Page 39 of One Big Little Secret

Still, I have to make this work, never mind the instinct to call him and resign on the spot.

I’ve never succeeded at anything long enough to develop real expertise. Something else he’s noticed and probably pities me for, if he doesn’t outright despise me.

No one will ever take me seriously if they see a quitter.

Especially when you’re moping around like this, a small voice says in the back of my head.Get your crap together, Salem.

Okay, nasty voice. Thanks for the pep talk.

I wipe my face and take a breath, wondering if this health plan from the company comes with good mental health coverage.

This whole job, plus dealing with my asshole baby-daddy boss, feels like trying to ram a square peg in a round hole.

Dammit, though, I’ll try.

This will not be another Salem Hopper disaster.

No matter what it takes, I decide I can do this. If I can make it through a stint at Higher Ends, I can survive anything.

For now, I just have to keep going, one day at a time.

I slide the keys in the ignition and start the car.

The engine grumbles to life, and by the time I drive away, I’m done crying.

Before I get homethat evening, I pick up Arlo from Mrs. Gabbard’s, who’s full of joy about her new granddaughter.

After spending a few minutes admiring photos of a baby that looks as red and wrinkled as a dried raisin, I escape up the stairs to our apartment.

“What do you think?” Arlo asks, holding up a drawing of what Ithinkmight be me. “Miss Peters told us to draw our heroes in class, so I drew you, Mommy.”

That’s a relief.

Last time they asked him to draw his hero in preschool, he drew Godzilla. That’s what I get for letting the kiddo stay up with me to watch dumb monster movies.

“What a nice picture. You really brought out my eyes, big guy.” I laugh at the oversized brown eyes as I unlock the door and usher him inside. “Where do you think we should put it?”

Our fridge has too many drawings to fit another masterpiece.

“Ummm… you could take it to work?”

“Oh.” I do have an office at The Cardinal. Like everything else, it’s larger and more luxurious than anything else I’ve worked in. There’s plenty of room for pictures on the walls. “Sure, honey. That sounds great.”

“I’m going to draw you so many, Mom. Gotta decorate your walls.” He flings himself down at his little desk in the corner and sends all the crayons flying out of their box. “Oops! But I’m goingto draw one for Mrs. Gabbard, too,” he announces proudly. “Do you think she’ll put it on her fridge?”

“She might.” I grab a pack of meat from the fridge that’s been defrosting. Stew it is. “Don’t forget she has her own kids to show off, honey.”

“Yeah, but they’reold.” He says it with so much scorn you might think they were in their fifties.

As far as I know, they’re younger than I am, and way more successful.

“Maybe they still draw their mom pictures,” I joke.

“No way! She never has pictures on her fridge. She has magnets.” He holds up his hands. “Like so many magnets, Mommy. All from weird places.”

“I think that’s because she’s traveled a lot, sweetie.”

“Why don’t we go lots of places?”

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