Page 57 of I Hope This Finds You Well

“Great. We’re just going through the PowerPoint together. The handout is for additional notes.” He clicks his mouse and the first slide swipes across the screen.

I put up my hand like I’m a child in a classroom. “Cliff, isn’t this a PowerPointpresentation?”

His jaw squares into quite a pleasant grump face. “What are you playing at?”

“I just meant you shouldpresent. I feel sort of... I don’t want to give notes, but where’s the showmanship?”

“You nail one amazing presentation, and now you’re the expert, huh?” He says it teasingly, but the praise makes my heart expand anyway.

“Pretty much. You said you wanted me to do well. A student can only go as far as their teacher allows.”

His nostrils flare a tad, but his lips curl up. He stands, splays his arms dramatically, and announces, “Effective communication in the workplace has three key cornerstones...”

As he continues, my eyes drift from the monitor to the yellow legal pad sitting open beneath it covered in Cliff’s neat, boxy handwriting. On the top I see the words:Employees to support.

My own name catches my eyes like a snare. Next to it, the only words legible areisolation, colleagues,andhelp her feel safe.

Each word presses into me like a wound.

Cliff pauses as he realizes where I’m looking. Instantly, he is sweeping the papers together into a giant pile. “Sorry, no offense—just realized I’ve left a lot of my work papers on the desk.” He stuffs the sheets into a folder identical to the maroon one I keep in my own drawer.

“No need to apologize.” I force my expression neutral. “I didn’t mean to be snoopy.” The irony is not lost on me.

He shakes his head. “Nah, it’s more that I don’t want any distractions from the amazing show I’m putting on.”

“Impossible.”

His expression warms. “Hey, Jolene, you really did do a great job at the conference yesterday.”

“Thanks,” I say, still forcing myself not to look at the maroon folder in his arms. “I was a little nervous at first, but I’m glad I didn’t fumble too much.”

“I didn’t notice any fumbling.” He gestures toward his monitor. “But this show will help strengthen your skills. Which leads me to the second foundation of communication: body language.” He swipes his hand across his body, fingers wiggling like he’s in a boy band. When I don’t laugh, his expression drops. “What’s up? Why are you looking at the talent like they’ve upset you?”

I can’t stop thinking about that damn folder—all the notes he makes for everyone, the individual meetings, the donuts. I swallow. “You’re just... you’re great at this. Your job.”

He actually cares. So much. Did I lose that part of me? I definitely had it once.

Cliff’s eyes widen with surprise, like he’s been caught doing something other than being a total tool with a PowerPoint. “Jolene, kissing ass isn’t a good look.”

“I’m being serious.” I look straight into his eyes, hoping he can tell how much I mean it. Cliff stares back, something strange brewing behind his expression. Then he looks away sharply toward the window.

The mood has quickly turned weird, so I say, “Doesn’t it ever get to you, though? Dealing with office fucks and evaluating them on their personalized levels of bullshit?”

His mouth curls upward. “I mean, yes, I can think of times where people’s bullshit in the office does annoy me.” He stares at me again pointedly.

I bow my head. “Oh yes, I know I’m annoying. But anyway, it’s cool you’ve found something you’re really good at. The world needs more people who think they can save it.”

It’s tiny this time, but Cliff tenses again. Another look toward the window, the little golden flecks in his irises catching the light. “Jolene, I...” His eyes shift and he shakes his head, like he’s physically pushing a thought away. “We should get back to it.”

As he shuffles toward his mouse to wake up the monitor again, my eyes drift toward the windowsill where he’d been gazing. The glint of a picture frame sitting there catches my eye. The cars! It can’t be. I’m out of my chair in an instant. There’s a little boy with Cliff’s same smile, hair combed back and a wash-worn shirt, sitting in the driver’s side of the car.

Holy shit, it’s exactly what I thought. “Cliff, is that you in a tiny car clapping with your hands above your head?”

His nod is stiff.

“Is it? Were you on—”

“Yes, that’sKidstreet. My sister and I got on it during some community outreach week.”