Page 54 of A Forgotten Promise

“I’m so glad you called.” Nora Flemming is a beautiful woman.

It’s not just her former model looks; there is a kindness and softness to her that just makes me feel comfortable.

The waiter comes to take our order, and I automatically order mixed salad without even looking at other sections of the menu, while she goes for pasta. I guess that’s a new habit that will take a moment to form.

We’re in a trendy bistro in Tribeca, and for the first time in my life I feel uncomfortable in a place like this.

Not because of the hidden and less hidden glances in our direction. That is something I’m used to. It’s because I wonder how I am going to cover the bill.

“I hope I’m not bothering you—”

“Let me stop you right there,” she interrupts with enthusiasm. “I was where you are right now. First, let me congratulate you on your decision. That business can be toxic, and even when we want to get out, once we take the leap, it still feels weird. I’m glad I can help.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly how I feel. I was looking forward to quitting, and now I’m just lost.”

I look away quickly, because I feel like I’m lying to her. I’m not going to burden her with my financial issues. Even though those are contributing to my current state.

She reaches over our table and squeezes my hand, probably misinterpreting my hesitation. “Nothing to feel bad about. It’s normal. From what you told me about your decision to quit, you’re quite probably experiencing burnout. Get a therapist, and start eating and sleeping normally. It takes time to decompress from your now-former lifestyle. Speaking from experience.”

I let out the air through my cheeks. “It’s hard. I need money.” Shit, it comes out before I realize.

To her credit, she doesn’t question the premise. “Okay, well, if you think you’re ready to try something new.” She cleverly avoids my money slip, taking a sip of her wine. “I saw you talking at the Alzheimer’s gala in London last year. You chaired the event.”

Whiplash anyone? I guess she abandoned the topic altogether.

“Yes, it was a privilege to be involved. Frankly, those kinds of events were a great mental break from the everyday grind.”

“You could have chosen to party or to sleep during your time off. Like some of your colleagues.”

“And who could blame them?” I chuckle. “But I always enjoyed lending my name to a worthy cause.”

“It was obvious at that gala. You were there, truly present, informed, a genuine ambassador. Your speech was so authentic, I wonder if you wrote it yourself.”

Something warm spreads through my chest, and I smile, feeling an inch taller. “Thank you. Yes, I did.”

“I’m sorry to pry, but do you have someone with Alzheimer’s in your life?” she asks, just as the waiter brings our dishes.

“No, I don’t, but as I said, I like to lend my name to a good cause. My job requires me—required me—to show up, shut up, and look pretty. I didn’t want to do the same when I volunteered my time.”

She beams at me with… I think it’s a pride. In the absence of any praise from my own parents, I’m craving her honest compliments.

She takes a spoonful of pasta and chews for a moment. “My husband purchased a media network, and we’re looking at restructuring and landing voices to causes and topics that get overlooked or sidetracked by the mainstream channels because there is no money behind them.

“We will have several podcasts and a streaming service and some other outlets. I think you’d be perfect to host one of our podcasts.”

My fork drops. I take the napkin and wipe the corners of my lips. I take a sip of water. None of the automated actions provide any clarity. “I have no experience.”

“My vision is to talk about issues impacting young people—solo episodes as well as interviews. Nothing is set in stone, so you can input and create the final format.”

“I have no experience,” I repeat, unable to process why she would think I’m a good candidate.

“You researched and talked about Alzheimer’s without any experience, and you did a damn good job. I go to these events all the time, and I tune out of most of the speeches. You gripped me from the first sentence.”

Her enthusiasm is contagious. Almost. Because a voice, quite a loud voice in my head, keeps saying I’d make a fool of myself.

“Thank you, Nora. I think I need to take your first advice and rest, and figure out what I want to do.”

She gives me another smile, this one not reaching her eyes, and shrugs. “It’s a shame this doesn’t excite you. You would be great.”

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