Page 10 of One Small Secret

Mom rushes over to Axley and scoops him up. “Don’t listen to your auntie. She doesn’t know what she's talking about.”

“We have no way to contact her. She didn’t leave a number for the production company. We don’t even know if the show is a scam. Maybe she's mixed up in some terrible human trafficking ring.”

“She isn’t.” Mom huffed and pulled Axley closer to her chest. “She showed me her contract. She got a signing bonus and everything. Applied right on the company's website. Get that out of your mind.”

“Which company?” I grab my phone out of my coat pocket. “I’ll contact them now. Since she hasn’t disclosed Axley, maybe they’ll make her go home.”

Mom grabs my arm, looks me in the eye and shakes her head. “Don’t.”

I throw my hands up in the air, cellphone clenched tight in my right hand. Is she serious? “Don’t what?”

“Don’t do it. You saw her. She’s finally healthy. Happy even. And this is a dream opportunity for her. We can deal with the media finding out about Axley when she gets back. And then she will have some experience. She won’t have to go back to those terrible temp jobs.”

“You sound like you know what she’s been doing for the past two years.”

“I don’t much, but I can imagine. Can’t you?”

I make the mistake of looking down at Axley again. He’s drooling all over my shirt, my spoon in his mouth. How has Moira managed on her own for the past year? It couldn’t have been easy, especially without any support. “Why didn’t she come to us sooner?”

“Would you have asked for help if you were in her position?”

I can’t even imagine myself in such a position. But then, when we were teenagers, I don’t think Moira would have imagined it either. She’d never really belonged in Rosco. She was going places. Unfortunately, she thought drugs were part of a rich and famous lifestyle and she started on those before finding the other two. With Axley’s father dead, Moira wouldn’t have had anyone. Where did Moira belong? There was only one place I could think of now…

With Axley.

Maybe Mom is right, and this TV opportunity will make a difference and put her in a better position to be with him.

I rub a palm over my forehead, only to feel a slash of pain from my bruise. I pull my hand away. “Fine, I won't call. Not today, anyway. But I’m not going to promise I never will.”

Mom smiles. “One of us needs to head to the store. We need a car seat, a stroller, some more exciting toys than that spoon, and a lot more diapers and formula.”

I close my eyes tightly. “I cannot believe I’m doing this.”

“We are doing it. And it's going to be wonderful. I’ll watch Axley while you're at work, and then you can take care of him when you get home. It's only for three months. It’ll work out. Moira should’ve asked us. She should’ve trusted that we would want to do this for her. But she wasn’t wrong to leave him with us. We’re going to have fun with that little bundle of joy, especially during the holidays.”

Mom had a few really good points. I take a deep breath. “So, who’s going to the store?”

Mom offers, which means it's my turn to see if I can make Axley giggle with a spoon as my only weapon.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still only getting smiles and a few grunts when my computer pings. I jump up. Maybe Moira has changed her mind. Maybe that’s her saying she's on her way home.

But it's a message from Human Resources.

Ms. Crane,

Your relocation to the corporate office was done at your request, and was conditional upon three months of stellar record and engagement. It has come to the attention of our upper management that your performance thus far has been lacking. Among other things, you have been extremely late, interrupted an important meeting with potential investors, and failed to turn in reports in a timely manner. Therefore, we are terminating your contract in Rosco. You may return to Vietnam and assume your duties there, or you may look for employment elsewhere. Please inform us of your decision this week. Until that time, do not report to work.

Regards,

Stephanie Hansen

I grab the edge of the table, blink, and read the message again. I must have misunderstood. Return to Vietnam? As if it’s around the corner, and this wouldn’t mean uprooting my life twice in so many weeks? How is this happening? I was late one day. One day. Nobody gets fired for that. This has lawsuit written all over it.

But they aren’t firing me. I read the letter a third time. It’s the perfect brush off. I still have a job at Palmer Hotels, just in a different location. And while even that could be cause to contact an attorney, they were right—I'd requested the transfer. They never told me to move here.

I’m going to kill Ruben. It had to be him. Being late is not a reason for a consequence like this. This smacks of a personal grudge. And he has had one for me ever since my treetop hotel idea. One good idea from me and a lifetime of friendship went down the drain. He couldn’t handle me in the office for two lousy days? Maybe seeing me brought back all the reasons he’d had for trucking me off to Vietnam in the first place. This sucks, because, sure, I was a bit competitive with him, but his family won the ultimate competition two generations ago when they became icons and mine acquired more apples.

He’s already successful. He shouldn’t be intimidated by an old friend who hasn’t made it past the 11th floor. It’s one thing to send me halfway across the world once, but now twice?

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