Page 30 of Demo
I nod my head.
“These things happen,” she says in a kind, quiet and gentle voice. I almost wish she were yelling.
“No, Cherice. They don’t. These things most definitely do not happen.” I open my eyes and pull myself upright in the chair. She has one ass cheek plopped on my desk, with her arms crossed over her chest. “I just can’t believe it.” I have to look up toward the ceiling and roll my eyes from side to side to prevent the tears from falling.
“I shouldn’t have dumped the last-minute event on your lap last night. I knew you had a lot on your plate. And so, you were rushed when it came down to deadline. Granted, you could have been extra careful seeing as this is a juicy case. But still, you’re human. And I’ve also spoken with the copy editor to make sure she’s fact checking like she should be.”
“It’s not her fault. She wouldn’t have had any idea that the names were wrong.”
We sit in silence for a beat.
“Take some time. Clear your head,” Cherice begins again.
“No, I’m alright, I just need to focus.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Ohhhh …“I’m being suspended.”
“I have to tell Legal I took appropriate action with the reporter who made the error. I can’t just let it go with a warning.”
I look at the ceiling again, as the tears are dangerously close.
“You’re my best reporter,” Cherice says. “Take a couple of days, mope over it, be pissed at yourself, be embarrassed, and get over it. Come back with a clear head.”
“How many days?”
“Five.”
“FIVE!”
She looks down at me. “Lyzbeth, you did call him a statutory rapist.”
That’s when I snatch the paper out of her hand and place it back over my head. “A sexual deviant,” I say from underneath.
I let myself sulk for three minutes, bang out the correction and then grab my purse, along with my notebook so I can work on some things from home if necessary. Then I dart out the door, hearing Dee yell at me, “Liz—what the? Where are you going?”
I don’t answer.
When I get home I take hesitant steps up the front stoop. I kick the copy of today’s paper off the top step and into the bushes, and drag myself up the stairs.
***
It turns out the worst thing you can do to someone who already has too many things swarming around her head is sentence her to solitary confinement. Maybe that’s a tad dramatic, but that’s what it’s felt like the past two days. Between the shame of my error, hiding from the Kings, and avoiding my husband, it feels like I shouldn’t leave the walls of my apartment.
“What’ll it be, today?” I ask Kennedy as he joins me on the couch, circling a few times before curling up by my blanket-covered legs. “Murder-mystery? Drama? Comedy?”
I flip through the streaming options on Netflix but nothing sounds appealing. I want something mindless to take me away from my current woes.
After a half-hour of searching, I turn off the TV and toss the remote onto the loveseat, then stroke my pointer finger down Kennedy’s soft snout as he sleeps on my lap, for once happy for his company. I’m startled by a quick rap at the door.
I pull my legs out from under Kennedy, causing him to stir but not wake, and pad toward the door, wondering who it could be. Looking through the peephole, I see Monty’s big brown eyeball looking back at me.
“What are you doing here?” I groan as I swing the door open. It’s then I see he is joined by Dee.
“We’re on a rescue mission!” she says and pushes past me.
“Well, not really a rescue mission, but more of a welfare check,” Monty says as he crosses the threshold, hands in his pockets.
