Starting Now

by Debbie Macomber

  “Not to worry, I already asked. You’ll be reassigned.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “You?” Libby choked out, now dumping the contents of her drawers into a tote bag she kept on hand.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Do?” Libby repeated, as though the answer should be self-explanatory. “What else is there to do? I’ll find another job. I’ll be working for another firm before I’m out of the building. I told Hershel and I meant it. Jeff Goldstein has been after me for years.” This was no exaggeration. Jeff had contacted her two or three times since she’d been with Burkhart, Smith & Crandall to see if she was happy in her current position. He was the first person she’d call. Already a list of potential firms was scrolling through her mind. Any number of law offices would consider themselves fortunate to get her.

  Slamming the final drawer closed, she reached for her briefcase and dumped onto her desk the files she’d spent several hours working on at home the previous night. Next she hefted the bag containing the personal items from her desk drawer over her shoulder.

  “Libby,” Sarah said, eyeing the security guard.

  Frankly she couldn’t get away fast enough. “I don’t think I could stand it here another minute.”

  Hershel had offered her fatherly advice, sounding so righteous and superior … so patronizing. Well, she’d show him. He would rue this day; he’d made a huge mistake and was about to see just how wrong he was. Throughout her life, Libby had faced challenge after challenge and proved herself again and again. This would be no different.

  If her mother’s death had taught her anything, it was that Libby should do whatever was needed to rise above setbacks. She’d survive. She had before and she would again. She’d lost her mother when she was far too young, and she’d gotten through her divorce. She’d weather this, too, just the way she had everything else.

  Forcing herself to smile, she swallowed hard and looked at Sarah. “Keep in touch.”

  “I will,” her paralegal promised. “You’ll let me know where you land, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” When she did, Libby would ask Sarah to join her. They were a good team. They’d worked together for so long that they’d become like running partners—keeping pace with each other, intuiting each other’s needs and expectations. When she’d last spoken to Jeff Goldstein, Libby had insisted that if she ever were to join his firm he’d need to hire Sarah, too. Jeff had assured her it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Without a backward glance, Libby walked out of the office. She felt other staff members staring at her, but she chose to ignore them. Standing in the doorway to his office, Ben Holmes started to say something, but after one glaring look from Libby he apparently changed his mind. Good thing. Ben wouldn’t want to hear what she had to say to him.

  Her cell phone was in her hand even before she reached the elevator. After a quick call to directory assistance, she connected with Goldstein & Goldstein.

  “Jeff Goldstein, please,” she told the receptionist. “Tell him Libby Morgan is calling.”

  She was connected immediately.

  “Libby, how are you?”

  “Fabulous.” She got directly to the point. “You called a few months back and asked if I was happy in my current position, remember?”

  “Of course. But that was over a year and a half ago.”

  “That long?” Time had gotten away from her. “As it happens I’m free to come on board with Goldstein & Goldstein.” No need to hint at what she wanted. Libby preferred the direct approach.

  “Really?” his voice dipped slightly. “As I said, that was well over a year ago. We’ve had a sharp decline in business since then. Almost everyone has. We aren’t currently taking on any associates.”

  The news deflated her, but Libby wasn’t discouraged. “Not a problem, Jeff,” she said, continuing to walk at a clipped pace. She was outside the building now, joining the traffic on the Seattle sidewalk, her steps brusque and purposeful. The dark, overcast March sky was an accurate reflection of her mood. It was sure to start raining at any moment.

  “I’m sure with your track record you won’t have a problem finding another position,” Jeff continued.

  “I don’t think I will, either,” she said, making sure her voice reflected an air of confidence. “I wanted to give you the first opportunity since you’ve pursued me in the past.”

  “I appreciate that. If something comes up you’ll be the first person I contact.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you for your time,” Libby said.

  “No problem. Keep in touch.”

  “Will do,” she said, cutting off the words in her rush to end the call.

  She regretted calling Jeff in an angry flush. She should have given the conversation more thought instead of acting out of emotion and outrage. Even now she was fuming, caught between disbelief and indignation.

  The walk to her condo took fifteen minutes. The distance was what she considered her daily workout. Her building was on a busy street and safe enough for her to hoof it both early in the morning and late at night. She hoped she’d be able to continue to walk to and from work at her new firm.

  Shifting the load from one shoulder to the other, Libby struggled to maintain her composure as she walked through her front door. She’d been so certain that this was it, so confident that her hard work and sacrifices were finally being recognized. To get laid off instead was unbelievable.

  Only now was the truth of it beginning to sink in.

  Libby had always been driven to succeed. She’d been the valedictorian of her high school class and had been in the top ten percent of her class in both college and law school. She had worked hard for those grades; she worked hard for everything.

  With her arms wrapped around her middle, Libby walked around the living room three times, her mind racing at a speed to rival any NASCAR engine. The sky had gone even darker and a drizzle splashed against the windows, weaving wet and crooked trails on the glass. This was March in the Pacific Northwest.

  Libby needed to think. First things first: update her résumé.

  She turned on her one-cup coffeemaker, brewed a mug, and carried it into her home office. Setting it down on a coaster, she looked at the picture of her mother that rested on the corner of her desk. Her mother’s eyes seemed to focus directly on hers.

  “I know, Mom. Don’t worry. This is only temporary. All is not lost.”

  It was then that Libby noticed the plant next to her mother’s framed photograph. She didn’t even know what kind it was, but regardless: it was brown and shriveled now. It had withered with neglect.

  Chapter 2

  Four Months Later

  With her briefcase clenched in her hand, Libby Morgan left her latest interview with the gut-wrenching feeling that she wouldn’t get this job, either. The economy was killing her chances. Her résumé highlighted her professional qualifications; Hershel had written her a glowing letter of recommendation, and yet nothing had panned out.

  Four months!

  Finding another position shouldn’t have been a problem; only it was. No one was hiring. No one was interested. Libby lost count of the number of firms where she’d applied, the number of interviews she’d sat through. She’d followed leads from friends, and still nothing. Oh, she’d come close any number of times, but up until now she’d always come in second … or third. Her ego was in the gutter and her self-esteem was dragging close to the seafloor. Libby had never been this depressed in her life. Having nothing to do with her time was slowly killing her. She desperately needed to work.

  As she walked into her condo, she tossed her briefcase onto the sofa and sagged into the thick, cushioned seat. The middle button of her suit jacket had stretched to the breaking point. On top of everything else she’d gained weight. Ten pounds. Ten ugly pounds. She unfastened her jacket and let out a disgusted sigh. Nothing fit right. Nothing felt right. Not her life. Not her clothes. Nothing.

  The phone rang, and thinkin
g it might be a potential employer, Libby leaped for it.

  “Libby Morgan,” she said, doing her utmost to sound upbeat and positive.

  “Libby, it’s Sarah. How’d the interview go?”

  Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Who was she kidding? No one was going to call her about a job. “It’s the same old story: there are at least forty candidates for every opening.”

  Even before the interview was finished Libby knew she wasn’t a contender. In the months since she’d left Burkhart, Smith & Crandall she’d developed a sixth sense about her chances. Two or three times she knew she was in the running. Second and even third interviews followed, and yet it was always the same outcome. Sorry, another time. Close, but no cigar.

  “How’s the office?” Libby asked. Her one lingering hope was that Hershel and the other partners would recognize their mistake and ask her to return. Four months ago, if they had, she would’ve taken pleasure in laughing in their faces and telling them to take a flying leap into some cow pile. Over the last several weeks, though, her attitude had softened considerably. She wanted to work. She needed to work. She couldn’t take this endless battle of building herself up for the next interview only to be dashed against the rocks of self-doubt and frustration.

  “I was so hoping it would work out this time,” Sarah continued.

  Libby had been, too.

  “Don’t get discouraged,” Sarah said.

  “I won’t.” Yeah, like that was possible. She felt beaten down and defeated and it wasn’t even noon yet.

  “Gotta scoot.”

  “Bye.” Her paralegal’s calls weren’t as frequent as they’d been the first month. In fact, these days it was usually Libby who contacted Sarah. The paralegal was busy and preoccupied, and their conversations were short. Libby knew that Sarah found it difficult working for Ben Holmes. She’d gladly follow Libby to another law firm given the opportunity.

  What she needed, Libby decided, was a break. She hadn’t been to Spokane since Christmas two years ago. Hadn’t seen her father or stepmother in that long. Libby got along fine with Charlene, the woman her father had married when she was a high school senior. Their relationship was warm. Charlene was pleasant enough, but she had no intention of mothering Libby, which was fine by her. Libby held on to the memories of her mother and worked hard to live up to the potential Molly had seen in her.

  Unfortunately, Libby had never been particularly close to her father. He was a civilian working for the air force as a computer analyst and had always been distant. The small family had gotten their first emotional hit when Libby’s older brother, Timmy, was killed while riding his bike when he was ten. A drunk driver had hit him and then sped away. Her father had taken the tragic death of his son especially hard. Although Libby was only vaguely aware of it, Timmy’s death had put a strain on her parents’ marriage. Then her mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

  Robert Morgan seemed to close himself off from life after his son’s death. In many ways that drunk driver had claimed more than her brother’s life; he’d destroyed their family. Her mother and father were never the same. Gone were the days when her father would laugh and tease her. As a child Libby had loved it when her father would pick her up and twirl her around and around. She couldn’t remember him playing with her again after they lost Timmy.

  When it was just the two of them, Robert and Libby rarely even spoke. The day she was admitted into the National Honor Society, her father hadn’t come to the school for the presentation. He hadn’t taken pictures of her and her date for the high school senior prom the way other parents did, and for her birthday and Christmas he gave her cash. He simply didn’t seem to care. Still, he was family. Her only family.

  It was her mother Libby missed—now more than ever. She longed to burrow into her mother’s arms and be comforted by her warm embrace, just as she’d done when Libby was young and frightened. Her mother had always found a way to cheer her. In first grade, when Libby hadn’t gotten an invitation to a birthday party, her mother had taken her to a fancy restaurant for tea. They’d worn special hats and gloves and dined on cucumber sandwiches. All these years after her mother’s death, Libby still missed her hugs and the notes her mother used to write and tuck into her sack lunch.

  Reaching for her phone, Libby looked up the Spokane number for her father on her contacts list, a sad commentary all on its own. Charlene answered on the third ring.

  “Hello, Libby,” she said, sounding pleased to hear from her.

  They spoke for a few moments, exchanging pleasantries before Libby asked, “I was wondering if you and Dad have plans this weekend? I thought I might drive over for a visit.”

  Charlene hesitated. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, sure. I just need a change of pace.” What she needed was purpose, something to do other than sit around the condo and slowly go insane.

  “You aren’t working yet?”

  “Not yet.” The words nearly stuck in her throat. She felt like such a loser.

  “What you need is a little TLC,” Charlene murmured sympathetically. “Come visit and I’ll make you comfort food. I’ve got a new macaroni and cheese recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”

  “I don’t need macaroni and cheese,” Libby cried on the tail end of a hysterical laugh. “I need cottage cheese.”

  “Oh dear, have you gained weight?”

  “It’s the ice cream,” Libby lamented. Late nights with Jay Leno and the featured flavor of the month were the culprits. With no reason to go to bed, she was often up until one or two in the morning. Libby knew she should quit the nighttime snacks, but she couldn’t discipline herself to do it. Her comforts were few. Until the last few months Libby had had no idea how consoling ice cream could be to a troubled heart and mind.

  “Join a gym,” Charlene suggested. “It’ll help. Here’s your father.”

  “Libby, what’s up?” Robert Morgan asked. He’d never been a warm and fuzzy father, but after losing Timmy and Molly, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Libby at all.

  “I’d thought I’d drive over to Spokane for a visit,” Libby said. “It’s been a while since I was last home.”

  “You mean to say you still don’t have a job?” The question felt like an accusation.

  “I’m trying, Dad,” she said, fighting back a defensive response. It wasn’t like she hadn’t put effort into this job search. She’d run herself ragged, cheerfully subjecting herself to one rejection after another. It seemed the longer she was unemployed, the harder it was to interest a potential employer.

  “Well, you’re welcome to visit.” Heavy emphasis was placed on the last word.

  Visit. Not stay. Visit.

  Libby exhaled, swallowing down yet another bitter lesson in humility. “Thanks, Dad.”

  That weekend Libby drove over to Spokane on Saturday morning and stayed until late Sunday morning. The visit was short and sweet. Charlene looked on sympathetically as her father found it important to ply her with unsolicited and unwelcome advice.

  Don’t be a quitter.

  Try harder.

  Don’t be so picky.

  Be willing to start at the bottom.

  Prove yourself.

  He said all these things as if Libby hadn’t been trying.

  Monday morning, following her stepmother’s advice, Libby found a local gym on the Internet, stopped by for a tour, and at the end of the visit signed a twelve-month contract. She should be watching her pennies more closely, but at the rate she was gaining weight it would be cheaper to pay gym fees than it would be to purchase the entirely new wardrobe she’d need if she got too fat to fit into the one she already owned.

  “Do I need special workout clothes for the yoga and Pilates classes?” she asked the perky girl who’d given her the tour of the facility. She’d introduced herself as Gina and she had a Miss Universe figure.

  “Nothing special; just something loose and comfortable.”

  Libby snickered. “If I had an
ything loose I wouldn’t be enrolling at the gym.”

  “Funny.”

  Libby didn’t think it was all that humorous.

  The next morning at eight, she arrived to find the gym packed. Every machine was in use, and the sound of whirling wheels filled the cavernous room. Libby had chosen to wear sweatpants and a T-shirt and felt incredibly out of place. The other women wore stylish color-coordinated outfits. Looking around, she was convinced she was the fattest woman in the room.

  “You can have my machine,” a tall, good-looking man around her age offered when she approached the row of treadmills.

  “Thanks.” She waited until he finished, stepped onto the base, and set the speed at a brisk pace to walk a mile and a half. Before she finished she thought she would throw up. Libby had no idea she was so badly out of shape.

  Afterward, in an effort to catch her breath, she sat in the dressing room on the bench and bent forward, elbows on her knees. The wall clock told her it was nine. She would be at her desk right now if she still worked at the firm, and would probably have already put in two hours of hard work. Those days were gone. Now the rest of the day stretched out before her as a complete blank. At least now she was walking off the pounds she’d gained.

  After showering and changing clothes she returned to her condo and spent the next hour on the computer in a futile job search. She broke for lunch, watched the noon news on television, and fifteen minutes of the soap opera that followed. When she realized she was getting hooked on the story line, she abruptly turned it off and headed back to the computer. A couple of days last week, she’d actually taken a nap. A nap in the middle of the day—it was outrageous. The mere thought of watching soap operas and taking naps horrified her. An unknown person was taking over her body and she had to find a way to stop this hostile takeover.

  When she arrived at the gym the next morning, a professional-looking woman around her age opened the locker next to Libby’s. She looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit her. She was an attorney at one of the bigger law firms in town. It took Libby a few minutes to recall her name. Megan … Maggie … no, Maddy Something. Why oh why hadn’t she paid more attention?