Page 56 of The Checklist
“Well, write down a bar. Then we can get going.”
Tim stared at the notepad, hesitating. “It’s a long list.”
“More importantly, it is a list that we can pay to fix.”
“I don’t think we can get someone out here to take the heads off the walls that fast,” Tim said gently, as if he might hurt her feelings with the truth.
“Oh no, the heads are staying, but where we spend our time can change. For example, we can add more campfires and hikes to the program.”
“You are good at making lists,” Tim said, looking at her with something that bordered on respect.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Dylan answered, rolling her neck from side to side.
Passing her the yellow notepad, Tim asked, “So what happens next?”
Standing up to stretch her arms out wide, Dylan felt like she was getting ready for a race and not a long night of fixing things. Massaging her left shoulder, she said, “I’m gonna need your credit cards.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dylan stared down at the tube of Icy Hot, then smiled back at herself in the mirror. Her hair had managed to curl over the course of the corporate retreat from almost H-E double hockey sticks. Instinctively, she tried to reach up to arrange it. Wincing, she lowered her arm and squeezed a large amount of the not-so-pleasant-smelling gunk on her hand, then slowly tried to apply it to the dead center of her back. The ropes course was finally catching up with her body, and it was clear that while she might have the technical skills to climb, the muscles required were in serious need of some attention.
She was proud of the way the retreat had turned out. After a night of pounding on doors, begging caterers, and bribing several store clerks to open early, she had arguably one of the better saves in her career. By the time the second day had started, she had a continental breakfast catered. Brandt spent the night polling people’s special skills and found an employee who was a yoga instructor in his free time to lead a few sessions. Someone else had worked as a children’s camp counselor and managed to make up arts and crafts for those grown-ups who wanted a break from the outdoors. Deep even agreed to revisit her childhood trauma and lead a sort of botanical hike for groups. At the end of the rib eye dinner, everyone had been working on their friendship bracelets and smiling throughMoanamovie night, complete with spiked hot chocolate and cookies.
Changing how she approached the sore spot on her back, Dylan thought about how to report on the more substantive parts of the retreat. Jared had left a number of panicky messages for her and would be less than impressed with her revived interest in the high-ropes course. Tim and a few of the senior leaders had done some brainstorming around departmental issues, including how best to use the newly created staff-appreciation committee. She just hoped that was enough.
“Dyl, you gonna be ready soon?” Neale’s voice floated up the stairs.
“Probably gonna need another fifteen minutes,” she said, shaking her head and pulling on her shirt before lowering herself onto the bathtub ledge to put on flat shoes. Somehow, she’d let Stacy talk her into going to another townie bar down the street.
Gritting her teeth, she used the top of the toilet tank to push herself up, marveling at the indignity of her situation. Glancing in the mirror, she looked at her hair more closely. She hadn’t intentionally worn her hair natural since she’d realized there was a way to control it. But in this light, the curls didn’t seem like a bad thing. Sure, they were all over her head, but wasn’t that what hair did? It worked for Neale. Not that she was a great barometer of social norms. Still. Dylan paused.
She’d started pressing her hair in middle school, a pit of hell that killed off any girl’s need to stand out real quick. After a while, pressing her hair was a part of her morning routine. Something she did on autopilot. And, of course, Nicolas liked her hair straight, which had mattered at the time. But she wasn’t sure she liked maintaining it every day anymore.
She’d let go of glitter dusters after middle school. Why couldn’t she let go of this too? Taking a deep breath, she unplugged the straightener with unexpected speed, preempting her internal tug-of-war before it could get started.
“Finally,” Neale hollered from the living room, clearly listening for Dylan’s slow shuffle down the stairs.
“I can’t believe Stacy talked me into this,” Dylan said, muscles hissing as she leaned heavily on the banister to support her jerky hop from one foot to the next. “And what is the rush? The place is two feet away.”
“Martini Sunday,” Neale said breezily before looking up. “Oh, is that your natural texture I see?”
“That place has a martini special every night of the week. And I don’t have time for the straightenerandyour beloved martinis in my current state.”
“And to think Billie said you were too uptight to stop pressing your hair.”
“Billie should know better than to bet against me.”
“I guess she owes me money.” Neale smirked, fishing around in the stack of coats by the door. Finding one of Dylan’s, she put it on with a dissatisfied sniff.
“That’s mine.”
“No wonder it’s so dull.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Neale didn’t move to take off the coat, so Dylan began rummaging around for another one. “Climbing is a serious workout. I’ve never been so sore.”
“Who even are you? Curly hair. Climbing things ...”
