Page 61 of Keeping It Professional

They had been for years.

One by one, they had left me, first Nick, then Dad. Mom had hung on the longest, then she’d pulled away too. Now we talked twice a year, on her birthday and Christmas.

I pulled the photo from its plastic pouch to look at it closer. Nick and I were both screaming, but half-laughing as well. Mom was yelling at Dad, but she was holding his hand. That day had been good, nigh on perfect. Now it was gone, and our family was, too. Not just our family, but my friends, my life. Everything I’d recognized, our house. Our street. I’d gone from a popular kid to, at my next school, a hermit. Kids could see I was damaged. I wasn’t right.

I slid Nick’s photo back into its pouch, face-in this time, so I couldn’t see it. Ten minutes ago, I’d been ready for sleep. Now I was wide awake, tensed for a fight. But I had no one to fight with,so I grabbed the remote. I clicked the TV on and flipped through the channels, cartoons, more cartoons, home shopping. News.

I should get up, I knew, and go and call Brian. Tell him I was sorry before it was too late.

I pulled a cushion toward me and didn’t move.

I was fine being alone. I’d been alone half my life. More than half my life. More like two thirds. Trying to hold on just made it harder, when one by one they all pulled away. Sophie, as well, she’d have left me. She would. I’d done the right thing, however it hurt.

“—and now, an update on the Green Tower explosion: the two orphaned children rescued from the blaze have been reunited with their grandparents.”

I grabbed for the remote, but knocked it away. It hit the floor and the back popped off. The batteries rolled out. I scrabbled after them as the broadcast went on.

“We go now to Sandra, at the airport. Sandra?”

“Well, Paul, as you know, it’s been quite the journey. It turned out the grandparents were on vacation, off on some African birdwatching tour. A guide had to drive out across the savanna, drive out three days and bring them a phone. They’re just home today, and you can see them behind me — they wanted some privacy, but you can see through the glass, doesn’t that look like a happy reunion?”

I yelled outshut upand lunged for the screen. Jabbed buttons blindly till the TV blinked off. A happy reunion? Happy for whom? Those grandparents had just lost their son or their daughter. The kids had lost everything, their family. Their home.That was life, loss. Loss piled on loss. You couldn’t hold onto anything or anyone.

My phone buzzed again, and I wished it was Sophie. I wished I could crawl back through the days and the weeks, and back into bed with her, into her arms. When she held me, I’d felt like we could be different. Like she understood, and she’d stick around. But what I’d forgotten was, life was fragile. Sophie might want to stay with me, but life wouldn’t let her. There’d be a fire one day, or a crash. An explosion. Or she’d get tired of me, or we’d grow apart.

“I was always going to lose you,” I told the remote.

My phone buzzed again, out in the hall.

I slotted the batteries back in my remote. Picked up the cushion I’d dropped on the floor. Righted a footstool I’d tipped in my haste. This was my life, this house and my job. The same old routine, the cycle of loss. I’d learned to live with that once, and I’d learn again.

Put Sophie behind me and get back to my life.

CHAPTER 22

SOPHIE

Ikept myself too busy to think about Miles, filling every free moment with endless make-work.

I went over to Mom’s and sanded her deck, then I restained it and brushed it with sealant.

I pulled up the stained board on my kitchen floor, and spent a day at the Home Store picking out one that matched. Then I cut it to fit and glued it in place, and walked up and down on it to push out the bubbles.

I took up jogging and baking and crosswords and knitting, and downloaded an app to teach me French.

At work, I took extra shifts wherever I could, and prayed they’d be busy, no sitting around. The more tired I got, the less I could think, and that was fine with me. Perfect, in fact.

“You’re working too hard,” said Mom, one night after work. “I can’t even get you on the phone anymore.”

I laughed without humor. “We’re on the phone right now.”

“After I called you five days in a row.”

I sat. Kicked my boots off. My feet throbbed and ached. I’d been on them twelve hours without a break.

“It’s not healthy,” Mom said. “When’s your next day off?”

I covered a yawn. “Friday, I guess. But Clive said the swing shift might need some cover.”

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