Page 24 of All's Well that Friends Well

Every month. I eat dinner with them every month, over in Boulder. It’s not a horrible drive—twenty to thirty minutes, depending on traffic and weather—but the experience is painful.

I go anyway. It’s the least I can do, and some savage part of my soul wallows in the crippling guilt I feel, trying to punish myself.

Maybe I’ll find peace that way. Maybe I’ll be able to make up for what happened.

“How’s Saturday?” Mrs. Delaney asks, probably pulling out her little appointment planner.

“Saturday is fine,” I say heavily. “Six?”

“Oh, that’s perfect.” I can hear her smiling. Beaming, even.

I want to throw up.

“We’ll see you then,” she says. “Have a good week at work, sweetie.”

“I will,” I say, swallowing the bitter acid in the back of my throat. “See you later.”

We hang up, and I all but throw my phone down. Then I lean forward and let my head rest on my desk.

Am I going to do this forever? Sometimes I think I might—think Ishould.Because I feel even worse when I imagine trying to tell Maura’s parents the truth.

Sometimes, though…sometimes I wonder what it would be like to set this burden down and let myself breathe.

Just for a while.

Just for a bit.

“How’s the report going?”I more or less bark at the block of cubicles on the far end of the room.

After some deep breaths earlier, I was able to get my game face on instead of letting myself drown in all the negative emotions that live inside of me.

It’s not all negative emotions in there; I feel good things too. But sometimes the darkness gets overwhelming. Those are the times that I pull out my breathing exercises and focus on the present—the things I can control.

I don’t know how much control I have over this staff, but at very least, I need to try to get this branch back up to standard and then choose someone to take over. So I look at the group on the other side of the room and wait for their answer to my question.

The team leader, Marianne, gestures to the man in the cubicle next to hers. Josh, I think? He gives her a look, and she smirks, but he stands.

“Should be ready by Wednesday,” he says.

“Tomorrow,” I correct him irritably. “Tuesday. If we wait until Wednesday we won’t have enough time. Denver always takes longer to respond, and Mr. Ring wants to get moving by next week.”

Most of these people couldn’t pick our company’s founder out of a crowd, much less recognize him shuffling around their own floor, but they still know Rodney’s name. Josh’s mouth twists unpleasantly, but he nods and then sits down again.

They take too long to get things done, this branch. We’re trying to expand inventory, maybe even move into more rentals, and I need the report on what Lucky’s outdoor needs are—what they want to see in our stores based on what they do around here. We can’t count on a quick turnaround fromthe Denver office, and they’re the ones who have to give us the final stamp of approval.

I turn to the block of cubicles closest to me and raise my brows at them, waiting; when no one speaks or reports, I say, “Well? Sales reports? Are they available?”

“Oh.” One fumbling man stands up—Jerry, maybe?—dropping several papers as he does. I wait for him to pick them up, and then he says, “Yes. I’ll get the Bronson and Minter and Little Heights info to you right away.”

I inhale deeply, holding my tongue until I’m calm. Then I grit out my words: “Don’t wait for me to ask. I should not have to request these things.”

I spin on my heel and return to my office.

This is the problem. Bronson, Minter, and Little Heights are the nearby towns that report to us, and we in turn report to Denver. I should already have their information on my desk.

But these employees come in and chat and take their time getting settled and heavens know what else. The wheels don’t really start turning until I ask.

They’ve clocked in; they need to be working. And I shouldn’t have to start that process every day. I fling myself down in my desk chair, and it’s only when I look back up that I realize I’ve closed the blinds again.

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