Page 17 of Risk of a Lifetime
Heart racing, she felt gripped by a cold nausea as she hung up. She flattened her back to the wall, palms plastered against the paint. Panicked, she glanced up and down the hallway again and again and again. There’d never been a time she hadn’t felt safe in her office. This was just anxiety raising its ugly head because of the robbery and everything else the past few days. She walked back to the front door and reset the deadbolt, then stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on her face.
JB was right. People could ring the damn bell today.
Forty-five minutes passed, and the only call had been from her secretary wanting to know if she should come into the office. Marcy declined her offer. She phoned Cross’s Tattoo Parlor next door to let them know she was in the office, see how they were doing. The answering machine picked up with a message saying the shop was closed for a week of vacation.
Once the mail arrived, she reviewed the monthly bank statements. Not good. Neither was the line-up for future appointments. Her shoulders slumped. No matter how much she cared for her clients, her marriage counseling business wasn’t working. Before she and JB split up, her client list paid the bills and grew their savings. Now, she barely paid her office and personal bills each month. Guess people trying to hold their marriage together didn’t put much confidence in a counselor who couldn’t do the same for her own.
The phone rang, causing her to jump. JB’s cell number showed up on the caller ID display. A glance at the clock showed 10:33. He’d given her one hour and five minutes before he called.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she had his number programmed into her office landline phone. “Hello. Marcy Bradley’s office. May I help you?”
“Hey.” JB’s words came through the same way he always started their calls. “You doing okay?”
“Of course.” Why couldn’t she admit she felt less than okay? Felt like a failure. Felt like she’d lost control of her world in that bank lobby and couldn’t find her new center. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Doesn’t sound like it. What’s wrong?”
“I’m tired, that’s all. Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” She doodled a tree on her notepad. A heart. Damn. She scribbled through the heart hard and fast. Control, she needed to stay in control of her emotions.
“Yes, you can take care of yourself. Yes, you have taken care of yourself. And, yes, I’ve been a…a…” His heavy sigh growled with release. “Well, I’m here now, so let me help you.”
She could refuse, but he sounded genuine. In fact, that was the closest she’d ever heard him come to saying he was sorry about anything. Except in the letter where he mentioned not being good enough for her. Of course, he was good enough for her…for anybody. That wasn’t the problem.
Might as well let him come pick her up. Being out of the house and in her office hadn’t made her feel any better. Nothing would make her feel better until he left town. “Maybe you’re right. I’m ready to go home whenever you get here.”
“I’m just a few minutes away. Wait inside, and I’ll load the boxes you wanted to take home.”
“Ring the buzzer when you get here.”
Call ended, she shoved her paperwork in the briefcase before heading to the reception area. She’d work from home tomorrow, give herself a few more days to get her strength back. Her forehead felt warm against the palm of her hand. Hair a little damp across the hairline. Guess she should have turned the air conditioning on.
She figured she’d have just enough time for a cold root beer from Pete’s Soda Fountain and Deli across the street before JB arrived. Stepping outside, the autumn breeze wafted through the leaves of gold and red and caressed her cheeks. Fall had turned out beautiful this year. Of course, cold weather would drop in without warning soon enough.
Entering the deli, she waved to the proprietor, old papa Pete Patrellie. He and his family were a town staple. From halfway across the store, the soda fountain beckoned to the sound of oldies music. She liked having her office in this area of town. The tattoo parlor, bakery, flower shop, Pete’s, and her own office made up a tight little market district.
“What can I do for you today, Ms. Bradley?”
“Two large root beers to go.” Much as she hated to do anything nice to encourage JB to stick around, she couldn’t imagine getting herself a drink and ignoring him.
“Drinking heavy, are you?” The fizz of the foam as it filled the cup sounded the same now as it had when she was ten years old. She loved this shop not only for its nostalgic red, white, and black counter and stools but for Pete himself.
“Nope.” She smiled and laid a five on the counter. “Guess you heard JB’s in town for a while.”
Noncommittal, Pete nodded.
“Well, he’s been acting like a mother hen the past few days. Today he’s chauffeuring me around.”
Pete tightened the lids on the cups and poked the striped bendy-straws in the tops. “Seems like yesterday the two of you would come in after high school. Just like clockwork, you’d go sit at the last booth in the back of the store and huddle over one root beer float for the two of you. You ever think about those days? Laughing as your foreheads bumped and—”
A roar like two jet planes crashing into each other rattled the air. The building shook. Pete’s front window shattered. Bits of glass prickled her skin. She reactively flung her arm across her face and turned away. She turned back as the rain of glass pinged onto the floor. Fluorescent orange and red flames roared into the sky from the rubble of what used to be her office. Used to be the adjoining tattoo parlor.
Pete edged up from behind the wooden counter, holding his arm where an ominous chunk of wood lodged. His wife ran from the back room to help her husband.
“You okay, Marcy?” he shouted.
She nodded, picked up the two empty cups of root beer from the floor, and shivered. Shivered again harder. Her face grew clammy. The cups fell from her hands. Numb and on auto-pilot, she stumbled toward the scene. Toward what used to be her front door.
JB’s truck did a 180 as it screeched to a stop, and he bolted for the shifting mass of destruction. The sight of him running straight toward the dust-settling pile of rubble shook her back to the moment.
