Page 36 of Drowning Erin

Even though Timothy and the client both have to approve any project before it goes to print, blame is like water. It will trickle down until there’s no place left for it to go, and that place is me. I’m senior project manager here. Almost everything comes through me before it goesout.

“Do you know which piece itwas?”

“Does it matter?” sheasks.

No, it doesn’t. Regardless of whose piece it was, I’m the one who should have caught the error in theend.

Timothy remains holed up in his office all morning, and by the time he finally emerges midday, there isn’t a single person here who hasn’t started pulling his or her resumetogether.

“Erin, can I see you in my office?” heasks.

Fuck.I’ve never been fired before.Canhe fire me? I’ve been here nearly four years. Surely one error in four years meets the acceptable quota. Except Timothy hates me, so I’m guessing my acceptable quota of errors is a lot lower than anyone else’s. Harper insists he can’t fire me, because I’m the one who does his job for him. I suspect, however, that the fact I do his job better than he does is what bothers himmost.

“I suppose you know why you’re here,” he says, after I take the seat in front ofhim.

The first law of being caught at anything—speeding, cheating, murder—is to never admit your crime. Fairly easy in this case, since I have no freakingclue.

“No, Idon’t.”

He raises a brow. “Really, Erin? The counseling center brochure?” he asks, sliding it across thedesk.

Relief washes over me, turning the fine layer of sweat I’d broken into cold. “That’s not myproject.”

“You’re the senior staff member here. Which means you reviewedit.”

“I’ve never seen that before. That’s Edie’sproject.”

His mouth twitches with irritation. I guess he expected me to just roll over. “Let’s not deflectblame.”

“I’m not deflecting anything. It’s not my project. I was never asked to review that.” Which doesn’t surprise me. Edie thinks sunshine blows out of her ass. Sheneverthinks her work needs editing. If she can bypass me, shewill.

His nostrils flare. “I’m not trying to create a witch hunt. I just want you to admit you had a hand inthis.”

And that’s when it all becomes clear: he didn’t have me review it.Hereviewed it, and if I don’t take the fall, he does, because nothing can leave this office without my okay orhis.

“Ididn’thave a hand in this. The final mock-up will be on file with a supervisor’s signature on it. I’d startthere.”

“I don’tneedto start there,” he says between his teeth. “I know I didn’t sign off on it, which means youdid.”

Normally I keep the peace, somehow allow him to save face. But Brendan’s departure has left me without a single fuck togive.

“When you can prove that,” I tell him, rising from my chair, “let meknow.”

27

Brendan

Three and a Half YearsEarlier

Three weeksafter Will’s wedding, I moved toItaly.

I’ve been here a month now, leading bike tours. I’m not sure how long it’ll take for Florence to seem mundane, but I was raised on a farm in the middle of nowhere…so maybenever.

The only time the streets outside my window are quiet is the middle of the night, and even then there are cars and the sound of doors slamming, the occasional shout echoing in the darkness. I like that, though. The air is muggy in the morning, stained with the scent of coffee and exhaust fumes by the time I rise. I like that,too.

The other Americans I work with, Mike and Sully, are homesick. They talk about the things they miss—decent Mexican food, burgers, people who understand the concept of sidewalk space—but I miss none of it. There’s only one thing I miss, and it’s the very thing I was certain for so long that I didn’twant.

My mother begged me not to run off, but it felt like I had no choice. It was either leave or watch Rob and Erin together, suffer Rob’s daily reminders that I fucked up, that I waited too long, though he’d have no idea he was reminding me of anything atall.

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