CHAPTER 2
Sophie
Movement outside my home office window catches my attention. A police car drives by slowly with its lights on but no siren. Behind it is a black hearse, followed by a black sedan with tinted windows. Behind that, a long line of cars heads toward the cemetery three blocks up from my Duquesne Heights home. All the vehicles have their headlights on.
I read in the paper yesterday that there were still several more funerals over the next few days following the memorial service at the Titans’ arena yesterday. I have no clue if this particular funeral procession is for someone who was on that plane, but it immediately brought the crash to mind. It’s all anyone is talking about.
Local TV news, the newspapers, and social media are buzzing. At first, it was abject horror over the event and the massive loss of life. Now talk is switching to what the future looks like for the Titans.
Pittsburgh is known for many things, its long-ago era of steel production replaced by banking, tech, and top-ranked medical care. Downtown streets flanked by Gothic-style buildings bustle with commerce while lovely rivers and the rolling hills that surround the city soften the steel and concrete, making it a beautiful, unique place to live.
But mostly, Pittsburgh is known for its sports, boasting professional football, baseball, and hockey teams. And the fans here are the most rabid of anywhere else—all the teams are revered regardless of their win/loss records. Go into my closet or drawers, and you’ll find T-shirts, jackets, and jerseys for every one of our teams.
The loss of the Pittsburgh Titans has been a huge blow to the city, and people are struggling because it’s part of our identity. People are looking for a glimmer of hope that all is not lost when it comes to our hockey team.
I did see on the morning news that the Titans owner, Brienne Norcross, has promised she is working hard to rebuild the team as quickly as possible so our season can continue. She was very diplomatic when she said, “We are building from scratch. It might take years for us to regain our footing, but whoever we’re able to put out on that ice will carry the spirit of those talented and tenacious players we so tragically lost.”
It was a reminder that the team is going to be scraped together and will probably suck, but that we will have a team. I look forward to seeing what will happen.
I turn my attention from the funeral procession back to my laptop as I review next month’s travel schedule I’m putting together. Part of my current job is to coordinate where each of our training reps travels, as well as ensure they have proper accommodations and transportation.
The work is far too easy, making it boring and rote, but beggars can’t be choosers. I have a mortgage and car payment, along with various other bills that come along with adulting. And given my lack of choices for remote work, there’s nothing to be done but to wear a smile and press on.
I save my spreadsheet and start to exit Excel when my phone chimes with a motion-sensor alert from my security app. I hate that my heart jackhammers with fear, so I take a few deep breaths in and out as my therapist instructed. I refuse to rush to my medicine cabinet and pop a low-dose Xanax prescribed for breakthrough anxiety, and instead bravely choose to investigate what is moving outside my house.
With a few taps on my iPhone, I navigate to my security app and pull up the camera feed for the tripped motion sensor.
Tension melts away and my shoulders droop in relief when I see it’s just an alley cat sitting on a post of my six-foot privacy fence. Motion sensors cover my entire front and back yard, but it’s not a large area. Less than a tenth of an acre, to be exact, but there’s not an inch on this property that I can’t see thanks to the excellent security system. I had a local company, Jameson Force Security, install it after my attack in Phoenix last year, and it’s given me some measure of comfort over the last several months.
I tap a button acknowledging the sensor, but I know it might go off again as soon as that cat moves. I decide to go shoo it along so I’m not continually bothered by it, particularly if he takes to roaming along my fence line, which will set off other sensors. It’s not an option for me to shut off the system until the cat decides to move on. I’m never without the protection I’ve paid a small fortune for out of my savings.
Pushing my rolling chair back from my desk, I grab my empty mug. Might as well grab a refill since I’m going downstairs.
The wooden floors creak as I move out of the spare bedroom turned office and head down the staircase. Those steps creak as well, and a few even groan as if the weight is unbearable. Many would find that annoying, but I find it part of the charm of this 1940s prairie box house I bought a few years ago. I’ve been remodeling in my spare time, but I’ve preserved some of the original charm. The old, wide plank flooring was its most alluring feature. My dad and I worked room by room, stripping, staining, and sealing the gorgeous wood, and now it gleams like new.
It’s not the prettiest house, and I’m not overly fond of the tan brick and brown trim, but it’s in a great little neighborhood on the very east end of Duquesne Heights. It’s a simple box-shape home with a pyramid-shaped roof and dormer windows. Parking is in a detached two-car garage via the back alley. If I stand on my front porch, lean way over the railing on the right, and strain my neck really hard, I can see a sliver of the Pittsburgh skyline between other houses stacked side by side, dribbling down the sloped hill. My neighbors are friendly but unobtrusive, and it’s an easy jump onto I-376 and only a twenty-minute drive to the airport. This is a perk, given my job as a medical equipment rep and the amount of domestic travel I do every year.
Not that I’m traveling anymore.
Haven’t quite been able to leave the security of my hometown since my attack in Phoenix last July when I had three days of training set up. Hence, the reason I’m working as an administrative secretary to one of the managers. He has graciously allowed me to work from home since even leaving sometimes causes mild panic attacks.
Well, maybe not graciously. He’s been bugging me to get back to my regular job, and I’m running out of excuses. The whole “I’m scared to travel” isn’t cutting it with him anymore. In fact, we have a Zoom meeting at four p.m. to—in his words—discuss my transition back to a training rep. I might need a Xanax before that.
It had never been my lifelong dream to work in medical equipment sales and training. It’s not what I went to college for. I graduated four years ago from Penn State with an English degree, although I can’t really say I knew what I wanted to do with that—I just knew I loved literature. I’d considered teaching but then stumbled into my current job with Reynis, who make cardiac catheterization equipment. My college roommate and bestie, Francesca “Frankie” Dillard, got a job there and begged me to apply. The money was incredible and the opportunity for travel enticing.
This was no ordinary sales position. In fact, the sale of the equipment was handled by managers above me. After weeks of intensive training to learn everything, I would then go into hospitals and teach doctors how to use it. I thought that sounded like fun, although Frankie’s main motivation—outside of the money—was to nab a hot physician.
But that was back when traveling was something I looked forward to, and the excitement of the job was still a motivating factor.