Jenna admitted to me during that conversation she felt she was in a rut. She’d been living with her sister Emory, working a job she didn’t like, and was learning how to be comfortable in public again, although it was very hard given the scarring to her face and neck. While it didn’t bother me at all, I could commiserate as I have my own facial scar from the knife wound.
“I really just need a fresh start… one that forces me to be uncomfortable,” she said, and it got me thinking. I thought even more about her once I took the job in Pittsburgh where I am stepping out of my comfort zone too.
I have no clue if Jenna would even be interested in a move away from Arizona, but it never hurts to seek potential paths. And she’d at least have a friend here in Pittsburgh.
When I finish telling Brienne about Jenna’s story, I add on an apology for taking more of her time than I had requested.
She waves a hand as if her time isn’t as precious as I know it to be. “Have Jenna send me her résumé and I’ll see what we have available. It might not be with the Titans but rather Norcross Holdings.”
“I really appreciate you looking into it. And in fairness, Jenna has no idea I’m asking this of you. She might not be ready to make a move, but I figured it never hurts to ask.”
“I completely understand,” Brienne says with another smile and turns for the door. But then she hesitates and pivots back to me. “That was a ballsy move, advocating for your friend Drake to be extended an offer.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have faith in him,” I reply.
“I’m sure you believe that,” Brienne says, her tone a bit curt, and I can see she’s withholding judgment. “But if he comes to this team and by his future actions brings harm or shame to it, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
I nod. “Duly noted.”
And I’m reminded that Brienne Norcross may be out of her element when it comes to running a hockey team, but she’s an experienced businesswoman with shrewd core values she’ll never compromise on.
That alone leads me to believe she’s got the ability to make this team successful.
I watch as Brienne walks out and slides into a town car. Michael said he’ll take me to the hotel, but there’s something else I want to do before then.
For that, I’ll need a rental car because I intend to go visit Sophie Winters.
CHAPTER 5
Sophie
My living room couch is getting too comfortable. I hitch myself up against the cushion after sinking deliciously into its plushness. I must keep reminding myself that as a jobless person, I cannot get too complacent. That includes conducting my job searches while nestled into my couch with a crackling fire adding to the coziness. I have the TV news channel muted down low so it’s not distracting, my laptop perched on my thighs as I update my LinkedIn profile.
I received an email this morning from James confirming my termination, along with a conscience-soothing offer of a severance package if I submit my resignation. The money offered is nice, and it would actually equate to more than what I could get for several weeks on unemployment.
But I hate that it seems like they’re trying to buy me off. I’m not angry over the fact they fired me. They let me work for months in a safe and secure position when I know a lot of companies would not have done so, and I am extremely appreciative of that. I’m also very aware that they wanted me back at my job because I was damn good at it.
Finding quality training reps is tough. It’s no small feat to take a layperson without any medical background and teach them how to instruct doctors to use a new medical device. You have to be smart and adaptive, and most importantly, confident in your abilities and skills. I hadn’t lost my smarts, but I had lost my ability to be adaptive and confident, and they were clearly tired of waiting for me to find myself again.
But that was the conversation we were supposed to have via a Zoom meeting. I assumed they would give me a date by which I had to return to my normal job, and I would be able to work my way toward that goal.
Instead, James wanted me to board a plane yesterday and fly to Chicago, and there is simply no way my traumatized psyche could’ve coped with that. Even if I could have found some measure of bravery to make my way there, I would have done horribly at my job because my confidence is so battered. So while I’m not mad, I’m a little annoyed they didn’t recognize that. It’s the principle of the matter that has me refusing to sign a resignation and accept their severance package.
I was great at my job, and I wanted more time to be able to get back to it. I’ve been working hard on myself with continued therapy and medications. I’ve made improvements. But when it boils down to it, they are a huge corporation, and I am but a blip on their radar, easily replaced.
I might regret not taking that severance package one day when I’m on the verge of foreclosure, but I have to believe I’m going to find another job and all will be well.
I make a few more additions to my LinkedIn profile and flip over to Microsoft Word to edit my actual résumé accordingly. With that completed, I rest my laptop on the coffee table, and despite my better instincts, I snuggle down into the cushions and grab the remote. Pointing it at the TV, I turn up the volume and listen to the local five o’clock news.
I make it through the rush-hour traffic report—irrelevant to me—when my mind starts to slip and I lose focus on the news. A common byproduct of anxiety is the inability to concentrate, and I’m not surprised to be suffering this today. Not only did I lose my financial security yesterday, but I had to go down to the police station for a photo identification attempt. The whole process did nothing but dredge up the traumas of that evening seven months ago.
I am an utter failure and have been from the very start of this ordeal. I wasn’t paying attention when I parked my car, putting myself in an area too far from the mall entrance. I always park the farthest away to get steps in. I wasn’t thinking of potential danger.
And when I was attacked, I didn’t fight back. I let them throw me around like a rag doll, and had it not been for Baden’s interference, God knows what they would have done to me.
I was absolutely no help to Baden, running away as fast as I could, thinking of my own safety first and foremost. I failed him miserably.
And when it comes to helping the police catch these horrible men who ruined Baden’s life, I can’t even help there. I couldn’t identify the first person they brought in a few weeks ago, and yesterday, I was inept at pointing out the perpetrators.
There were two suspects, which meant two separate photo lineups. One of the suspected attackers was in each set of photos—six in all, mixed with other males of similar appearance—but none stood out. They all looked mean and dangerous, and it could’ve been any one of them. I was only able to say—and not with any certainty—that the attackers were white.
And that was the extent of my help in finding justice for Baden.
I recognize that I’m spiraling into a depressive episode. While I’m still paralyzed with a fear of being attacked again, my most debilitating trauma is in what happened to Baden as a result of his heroic efforts. He saved me. When I can’t help but think of how I ruined his life, I run the risk of withdrawing too far inward, and sometimes it’s hard to come back out.