Page 137 of The Fixer

No. In fact, she was more miserable now than when she’d started out on this journey to button up her mother’s estate. Her eyes had been opened, the blinders were gone, and she couldn’t unsee what was right in front of her: her life had no purpose. She was a rudderless, leaking vessel.

And then there was the physical side of the equation she could no longer shy away from. In Fall River, she had slept more soundly than at any other time in her life. Since returning home, not so much—except for Thursday night and last night, when she’d been curled safely in Charlie’s arms.

Her anxiety attacks had disappeared in the Colorado mountains, along with her need to escape into her made-up stories of romance and unrealistic heroes and heroines. She hadn’t needed to lean on her therapist or Adderall. Maybe there had been something to Helene’s mysticism crap.

Back in Chicago for only one week, all the habits were back in play. Lousy sleep, paralyzing anxiousness, and Adderall, along with the nausea and headaches it caused. The simple pleasures, like gooey pastries and hamburgers, had evaporated. Oh yeah, she was living the dream.

She gathered Charlie’s pillow under her chin and inhaled. Like a lightning bolt, it struck her. “It was never Fall River,” she told the room. “I resented the memories it stirred up. They’re tough to relive, but who says Ihaveto relive them? Can’t I just acknowledge them and leave them in the past where they belong?”

And the urge to write? That had faded too when Charlie had been here. Why waste time living a made-up story when she had her very own that blew make-believe out of the water? Sure, it was messy and chaotic—she couldn’t control the real-life players like she could her characters. The unpredictability was absolutely terrifying, but it also hinted at a thrill around every corner. Why cheat herself out of a chance for adventure?

“I am my own romance!” She threw the pillow in the air, and it landed on her head and bounced off the bed.

Dear God, she had lost her mind! She needed her therapist.

Springing from the bed, she hurried to her home office and turned on her computer.I have to get these thoughts down before they scatter completely and I lose them forever.She pulled up the latest email from her therapist and began typing a long-overdue reply. The words came fast and furious, as though her fingers were a conduit for something altogether unworldly.

“I don’t know who I am, but I canseethe opportunity to discover therealme,” one sentence said. And theahamoments continued tumbling from her.

“Besides trying to slay the world,” she typed, “I’ve been compensating for the past by filling my closets. In that regard, I’m not so different from Helene. I collectstuffI don’t necessarily need or use. I’m as guilty as she of trying to fill bottomless holes in our lives.”

And there came another revelation. “Reading those letters was excruciating, but now I understand that Helene lived in anguish too. It was a complicated relationship, and I still have much to understand, but deep down, her heart was in the right place. She thought she was protecting me, and I can show her some grace.”

Joy wrote about confronting Mary and being able to forgive herself and let the relationship go. “My time and energy are finite, and I have more deserving people in my life that I want to devote them to.”

Finally, she wrote about Charlie. “This sounds so corny, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’ve had my head down for such a long time. I was lost in myopia, and being with him has opened my eyes to the possibilities around me.”

Here was this sexy, confident, kindhearted, masculine man who sang and played guitar, danced, was artistic, turned run-down memories from the past into exquisite jewels for all to enjoy now and in the future, who loved dogs and his family, and who cooked nectar and filled hummingbird feeders. Why such an innocuous, tiny act affected her with such potency was beyond what her earthly mind could comprehend.

“Who does that?” she typed. Charlie Hunnicutt, apparently.

“Charlie is like a strong, stable rudder I can cling to until I craft my own. Everything makes sense when I’m with him. I don’t want to lose that. I want more than a career. What exactly would I be trading for a chance with him? Long nights with big egos that annoy the hell out of me. Even if things don’t work out with Charlie, I want to bring balance into my life.”

That equilibrium included Fall River and its quirky characters. It was chaos. It was family. Instead of standing on the sidelines, soaking up the warm, fuzzy vibes, maybe she could find her place on the playing field. Be part of the big, wonderful family of misfits.

Friends. Fun. Family.

She liked the vignette she had painted; it wasn’t unlike her stories. And damn it, she wanted what her characters had. She wanted love. If she could give those gifts to her heroes and heroines, why couldn’t she do the same for herself?

She loved Charlie. God, how she loved him. The feeling had stolen over her, stealthily and completely.

The admission was a jolt of truth that knocked her off the roller coaster track where her ping-ponging priorities had been taking her for a stomach-plunging ride. Calmness and clarity settled over her.

When she looked up from her keyboard, twilight cloaked the city, yet she hadn’t noticed it coming. She sent off the email and dialed Estelle’s number.

“Joy, is everything all right?” Her assistant seemed to be catching her breath. Music played in the background.

“God, I’m so sorry, Estelle. I should have considered … I didn’t mean to interrupt your Saturday night.”

“No, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, tomorrow would you please check my schedule? I know it’s the weekend, and I apologize, but I’m going to need your help rearranging it.”

They hung up, and Joy’s computer pinged with an email. When she peered at the screen, she could only giggle at her therapist’s return message.

“You finally know what you want. Go get it, Joy!”

Chapter 39

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