The Beginning of Always (59 page)

Did I still have a job?

Had everything died down?

What did people think of me?

Most of my hours were spent evading those questions. I helped out at Dad’s clinic. I cleaned the house. I cooked dinner. I slept, a lot.

Escaping life was busy work.

I crashed into the house, tossing the mail and the postcard on the front foyer table. It lay there, jeering at me with its directive. I quickly flipped it over so the picture side faced up. The Empire State Building glistened in an equally glossy mocking shimmer. I shuffled the mail and stuck the postcard underneath a grocery advertisement for discounted meats.

I spent the rest of the afternoon tidying up the kitchen and living room. Not much had changed since I had left, and once Nicolas had departed for New York, Dad barely ever came home, deciding just to extend his office hours. But despite his just eating and sleeping at home, there were still piles of odds and ends that had accumulated over the years.

I sorted through dated bills, recycled old magazines that Dad had never even broke the plastic on, and mopped the tile downstairs, which I suspected hadn’t seen water since Nicolas’s senior year in college.

But by late afternoon, it was obvious that I was leaning hard on avoidance tactics. I didn’t want to leave the house for fear of running into an old face, and since I had sworn off technology for the time being, there wasn’t much for me to waste my time on. Not working sucked. I clicked through the TV channels, but Dad didn’t even have cable.

I guess that was one thing he had gotten done—he’d canceled all the good TV, all to just screw me in this very moment.

After trying to sit down with a book, but failing to concentrate, I recognized that the gnawing sensation wasn’t going to go away and I might as well get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. What was the worst thing Gordon could do to me? Yell? Fire me? As if I wasn’t already expecting those responses anyway.

I trudged begrudgingly to the kitchen where the house phone was, yellowed plastic cradle attached to the wall like a brutal reminder of my childhood. Along the way, I stopped by the foyer and fetched the card.

It was a high-contrast aerial shot of the Manhattan skyline, the heavens a dull gray punctuated by fluffy white clouds but the city below on fire with high-rise lights, the Empire State shooting up tall and proud in the middle of the frame.

Even though New York City had been my home base for most of my adult life, I wouldn’t call it home. Seeing this very distinct and iconic city shot, no pangs of longing or sorrow assailed me. How strange. I hadn’t missed St. Haven when I had gone to Chicago, and I hadn’t missed Chicago when I’d left for Asia, and I hadn’t missed Asia since moving to New York.

I threw the postcard into the trash can, sliding myself onto the barstool next to the wall.

I picked the phone up and, with a sigh, dialed the
Journal
’s number. I had it memorized after years of calling in from hotel rooms and foreign pay phones.

I cradled the phone receiver against my shoulder, turning my attention out of the box window into the backyard. The grass was overgrown and the tree branches were curling into each other. I made a mental note to hire a gardener.

“Jones,” came the curt greeting.

I leaned against the kitchen counter. “Hey, Gordon, working late?”

A mild crackle and then some shuffling. “Reynolds?”

“Got your postcard.”

“About damn time! I’ve been looking for you for ages. Where’d you go, Antartica?”

“A little warmer, western Michigan. But you know that, you sent me the card.”

“I didn’t know that. I had to give the thing to Tracy. She damn near acted like you’d entered Witness Protection.”

I twirled the cord between my fingers. “Just about. Did she put in my vacation request to HR?”

“How would I know?” he said in an irritated tone.

“Because you’d sign off on it?”

“Get your ass back here and ask HR yourself. Or turn on your phone like a normal human being.”

Silence stretched. Gordon’s loud breaths filtered through the phone receiver. It was as if I was having a conversation with a dinosaur.

Finally I spoke. “Look, I’m not taking your job, Gordon.”

Gordon gave a huff of breath in response. “Of course you’re not. But I knew that, knew the moment I saw the headlines it was all bullshit. I trust you Reynolds. You’re quality.”

“Really?” I had been avoiding this conversation for a week, making myself sick with worry. This was not the response I had anticipated. “You’re not going to fire me?”

“Why would I fire you for what those idiots are writing?” I now noticed his tone was exasperated, more than angry. “Ignore that noise, it’s all garbage. But I want to talk about your work. The Blair article. Reynolds, it’s good. Damn good. We’re going to run it.”

I laughed uncomfortably. “Have you even read the news lately? You know Alistair is the owner of the
Journal
, right? He’s never going to sign off on it.”

“Well, as it so happens, my contract stipulates I can publish whatever the hell I want, owner be damned. Since when have owners had a say in this shit? This is going to press.”

“What about the tabloids?” It seemed as if Gordon was not seeing this situation clearly. “They’re going to go rabid again once this comes out.”

“Screw the tabloids! Those jerk-offs barely remember if they scratched their asses this morning, much less what they printed a week ago. This is going to press ASAP with next month’s issue and I need you back for the morning shows.”

I shook my head. “You can print it, but I’m done with this, sick of it. You do the press. I know you live for that stuff. Now that it’s all out, you schedule a meeting with Alistair and figure out what’s going on between the two of you and the
Journal
.”

Gordon grunted back at me.

“So the rags, it’s true? You like this Alistair Blair?”

“No, I loved him. But that doesn’t matter, not anymore, anyway.”

A short cough greeted my answer. I suppose Gordon hadn’t thought I’d be so honest. When he answered, it was in a gruff tone that betrayed his sincerity. “I’m sorry, Florence. Tough break.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. I’m on extended leave, but you can send some fluff pieces my way, like popular summer beach reads or something.”

“Don’t jerk me around. But I do have a lead on Michigan’s Blueberry Festival.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Take care of yourself. See you soon?”

“Maybe. But thanks.”

Chapter 34

“W
hat day is it?” I mumbled with my face in my arms.

“Thursday.” Winnie, Dad’s receptionist, didn’t acknowledge me with her answer. She was casually flipping through a fashion magazine poached from the waiting room.

“Are you hungry?” I asked towards the tabletop I was pressed against.

“Didn’t you just have lunch?”

“Yeah, but that was an hour ago. I’m hungry again.” I was eating a lot and sleeping more. My schedule was making me sluggish, and a snack and a walk sounded good enough to counter each other.

“Want to grab donuts for everyone?”

“Sure.” I pushed the chair back from the front desk and stood up while shrugging on my coat. “Mooing Cow Bakery okay with you guys?”

Winnie nodded without looking up. “If they’re out, you can try Lulu’s. She started selling donuts a couple years ago.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. I passed Winnie and swatted at her ponytail.

She smacked my butt in retaliation. “Get going, you.” She finally glanced up, the deep wrinkles at the sides of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Remember sugar-free for me, love.”

“Of course.” I swung my purse onto my shoulder and pushed out of the office.

The warmer spring air greeted me as soon as I hit the sidewalk. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me and started towards the direction of Mooing Cow two blocks away.

Downtown St. Haven wasn’t exactly bustling at this hour, but the parking spots were about half-filled and a couple housewives dotted the sidewalk, running errands. The downtown area had expanded a bit in recent years. A couple new gift shops had opened and the hardware store had expanded to the empty space next to it. It had been quite the news two years ago when all the Main Street facades got a sprucing up and a fresh coat of bright paint. But despite a decade-long effort to drag the district into the modern age, it still retained its sleepy nature. People went to Holland or Kalamazoo for the big shopping, so there were virtually no chain stores in town and most places just sold the necessities.

I cast a glance up and down the intersection before crossing behind a white minivan. I was walking down the block and in front of the antiques store when I heard it.

“Florence Reynolds?”

My body seized slightly at the sound of my name. My attention fell to the other side of the road, where a small group of people clustered, the tallest of them waving both arms at me.

I squinted in their direction, then realized it was Renee, an old middle school friend. She was now dragging two kids across the street with one hand and pushing a stroller with the other. Those characteristically large front teeth I remembered well stuck out of her wide mouth as she smiled broadly at me.

“It is you! Florence!” She staggered to a stop before me, releasing her child burdens and snatching me into a tight hug.

“Re-Re-Renee!” I choked out from behind her long hair, which was doing a good job of winding around my neck and strangling me.

“You remember me!” she said, letting go but keeping her hands on my shoulders. She shook me twice, jostling me slightly. “I wouldn’t ever have guessed you’d remember me!”

I placed a hand on top of hers, stilling them. “Of course I’d remember you, Renee. Don’t be silly,” I said.

Despite my efforts to calm her vigorous palms, she shook me again, crying out, “What in the devil is up with you? We haven’t seen you in ages! Our little world traveler! What are you doing back in St. Haven? We just have to get lunch sometime! When are you free? Are you helping your father? I thought Nicolas was going to be the doctor, not you! Oh, it’d be wonderful if he came back and took over your father’s clinic.”

There were too many questions to even begin answering. I stuttered, trying to find the start of my sentence. “It’s great to see you, Renee,” was the best thing I could think of.

“It’s awesome seeing you,” Renee answered back. And she looked it—she looked happy to see me.

“Oh, remember Matthew?” Her arms searched blindly behind her and found the tallest of the pair. She snatched him by the elbow and whirled him between us. The boy barely flinched, obviously used to his mother’s enthusiasm.

“Dr. Reynolds delivered Matthew!” she said with panache, gesturing up and down at her son as if he was a prize on a game show. Renee crouched down next to Matthew and pressed her cheek against his. “This is Dr. Reynolds’s daughter! She and I have been good friends since when we were young,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

They both peered up from their low vantage point. Matthew blinked twice, his green eyes moist and his round cheeks rosy in the chilly air.

I lowered myself onto my haunches, offering my hand. “Hi, Matthew, it’s nice to meet you.”

Matthew extended his hand and shook mine, his grip surprisingly strong. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said, all smooth and serious.

“And how old are you, Matthew?”

“Nine years and seven months old.” He looked me straight in the eyes when he answered, his tone solemn and grave.

“Wow, that’s very accurate. Well, you definitely don’t remember me, but I met you when you were very, very little.”

“Yes, in that case, then I definitely wouldn’t remember you,” Matthew answered.

I couldn’t help myself and cracked a small grin. Renee clutched Matthew tight around the shoulders, totally charmed at him.

“And!” Renee said, releasing Matthew from her clutches. She turned around and pulled at the shorter child behind her, the sister. A girl.

“And this is Virginia,” Renee said. Virginia scrunched up her little shoulders and tried to hide behind her mother.

“Hi,” I said with a smile.

Virginia nodded at me, her big blue eyes wide, carefully examining me up and down. I gave her a little wave and she hid her face against Renee’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, sweetie, she’s Mommy’s friend,” Renee said soothingly. But Virginia clutched at her mom’s shoulder and tried to wiggle free from her grasp. Renee let go of her with a chuckle and Virginia scurried back behind her. “Kids, right?

“She’s already in second grade, but she’s still a big baby,” announced Matthew, standing off to the side, crossing his arms like a little adult. “She’s a bigger baby than Emily.”

Virginia glared at her brother, her little nose screwing up and her eyes flaring lightly with defiance.

“Be quiet,” she hissed. But Virginia peeked over her mother’s shoulder, make fleeting eye contact with me, and gave me a barely audible “hi” before ducking back to her hiding place.

“Who’s Emily?” I asked Renee.

“The youngest,” Renee said. She pulled the stroller close to us and Virginia scurried quickly behind it, helping by rolling it closer. It also served as a superior hiding spot than her mother. Renee pulled back the blanket to reveal an infant, one who had to be no older than a couple months. The girl was sleeping peacefully, one pale fist pressed in between her lips. Emily stirred, but didn’t wake.