Six hundred thousand dollars a year is so much, I don’t even know how to spend it, so I’m banking it and hoping while I finish my degree in business, I’ll figure out something worthwhile to do with the growing wealth.
I try to come up with another long-term goal but struggle as always. I don’t have the goal of remarrying, or having kids, because I’d want to be married to have kids, and I don’t want to marry again, so that’s out.
I scribble the word dog.
I suppose that’s a worthy goal, but immediately cross it out. If I want a dog, I’ll go adopt one tomorrow. It’s not something I should strive for in the long run.
My eyes move back to short-term goals. The first one is easy: Finish my college degree.
I have a year left to get my bachelor’s, and without the obligation of regular shifts at Clarke’s store, I can go back to school full time. Of course, I started my college journey at UCLA and will be finishing at Arizona State, but it doesn’t matter where I get the degree. As long as I finish.
I stare at the paper, wondering what number two should be.
Start a nonprofit?
But is that a long-term or short-term goal? My goal after school would be to start something that would help people, but what… I’m just not sure.
I led such a charmed life during my time with Jace—outside of the fact he changed pretty quickly after we married and became very controlling and abusive—that I’d sort of lost touch with the real world. Since coming back to Phoenix last year, I’ve hunkered down, glued to Clarke’s side—as our friendship remained intact after I married and moved away—and tried to figure life out.
Sighing, I push the pad away and rub the bridge of my nose. I have the money to do whatever I want. I could go out right now and do whatever I wanted.
And yet… I’m almost petrified with indecision. Hell, if it weren’t for Clarke, I’d have never reenrolled in school.
I push the rolling office chair back from the desk and stand. There’s half an hour until closing, and I might as well go out and be useful.
For the next thirty minutes, I tidy up, making sure all books are put away and perfectly aligned on each shelf. I straighten knickknacks, most of which are seasonal. I shut off the store’s Christmas tree lights as well as the ones we’d strung across the front window. I put away a stray book that was left out in the reading area and do a general walk-through to make sure everything is ready—except for the heavy janitorial cleaning tonight—to open the doors at 10 a.m. tomorrow.
At seven o’clock on the dot, I make my way back to the register area. Clarke has already locked up her office, flipped off the lights in the back half of the store, and has her car keys in hand with purse slung over her shoulder. Janelle stands beside her, eyes darting to the window for Mrs. Blair to pull up.
I frown, looking out to the street. “Mrs. Blair isn’t here yet?”
Janelle looks worried. “She’s never late.”
This is true. In fact, she’s been fifteen minutes early each time she’s picked up Janelle. If there’s not a parallel spot in front, she’ll drive around the block until one becomes available or until quitting time and Janelle walks out. It’s odd she’s not yet here.
“Go ahead and call her,” Clarke suggests to Janelle, who nods in agreement and digs her phone out of her purse.
Janelle dials while Clarke and I exchange a glance, not worried but intrigued that this punctual, almost-militant woman would be late.
It becomes worry, though, when we observe Janelle frown as someone answers the phone. “Um… I’m looking for Mrs. Blair.”
Janelle listens for what seems like forever, and her frown deepens. “Okay. I understand. What hospital are you taking her to?”
That jolts me, and I step forward, almost reaching out to take the phone from Janelle. She shakes her head and asks whoever is on the other end, “Does she want me to come to the hospital to be with her? She doesn’t have family in the area.”
Another long silence as Janelle listens. “Please… tell her not to worry about me. I’ll be fine tonight.”
Clearly, Mrs. Blair is indisposed in some way and will not be picking up Janelle. Furthermore, Janelle just asked someone to pass on a message to Mrs. Blair not to worry when, in fact, this lady will probably fret over Janelle as she’s too protective as it is.
I make a flurrying motion with my hands—point to her, then to me, then mime a sleeping motion. Janelle nods in understanding and speaks to the person on the other end of the line. “Just tell her Veronica will watch me tonight, and I can stay at her place. I’ll let Riggs know.”
Janelle listens, and I can imagine maybe the message is being passed on to Mrs. Blair, wherever she may be and whatever her situation. Janelle is silent so long, I imagine Mrs. Blair is having a conniption, probably insisting that no matter what has happened to her, she’ll be here soon.
“Please tell her not to worry,” Janelle repeats. “And I’ll call Riggs now.”
Without waiting for a response, Janelle hangs up and stares thoughtfully at the phone.
“Well?” Clarke drawls, impatient for her to explain.
Janelle jumps and gives her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Mrs. Blair somehow broke her ankle on the fire-escape stairwell as she was on her way down to the garage to her car. Apparently, the EMS is at the scene and are treating her. That’s who answered the phone.”
“Oh, wow,” I murmur, feeling horrible for Mrs. Blair.
Janelle nods with worry. “It’s apparently pretty bad, and the EMS guy said she’d most likely need surgery. But her next-door neighbor, who is her best friend, is on the way to the hospital and will stay with her.”
“Why was she taking the stairs?” Clarke asks curiously, and my head whips her way, giving her a look like “who the hell cares?”
But Janelle shrugs. “She says it’s good exercise.”
Clarke looks to me. “I don’t mind Janelle coming home with me.”
“You have that chamber of commerce dinner,” I remind her, and turn to Janelle with a smile. “Besides, it’ll be fun. Like a slumber party. We’ll run by your condo and get some clothes and you’ll stay at my place. We’ll order in Chinese and do facials.”
“Awesome!” Janelle exclaims, eyes bright with excitement.
But then a thought occurs, and I swing my gaze to Janelle. “Will your brother care if you sleep over?”
Janelle smiles excitedly. “Not at all. I’ve told him all about you the few times we’ve talked, and since Clarke and Aaron vouch for you, he’ll be totally fine with it.”
I feel as if she’s not being wholly honest with me, so I nod to her phone. “Call him and ask right now.”
“No can do,” she replies, ducking her head sheepishly. “He’s in game-prep mode. He won’t answer, but I’ll text him and explain everything.”
I glance at Clarke who nods at me. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll text Aaron to reassure him you’re not anything like Charles Manson.”
“Gee, thanks,” I drawl with an eye roll, and then look to Janelle. “Okay. Let’s get going. Your place first.”
“Awesome,” Janelle says again, this time with a slight fist pump. I can’t help but laugh.