“That won’t be necessary,” she says with a faint sneer, barely looking at me. “I’ll find you something … smaller to work on for your remaining time here. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
I nod and make my way out, shocked by how Jekyll and Hyde she had become, but I guess deep down I always knew she was that way. As I step through the double glass doors, at first I feel a great sense of regret, but as I get farther away, a funny thing happens—my lips turn up at the corners. And by the time I make it back to my office, I feel like a huge burden has just been lifted from my life and that now maybe I can truly get on with my life.
Or at least try. There’s something missing, but I’m strong enough; I know I can do this on my own. Luke would’ve wanted that for me. He would’ve wanted me to be able to push myself to greater heights whether he was in my life or not. Luke …
I count the following days as if waiting for the world to end. Every day I dread more than the one before it. Every minute that passes brings me closer to the day Luke will be in Norway, the day that might be his last. I come in to work barely smiling back at those who will soon be former coworkers, and I hide away inside my office with the door closed, listening to the sound of fancy shoes tapping against the tile floor outside in the hall. To and from. Happy voices.
The clock ticks on the wall high above my desk. Tick. Tick. Tick. There’s not much for me to do during the remainder of my employment at Harrington Planners other than sit here, alone with my thoughts that only torture me more every day, the closer that inevitable day looms.
Cassandra decided against sending me on any more planning jobs and opted for putting me in charge of random paperwork—no commissions to be made on paperwork.
Another day comes and goes. Another eight hours with my dark thoughts, my fears that rival anything I’ve ever been afraid of in my life.
Wednesday.
Thursday.
Friday.
Finally, as that day comes while I’m in Oregon with my mom, I’m thankful to be surrounded by family to help keep my mind off Luke. Futilely, I admit.
And the moment I arrive back at home, I spend all day looking at the photos I took of us. The first one I took with my phone and sent to Paige; the one of Luke crouching in front of his painting at the community center; the goofy one of him next to me on the bus; one of us lying in bed together—I can’t bear it. I can’t! I shut my laptop harder than I normally would and rush into the kitchen, trying to catch my breath. I stare out the kitchen window, looking into the clear blue sky peeking through the trees that surround my apartment complex, and I imagine Luke being out there, right now, standing on the edge of that cliff.
Then I picture his face, that beautiful smile of his that hides so much pain. And I picture his eyes, looking back at me with so much devotion and passion, and the tears stream down my face.
I picture him looking at me one last time. I’ll be all right, his smiling eyes say to me.
And then he jumps.
My head snaps away from the window and I sob into the palms of my hands.
For the next week, I try to forget about him. I go to work every single day, forcing a smile and engaging my coworkers in conversation as much as I can. I seek out Cassandra, practically begging—without actually begging—for something more to do. I’ll do anything, even if it’s cleaning her office and everybody else’s, just so I’ll have something to do to keep my mind busy.
I try to forget.
I try.
By the end of the week, the day before my last day at Harrington Planners, I’m gathering my things when Jackson, Cassandra’s secretary, knocks lightly on my open office door.
“I’m gonna miss yah,” he says as he steps the rest of the way inside.
Jackson is tall and lanky with light brown hair spiked up in the front, and he wears stylish black-rimmed glasses.
“I’ll miss you too,” I say, shouldering my purse.
“So what are you gonna do after leaving the big HP?” He smiles brightly and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve got a few things in mind,” I say, being vague. As much as I like Jackson, I don’t feel like explaining to him or anyone else at Harrington Planners why I left a job making as much as I’ve been making here for a little more than minimum wage at a nearby arts and crafts store—I was hired three days ago; went in one afternoon after work and filled out an application. They were in desperate need of someone, and I was hired on the spot.
Jackson smiles and nods.
Then he steps up and places a small stack of mail on my desk, like he does about every other day.
“Well, don’t be a stranger,” he says. “I don’t expect yah to come around this place anymore, but don’t forget about me next time you go out to Silver’s Bar with Paige; we had a lot of fun that one night.”
I smile back at him. “It’s a date,” I tell him. Of course, he knows it’s not really a date—Jackson is gay.
“Well, I’ll see yah around,” Jackson says just before he leaves my office.
“See yah, Jack.”
I reach out and grab my soda from my desk and go to leave when something catches my eye. I stop and set the soda back down next to the stack of mail that Jackson just brought by. I rarely ever look at it. Mostly it’s junk mail or ads from businesses I’m signed up for where I purchase a lot of things for planning events and such. But buried beneath all the junk is a white envelope with a handwritten address poking out from the side.
I barely notice when my purse slides off my shoulder and hits the floor as I lean over and shuffle the junk mail away from the letter. My heart is racing, my breath is beginning to pick up, with excitement or anticipation or fear—I don’t know which, maybe all of them.