Page 110 of Ask Me Something

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brian left following a quiet dinner on Sunday night. While I appreciated the separation in order to mentally prepare for tomorrow’s meeting, I missed his company immediately. And that was the problem with spending so much time together lately. Maybe it would be good to get back into our two-week routine.

I puttered around my condo, getting my laundry done and prepping my approved outfit for the next day. The routine reminded me of high school. Setting out my clothes the night before and talking myself into why I needed to go the next day.

I suppose I should be grateful there hadn’t been social media back then; otherwise, I could’ve counted on a YouTube video or Facebook status to complete my humiliation on that terrible day my junior year in high school. It had been bad enough that the majority of my class had witnessed it in person.

My living nightmare, the one that had started my everyday battle with an anxiety disorder, started on a beautiful spring day, one like any other in April. Most of my class was eating lunch outside. A homeless-looking woman approached the table. My heart beat faster when I realized that beneath the filth, her eyes looked like mine. She knew my name. When I asked what she wanted, she demanded money. I whispered I didn’t have any, and she lost it. She began screaming at me that I was her daughter and that my adoptive parents hadn’t given her the money she deserved.

I completely shut down in the form of my first official panic attack. My father arrived with the paramedics to find me on the ground gasping for breath. When he’d taken me to the hospital, it was the first and only time I’d ever seen him cry.

At sixteen years old, I’d found out my entire life up until that point had been a lie. By not telling me the truth, my adopted parents had allowed a drug addicted stranger to destroy the world I’d always known. Betrayed by the people I’d trusted the most, my relationship with my adoptive parents had taken a while to repair. As I’d gotten older, I’d learned to forgive and finally accept that they’d believed they’d been protecting me. But the bitter lesson of what a lie of omission could do would never leave me. After that first panic attack, striving to remain unaffected while those around me whispered and worried had become a coping mechanism to get through each day. People mistook my introverted personality for snobbery, but finally, I’d gotten to an age where I cared less about that. Addison may have accused me of thinking I was too good for my small town, but the truth was that I’d always felt lacking.

Thinking of home reminded me I needed to call my sister. She’d left a voicemail on Friday regarding my parents’ upcoming anniversary party. Evidently my return email hadn’t been good enough for her because she kept calling. Rolling my neck to ease the tension, I figured now was as good a time as any.

The phone rang three times, and I started to get my hopes up for voicemail. Ironic to call someone and hope not to speak to them, but it was typically a relief for me to hear a recording rather than to reach a live person. Voicemails could be easily controlled, but conversations were dynamic and subject to go to shit in a second. Sighing when her chipper voice said hello, I bit my lip and prayed for patience.

“Hi, Addison. It’s Sasha.”

“About damn time. I’ve left you, like, five messages,” her response came.

It was all I could do not to point out it had only been two and that it was interesting how she had no problem leaving a message when it came to something she wanted, but had difficulty when it came to leaving an apology about Christmas. Yeah, maybe I still harbored a small grudge months later. “I was out of town. What did you need that an email wouldn’t have answered?”

“I wanted to talk to you in person. You know the party’s the weekend after next. I realize you paid your half, but it would be nice if you took an actual interest, too.”

Dammit, why did I feel guilty, and how the hell had the date snuck up on me? “It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s that I know you have all of the details covered.” Of course there was the fact that one could only deal with so much passive aggressiveness in one day.

“Something tells me you’re still angry with me about what happened over Christmas.” Her voice sounded vulnerable, which was out of character.

I breathed deeply, not wanting to get into that now. It still hurt too much, and frankly, it would go a long way if she could have started out that sentence with I’m sorry instead of implying I was angry for no reason. “Is there anything I can do to help on Friday or Saturday?” Emotionally, this was all I could offer at the moment.

“Could you to pick up the cake that Saturday morning? I’ll send you the woman’s address. I don’t know why Dad insists on getting it from her, but Mom says it’s the only cake he’ll eat. Anyways, it needs to be there one hour before the party starts.”

I wanted to ask why it had to be an hour exactly, but kept my mouth shut. “Okay, got it. See you in two weeks.”

“See you then. Remember, one hour before.”

I clicked off the phone and poured a large glass of wine. It was as close as I could get to relaxing.

* * *

Arrivingat work early the next morning, I fully intended to make the most of the extra time before my meeting with Vanessa. On this occasion, she was coming to our office location. I’d recruited Logan and Charlie for the assist. Not only would she enjoy the male attention, but I could use the reinforcements. I was dressed in a crisp blank pantsuit with conservative heels and a white shirt. Conservative, professional, and boring, as instructed. I was about to head into the conference room to ensure everything was set up, when Nancy’s voice cut through on the intercom.

“Ms. Brooks, there’s an attorney on the line who says he needs to speak with you. His name is Michael Frank.”

“I don’t recognize that name, Nancy. Can you get his number and ask him what it’s regarding? I’ll call him back.” The last thing I needed was to be tied up before an important meeting with a solicitation call.

“Certainly.”

She came in a short time later with the note while I was gathering all of my presentation materials.

My eyes glanced at her face, and I was immediately on guard. Nancy never looked nervous. Two years away from retiring, she was a battle-ax from the days of smoking and perforated printer paper in the office place. She’d softened toward me some after the throwing-up incident in the office but always held herself cool and reserved.

Looking at the message, my face drained of color. In her perfect handwriting was:

“Michael Frank, attorney for your mother. Need to talk ASAP about rehab center.”

“Sasha, I hope you know I keep everything in confidence.”

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