposed to do?” I felt my legs waver under me, growled at them to not give way, not show weakness in front of this man. “Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?”
The firefighter shrugged; clearly, this was beyond his ability to care. “Dunno. We’re about done here, but you probably want to wait another hour or two.”
I ignored his advice, making my way up the torn-up lawn, gouged with divots from the firefighters’ crossing. The man holding the hose glanced over at me but didn’t say anything. I came up to where the front steps had risen, now just a charred block of concrete that led to nowhere.
It had been a lovely little house, a cottage that the previous owners before me decided to expand int
o a full residence. They’d added more room to the kitchen and a cute little live-in second unit accessible from the back, which I kept on intending to rent out to a boarder when I had the time to set up an ad. I loved the way that the rooms nestled together, how the house had real character, its own charm that was individual and unique, not stamped out in some factory.
Now, next to nothing remained of the building. I saw a few charred scraps of paper that might have come from the books in my study, a pile of melted plastic that could possibly have once been my computer. In the back area, I found my blackened refrigerator, a couple shattered piles of glass that had probably been my cups and wineglasses.
My foot bumped against something. I bent down and picked up a mug from amid the ashes, miraculously unbroken. I brushed some of the soot away, revealing the logo printed on its side.
Integrated Technologies.
Perfect. The only surviving item from my house was a reminder of the place that had fired me this morning. A sob ripped its way out of my throat.
The voice inside my head, that goody two-shoes who sat in the front of the classroom, piped up with cheery advice. I’d need to get a place to stay for tonight, probably call Lisa and see if she could let me borrow her couch. I’d need to contact the Social Security office to get a new card issued, figure out how much of my financial records were backed up online, look for apartments-
“No!” I grabbed my head, shouted at that horribly chipper little voice. I couldn’t bear this, couldn’t think positively right now! I dropped down onto my knees, not caring if I got my skirt dirty in the mud. I leaned forward, holding my head in my hands and blocking the light with my palms as they pressed against my face. I shook, and finally, the tears came out, hot and fast and soaking my sleeves as they ran down.
I cried, long and hard, for how my entire life had fallen apart in the space of a single day.
Crying is supposed to be cathartic, but I didn’t feel much better when the tears finally ran dry and I pulled my hands away. I felt emptied, depleted, but no better for it. I still wanted to go crawl into my bed, pull the covers over my head and never come out – but I couldn’t even do that, since my bed, and its sheets, were nothing but ashes.
Instead, I dug my phone out of my purse. “At least you still have your phone, didn’t lose that in the fire!” chirped the positive little voice inside my head. I wished that I could stab that particular part of my brain with an icepick.
I found my best friend’s phone number, dialed, prayed that she’d pick up.
“Hey, Ellie, is this really important?” Lisa said as soon as she picked up, after the seventh ring. “I’m just getting into the car to pick up Shay from tennis practice, and she has to make it to her violin lesson-“
“Lisa,” I said, and my voice cracked and broke at the end of her name.
She heard that, instantly changed her tone. “Oh shit. What happened, Ellie?”
“My house. My job.” I stopped, unable to even admit out loud that they were both gone. “Lisa, I need...” I trailed off. I didn’t even know what I needed.
“Just take a breath,” she instructed. “You’re panicking. I remember this from my Lamaze classes. You need to focus on breathing, focusing just on this moment. Don’t worry – just get through this moment.”
I tried taking a couple of deep breaths. It worked, slightly, as long as I didn’t think at all about the past or the future. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Now, what do you need most?”
To wake back up again this morning, get to redo this entire, horrible day from the start. “Uh, someplace to sleep. And some clothes.”
“You want to come over here? We could pull out the couch for you.”
“No, that’s okay.” I didn’t want to impose, even though I really needed to just lie down somewhere. “I’ll get a motel room. I can make do. If I can figure things out, it should just be a couple of days.”
“If you’re sure,” Lisa said, a little uncertain. “At least, let’s find a time to talk again – in person. Got plans for this Saturday?”
I laughed bitterly. “I don’t have any plans for the future at all, right now.”
“I’m sure that won’t last long. This Saturday, ten AM, farmer’s market in downtown. I’ll see you there, okay?”
“Okay.” I swallowed, wishing that Lisa was there so I could throw my arms around her, cling to her as my rock in the churning seas.
“Great. See you then! Oh crap, and now I’m late to pick up Shay from her violin lessons. Look, talk to you soon!”
I lowered the phone after she’d hung up. With tracking all the activities of her five-year-old, Lisa always seemed to have a million things on her plate – just like I’d felt, before I lost my job and my home.
I looked down at the Integrated Technologies mug in my hands. A sudden surge of anger made me lift it, about to dash it to pieces against the concrete slab of my home’s foundation – but something stayed my hand.
Maybe it was just that this was all I had, the only possession left to me besides the contents of my car and purse.
Whatever the reason, I brought the mug back with me to my car. After brushing off the worst of the mud from my knees and legs, I climbed back behind the wheel, pulling a three-point turn to head away from the still-smoking wreckage of my life, burned to the ground. There were a couple of cheap motels on the outskirts of town. I still had more than enough in my checking account to cover a week at one of them.
Once there, maybe I could begin to figure out how to start putting my life back together.
Sound like a good read? Grab it online, available now:
The Woodworker
If you enjoyed this story, check out other works by Samantha Westlake:
For Love of Valor - Stone Brothers, Book 1
“She promised that she’d help me - but no one could silence those voices that haunted my dreams at night…”
Richard
My family might be worth billions, but we’ve always been proud to serve our country in the military, in every generation. I put in my four tours of duty - but they left me with shrapnel in my leg and voices that attack and torment me every night.
All I want is for these ghosts in my head to leave me alone. Pills help; booze helps more. I’m broken, and I can’t be fixed.
Especially not by some young, hot-shot female psychiatrist who seems to get off on pestering me with questions.
Linda
Beneath my veneer of professional composure, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m basically broke, and I can’t afford to lose a single patient. Richard Stone might be a rude, arrogant ass, but I just can’t turn him away.
He might be tall and very easy on the eyes, but he’s got a hard core that he won’t let me touch. I know he’s broken, and he needs my help.
But as I work to connect with this handsome, haunted soldier, I find him slipping into my thoughts more and more. I can’t stop picturing the two of us together, breaking every taboo as we make love…
The Woodworker
Eileen Davies had everything she ever wanted - the high-powered job, the executive perks, and even a decent shot at landing the CEO title before hitting menopause. She’d worked hard, put in her hours, and smashed her way through the glass ceiling… until suddenly, it all cracks apart.
Layoffs, severance - and now, Eileen’s stuck at home with nothing to do but replay, over and over, her fall from the corporate heights. She can launch any business. She just needs someone to make into her newest full-time project.
Enter from stage right, Rick Morgan.
Early on, Rick figured out that Life didn’t fight fair. Stand up? You’re just asking to get knocked back down. Much easier to lay low, relax, let Life carry you along in its lazy river current.
So when some uppity corporate bitch starts taking over his comfortable little woodworking business, Rick decides to sit back and watch her burn herself out. She’ll get her comeuppance, and he’ll just watch and laugh.
Clas
hing personalities. When cool reasoning meets hotheaded passion, sparks fly - and the result is either a disaster, or a work of art.
The Stolen Girl: A Wild Roads MC Novel
“Hello, little kitty,” the big biker leered at me as I shrank back in fear. His black glove reached out for me. “You're coming with me!”
When Senator Leonard Sterling comes home from the day's Congressional session, he finds his daughter missing from their family home, her bedroom window shattered, and a spatter of blood on the pieces of glass...
When Elizabeth Sterling wakes up, she discovers that she's in a cheap motel room. Her hands are shackled behind her, attached to a radiator, and she can hear the thudding of heavy boots outside the motel room door...
When Roads, the motorcycle gang's second-in-command, enters the room, he finds that the young woman, forced into a kneeling position on the motel carpet, is glaring up at him. Her beautiful face is filled with fierce defiance as she stares back without a shred of subservience...
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Samantha Westlake has an unfortunate habit of staying up far too late, reading romance and saucy stories when she really should be sleeping and preparing for work. Samantha currently lives in San Francisco, CA. She draws her inspiration from the wonderful people of the city around her, and can often be found relaxing on the wharf, gazing out in the mornings as the fog burns off the bay.
Cutting Loose Page 19
