Page 1 of Three More Shots
Prologue
“You’re a good employee, Corinne.”
I smile at my boss. Pleased with his praise, yet I’m acutely aware where his comments are heading with the regret seeping through his words. Although knowing the reason for his frustration doesn’t make the result hurt any less. Trying my best to keep my grin from faltering, I offer him my thanks.
“A great employee actually. You did an outstanding job implementing the paperless expense report project.” Dan sighs and taps on the screen, where my annual review with several ratings of excellent fills the glass. “But with your restrictions on overtime and travel, I just can’t promote you. Those are essential requirements of the position.”
He really is a genuinely nice man. Very few managers would allow as much leeway as he gives me. Another reason I work so hard, to show him how much I appreciate his flexibility with the limitations of my situation. I would never want to disappoint him or ever have him think I’d take advantage of his generosity. “I understand completely.”
And, I do. I actually do understand. He must be fair and follow the rules, and I want him to know I’m grateful for what he does for me. “You have to do what’s best for the department and the company. I want that too.”
“Now, if your circumstances ever change, let me know right away. We’re a growing company with numerous opportunities. I know you’d do a great job taking on more responsibility. Maybe even lead a team someday.”
Both of us are very well aware my circumstances will never change. But his encouraging words make me feel valued and needed, which lifts my spirits a little. “Thank you, Dan. I sincerely enjoy working with you, and I’m glad to be here at SDO.”
“I’m very glad you’re a part of the organization too.” He rises and gives me an authentic smile, the fine lines around his bright green eyes crinkling deeper with sincerity. I stand too and accept his handshake, a formal and definitive end to our discussion. “Thank you. Now, can you send Michelle in please?”
“Of course.”
The sound of his fingers briskly tapping on the tablet to close my file and open hers accompanies me as I twist the handle to his office door and walk back to my desk. My steps slow from seeing my two favorite co-workers standing outside my cubicle. The pity frowning both their faces makes my stomach drop. An overwhelming dread fills my belly, and for an irrational second, I want to turn around and run in the other direction. Avoid hearing the bad news Ginger is prepping herself to tell me as she fiddles with the silver medallion hanging around her neck as proof of her apprehension.
“Hey girls.” I force the stress from my face with what I hope is a pleasant, encouraging expression and nod to Michelle. “Your turn.”
Her sad smile does nothing to ease my tension. “Thanks. Wish me luck!”
Feigned modesty to spare my feelings. Unnecessary because everyone knows she’ll be promoted. I can’t help but be glad for her. She’s great at what she does and completely deserves the job. She’s earned the role, so I try not to be envious, even though I am a little. “Good luck!”
Once she’s passed us, Ginger takes a deep breath. I mimic her calming mechanism to keep the trepidation from pooling faster, but I fail. Fear somersaults through my chest as she tugs at her necklace again.
“The school called.”
The three words I hate most in the entire world. You can tell me I’m fat, stupid, ugly, or lazy. None of them could ever come close to hurting me the way those do. “What happened?”
“They ran out of hamburgers.”
To anyone else, that would be a nonissue. To Ainsley, deviation from the lunch she expected triggers full-on crisis mode.
“The cafeteria lady, who knows to hold one back for her before they’re gone, was out today. So Ainsley had a meltdown and threw her tray on the floor. They’d given her spaghetti, so it made a pretty big mess, and the people around her got splattered with sauce.”
She absolutely loves spaghetti and meatballs. But not today. Not today, because today was supposed to be hamburgers. The irony almost destroys me. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I can’t break down. Not here, and definitely not now.
I swallow the sting in my throat and whisper to my friend, who’s generous enough to agree to be on my very short list of people the school can share information with in the event they call and can’t reach me. “Do I need to go get her?”
“No, they took her to the therapy room, and she played at the water table for a while. She’s calm now. They said they would call back if she got agitated again.”
Again.
Anxiety floods my taut muscles. Even if it’s not today, she will get agitated again. Again and again, and no one, including me, will be able to stop it. “Thanks, Ginger.”
“There’s one more thing…”
I don’t think I can take even one more thing, but I put on my best game face and pretend I can. “What?”
“A parent was there having lunch with her son and got marinara all over her dress and jacket. She wants you to pay for the dry cleaning.”
I can’t afford to dry clean my own clothes, let alone anyone else’s. “Okay, thank you.”
My lip quivers when she gives me an enormous bear hug. I cannot cry. It doesn’t help, and my swollen red eyes afterward only generate more questions and sympathy and gossip.
