Page 87 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Cliff sets his jaw. “Our roles come with boundaries.”

His words crush through the room, crush through me. I spit my next words out, like they’ll release the pain. “So maybe we should stop making this so hard for ourselves, keep things simple. Stop being friends. Stop the carpooling, everything.”

But as his face drops, silent for a beat, every cell in my body wants him to argue. To stop it.

But Cliff stares at me before letting out a strained sigh. “Okay,” he says, and my insides knit together. “I agree that’s for the best.”

My brain feels like it’s ringing.

Then an actual alarm rings.

The damn fire alarm—the anxious person’s nemesis—has become my savior.

“We have to go.” Cliff actually looks a little panicked. I’d expect no less from an esteemed HR representative.

But for three years I’ve been very much not evacuating for fire alarms.

“Jolene?” He’s standing up, but his gaze clings to me.

“I’ll get myself outside,” I say, and dart past him, running for the stairwell before he can follow.

I reach the bathroom on my floor, slam the door shut, hide in my stall, and try my best not to inhale the wet-sponge stench that seems to come from all angles as I suck in tight, anxious breaths that mirror the clang of the alarm. I have to be ready to lift my feet if some fire marshal comes by to ensure we’ve all evacuated.

Eventually, all the footsteps and voices outside the door evaporate into nothing.

I finally exhale.

Just as I’m about to leave, the bathroom door swings open so hard that it bangs against the wall.

The fire alarm stops ringing.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” It’s Rhonda, but her voice is torn up like I’ve never heard before. “But I love you. I really do.”

She takes a wet breath. Shit, she’s crying. Her sobs bounce around the tiles, filling the room.

“I only want you to be safe and okay. You’re my baby.” Rhonda sobs again, sudden and breathy.

I try to stay perfectly still, to not breathe, to stop my heartbeat. It’s been long enough that if she catches me, she’ll think it’s weird I didn’t make my presence known.

Then she whimpers in the worst way. “I love you, but I can’t do anything for you. I can’t give you any money you’ll use for something that could kill you. When my credit card went missing, I was so sick with worry. I thought it meant your last breath.”

The mumbled moaning on the other end of the line comes through. The cry Rhonda lets out seems to come from somewhere deeper than inside her. “Your life is worth trying to save,” she begs. “You know that.”

My whole body shakes. If she wasn’t crying, she’d hear me.

After a few seconds, or several hours, I hear the faucet turning on, then the paper towel dispenser. Finally, the bathroom door squeaks.

I let my legs drop, and my chest heaves in relief.

“Who’s in here?”

I freeze at the same rate my insides turn to stone, but it doesn’t matter.

“I see your shoes, Jolene.”

Shit. I open the stall door and tentatively step out.

Rhonda’s face is pale in some places, red and patchy in others. She’s holding a balled-up tissue tightly in a fisted hand.