Page 90 of Out of the Blue

I twist my hair around my finger. “Glad I could help.” Wonder how this new information will impact TLR? Shaking my head, I remind myself I don’t care.

“Well, it’s more than that. For your intel, you’ve won the reward Apex offered.”

My hand falls to my side. “Reward?” I choke out. God, I can use an extra five-hundred dollars right about now.

“Yes. You’re no longer an employee, so you’re eligible. On behalf of the entire Apex team, we want to thank you for your invaluable work.”

Must’ve killed him to have to say this to me. My mind races. How soon will I get my unexpected check? If I get it fast, I might be able to send in a partial payment to the credit cards this month.

“We still have your checking account information on file. Check your account tomorrow for the deposit.”

“Will do.” Direct deposit to the rescue. I do a little jig.

“Thanks, again.” He disconnects the call.

I stare at my reflection, noting the high color in my cheeks having nothing to do with the blush I’m wearing. I had no idea there was even a reward. “Thank you, Rita,” I put out to the universe. Even though we haven’t seen each other in months, she’s still looking out for me.

Even my shift at the grocery store doesn’t dampen my spirits. Nor my night on the lumpy pullout couch—haven’t had the energy to move into Mamá’s old bedroom yet. I rush through my morning routine, feed the stray, and get into my department store cubicle. Wait for the clock to strike nine.

At five minutes after the hour, I log into my bank account. “Please be an extra five hundred dollars,” I whisper, then enter my password.

My eyes bug out. “Oh, my!”

My co-workers turn and stare at me for shouting. For once, I don’t give a shit. I raise a trembling hand to my lips. This can’t be right.

I open my account and gape at the balance. Five-hundred dollars? I begin to laugh. Loud. Add another two zeros to the end of the number. I’ve never seen this much money in, well, ever.

“What’s going on, Cordelia?”

Suzanne, my boss, asks. I blink a million times, unable to respond. She comes over, but I minimize my screen. Don’t want to advertise my sudden good fortune.

“Is everything alright?”

I nod. Still unable to speak, I do the calculations in my head. I can pay off Juanita’s tuition, Big Rolls’ debt on my credit card, andstillhave money left over. Which I will be smart about, no matter that I’m dying to take a vacation and buy out all the clothes in Walmart.

Finding my voice, I reply, “Yeah. Just got some good news—about my sister. She’s in beauty school.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she replies. “How’s the advertisement coming along? It’s due at noon.”

Right. I still have to do my job. Even though I’m fiftythousanddollars richer. I click on the design icon. “Working on it.”

She leaves my side and my brain whirls. I had absolutely no idea a reward was offered, let alone its size. Clearing my life of all my bills is a strange feeling. But one I’m going to savor. Shoving aside my good fortune, I focus on completing my project. No matter what, I need to keep this job. But maybe I can stop cooking biscuits at night?

Shift over, I return home. Since I don’t have to work at the grocery store tonight, I pull up my bank account and stare at the zeros. Then I direct this month’s bills to all be paid in full tomorrow.

When my new life starts. Tomorrow.

No more creditor calls. No more past due notices. Freedom.

I grab a whole can of tuna and put it on one of our saucers—the only one without a chip. Opening the front door, I yell, “Here, kitty!”

Rustling from off to the side catches my attention, and the cat pops out from behind a bush, meowing. “I have some tuna for you, but you have to come inside to get it.”

As if he understands what I’m saying, or more likely lured in by the smell of his favorite meal, he hops up the steps. I back up and place the saucer down in the foyer, thankful we live in a walkup rather than one of the large apartment buildings I used to covet growing up. The cat comes closer and sticks his face into the curved plate. I pet him while he devours his unexpected treat.

“There’s more where that came from.” The cat needs a name. His black and white fur reminds me of the outfits all the stars wear to awards ceremonies. And his meow is as smooth as one of Trent’s notes. As I pet him, I test, “Liking this, Tenor?”

He meows and shoves his head against my hand. I walk toward our door. “Want to come inside?”

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