The Miracle Girl

by T. B. Markinson

  I thought about the day before and the stories I’d told at the meeting. That was what people had come to expect. They liked to hear about adventure. In my younger days, I craved adventure, always willing to travel for a story or escape. I escaped a lot. Now, I wanted quiet. Not that my job would give me much peace. People then and now never really wanted to get to know me. Not many knew that I liked my coffee with two sugars, had a dog named Sinclair (who’d passed away from cancer one month prior to my move), and that I preferred to be in bed each night before ten unless there was a work emergency or function. When emergencies happened, I slept in my office where I always kept at least one change of clothes.

  In my opinion, my everyday life was like anyone else’s‌—‌everyday. At least to those who worked in the media biz. But over the years the company had built up my reputation to be this dynamic employee and worldwide adventurer. Exciting, competent, and successful. I felt like I had to be “on” every second at work. A larger-than-life female Hemingway. Bolstering this image that Cora framed for me helped my career, but not my soul.

  The couple of hours I was allowed to work in private in the morning were my most productive and satisfying.

  I slipped in through the back door, unnoticed. The building never shut down completely, not even on Christmas. Most employees didn’t notice others who came and went early in the morning since there were always people going in and out of the building. The joy of the newspaper business never stopped.

  Some lights were on in the office. Mostly in the advertising section, which took up two-thirds of the first floor. Circulation and the front desk were hidden from my viewpoint by the backstairs leading to my office on the third floor. More than likely only graphic designers were present, building ads that would appear in tomorrow’s paper.

  I paused and studied the advertising department. So many years ago, I was supposed to start my first job here after college. How would that have changed my life? Sighing, I turned to ascend the backstairs to my office, but a flicker of light in the only office in the advertising department caught my attention. All the other desks were out in the open. It had to be Claire. Yesterday I had found out she was the director of advertising.

  Back in college Claire was not a morning person. She was famous for being the exact opposite: staying up till two or three and never having any classes before noon. Remembering this, I couldn’t help but wonder why she was in the office so early.

  Curiosity got the best of me. I released the handrail, turned around, and marched to her office. And truth be known, I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to finally speak to her alone after all these years.

  Her windowless office, with a massive desk and file cabinets along the side screamed that the occupant didn’t care about showmanship. This wasn’t a gathering place to woo prospective clients. This was a place for Claire to get down to the nitty-gritty of running the advertising department. I was immediately impressed.

  “Are you always here this early?” I asked.

  Claire nearly jumped out of her skin. “Fuck!” She swiveled around quickly in her chair and saw me, her new boss, and her mottled cheeks showed embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Y-you startled me.”

  I couldn’t contain a smile. “I should apologize. You always were jumpy. Do you remember when you pulled a muscle during the movie Misery?” I grinned at the memory, and I knew I looked like that lovesick puppy that used to follow her everywhere. I didn’t give a damn.

  “That Annie was one scary bitch.” Again it looked like Claire felt like an idiot for saying bitch in front of the publisher of the paper.

  “That’s putting it mildly.” I set my leather briefcase down and leaned against the doorjamb. “So are you?”

  “Am I what?” Claire scrunched up her face, reminding me just why I had loved this woman so many years ago. Even with her face all distorted, Claire was lovely. Her auburn hair, full lips, and sapphire eyes. Not to mention her wondrous tits. Claire’s blouse was undone at the top, and from my angle I had a fantastic view. Voluptuous didn’t begin to describe them.

  “Are you always here this early?” I pulled my eyes off her chest. Feeling warm, I shrugged off my blazer.

  “Normally. I like the quiet time. I live around the corner from my parents, so my mom, who loves mornings more than you do, comes over to get my son ready for school.”

  Son. Claire had a son.

  I smiled broadly, trying to cover my disappointment. I had hoped Claire wouldn’t be married, even if that was a selfish thought.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ian.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Six.”

  I didn’t want to know but felt compelled to ask, “How is Andrew?”

  Claire stared dumbfounded before she recovered and mumbled, “He’s fine.”

  Her brief answer intrigued me. The previous night I had intended to google Claire and Andrew, but both my personal phone and Blackberry were dead, and I apparently lost my chargers in the move. Plus, the IT department was working on my laptop so I could have access to everything at Mile High. It was an eerie night since I was hardly ever unplugged.

  Claire motioned to a bag of M&Ms on her desk. “Want some?”

  This made me smile. “I see you’re still addicted. Do you still eat two at a time and never the same color at once?”

  To answer my question, she popped a blue and green M&M into her mouth.

  We remained quiet for several uncomfortable seconds.

  “What about you?” asked Claire. She leaned back in her desk chair, spoiling my view down her shirt.

  I assumed she meant, was I always here so early, since she knew I wasn’t a fan of chocolate. “Yes, I’m always in this early, but don’t tell anyone or they’ll want me to work more.” I winked at Claire.

  Claire smiled. “Your secret is safe with me. But I meant do you have any … uh, children or a partner?”

  I shook my head. “No children, and at the moment, I’m single.” I didn’t understand why Claire’s eyes looked relieved. Did she think I would be an unfit mother? Or a bad partner?

  Then the look of relief was replaced with a sympathetic air. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I have a dog.” Immediately I felt like an ass. “Had a dog. He died recently,” I added, averting my eyes briefly.

  She grimaced at first like she didn’t know what to say. “A dog. You?”

  “What do you mean by that?” I feigned being hurt.

  “Well, I never pegged you as a dog person … back then.” Claire stumbled over the words.

  “My parents thought it would be good for me, so they encouraged me to adopt one. Have some stability at home.”

  “What was your dog’s name?” Claire’s eyes sparkled.

  “Sinclair.”

  “Upton Sinclair?”

  I nodded sheepishly. I always admired the muckraker. And the name reminded me of Claire without being too obvious about it.

  “How are your parents?” I had always liked Claire’s family and was desperate to prolong our conversation. I wasn’t surprised they lived so close to Claire, especially now that they had a grandson.

  “Mom is tickled pink over Ian. My brother still hasn’t settled down. Dad keeps threatening to retire, and Mom worries it will end their relationship. The man doesn’t have any hobbies.” Claire smiled. “She bought him and Ian fishing poles. So far the ploy hasn’t worked. Ian can’t hold still for five minutes, and Dad hates fish and being outdoors.”

  She was the same old Claire. In under two minutes I felt like I was completely caught up with her life. “I’m with him on that,” I said, referring to her father.

  “What? Can’t hold still or the fish bit?” Claire teased, knowing my answer.

  “Fish.”

  “How’s your family?”

  “Good. Mom and Pops still live in the same house. All of my aunts and uncles have skedaddled, and I hardly ever see them
or my cousins anymore. Family reunions are hard to plan when almost every member besides my parents is roaming here and there.”

  “Wandering has always been in your blood.” Her soft eyes didn’t judge.

  I started to gather my blazer and briefcase. “I probably should beat it before others see me.” I started to leave and then turned abruptly. “We should do lunch.” Before Claire had a chance to reply, I was halfway to the back staircase, which was located conveniently close to her office.

  I didn’t flip on my office light, preferring the illuminated computer screen as the only source. For years I had struggled with migraines and tried to avoid brightness, even dimming my computer screen as much as possible.

  My e-mail inbox was flooded per usual. Normally I jumped right in. I enjoyed zapping the useless e-mails that contained reports the higher-ups thrived on, but either didn’t include the pertinent information or presented it all wrong. Not all reports were a waste of time. I knew one of my first tasks would be to whittle down what was needed, what was superfluous, and how to package it better. If I was going to save this paper, I had to cut the fat. Not everyone would be onboard with that, of course.

  Darrell Miller, the managing editor, was the biggest obstacle, and headquarters already had given their blessing to do away with him‌—‌not immediately, to keep the gossip mill quiet for the initial transition, yet as soon as possible. He used to be a rock star in the newspaper world until something happened to him about ten years ago, right about the time his wife left him. Darrell became bitter, impossible to work with, and his writers could never please him. Cora had summoned him more than once to the New York offices to reason with him. To remind him of what he used to be, but to no avail. He seemed dead set on driving the news department into the ground instead of getting on board with the drastic changes of how people consume news and what type of news they hunger after. He probably watched All the President’s Men every weekend to relive the good old days of Woodward and Bernstein.

  He wasn’t my only concern. Many of the employees held onto silly tasks out of fear that if their usual responsibilities weren’t useful, they’d be let go. I had to find a way to ease their apprehension and get them to see the light. My goal was to save every single job, except for Darrell’s. I wouldn’t announce that though. A promise like that invited trouble, especially since the decision to lay off people rested with the corporate office ninety percent of the time.

  I turned my chair and stared at the foothills. I hadn’t expected to see Claire first thing this morning. I hadn’t expected to see Claire at all when I first learned of my assignment. How could I have known she worked at the paper? We hadn’t spoken since that night.

  What happened?

  I also expected her child to be older than six. Why had she waited so long? Money? Health issues?

  An idea struck, and I pounced on my mouse to bring up the Who’s Who page on the company website.

  When the name popped up, I stared at the screen like I’d seen a monkey jump out.

  Claire Nicholls.

  Nicholls? She’d kept her maiden name. That seemed unlike her. She wasn’t a feminist by any stretch of the imagination.

  I googled Claire Nicholls and found her Facebook page rather easily. There weren’t too many people named Claire in Denver, Colorado.

  The few photos only showed her son, who was the spitting image of Claire. There was no mention of a spouse, and her status didn’t say if she was single, married, divorced … nothing.

  Before I could research Andrew, the shrill ring of my desk phone pulled me out of la-la land.

  “Hello.”

  “Ah, JJ, I wasn’t expecting you to be in yet,” said Bill. “You getting settled into your new office?”

  I knew that wasn’t the purpose of the call, so I kept my reply brief. “Yes. How was your flight?” Bill’s flight had left at midnight, getting him into New York around six so he could rush home, and in his own words “shit, shower, and shave, and be in the office by nine.” For a man nearing retirement, he still acted like he was twenty.

  “Great. Just great. We landed not long ago at JFK, and I’m on my way to the office. I planned to leave a voicemail, but now that I have you, I wanted to run a few things by you. Do you have a moment?”

  A moment. This brought a smile to my face. Bill was good at his job, but keeping things brief wasn’t his strong suit. I regretted wasting my morning searching for Claire on the Internet and daydreaming since I knew I’d be on the phone with Bill for at least an hour, probably two. My first full day in the office and I felt like I was three days behind.

  “Of course, Bill. Shoot.” I gripped my fountain pen ready to use shorthand to jot down every word Bill uttered. Afterwards, I would have Avery type up the notes. I was meticulous about keeping every e-mail, transcribed notes from every meeting, phone calls, and occasionally I would record random conversations in the elevator or during a meal with my cell phone without the other person knowing. Detail oriented‌—‌absolutely. And it helped me cover my ass.

  By eight, I hung up the phone and heard Avery rustling outside my office door. Momentarily I looked at my inbox, wishing it would magically clean itself out. No time to worry about that now. I opened the door. “Good morning, Avery. Shall we get to it?”

  Avery flashed her million-dollar smile. “Let’s.”

  “First things first, can I borrow your chargers?” I held up my phones. “And can you order me new ones? I nearly lost my mind last night‌—‌not being connected.”

  * * *

  Around seven that night, I walked into my empty hotel suite and plunked down on the couch. I started to call out Sinclair’s name, but then remembered that he had passed away and I was now living in a hotel. The company wasn’t sure how long I would be stationed in Denver. The hope was only a couple of years if the doors didn’t close in January. Cora called this a stepping-stone to the top. I had decided to keep my place in New York in case I was called back home sooner rather than later, and Beale Media would rent or buy a small house for me. A coworker who left her husband the same day I heard about my transfer ended up moving into my apartment. Since I moved so quickly, I hadn’t had the time to start house hunting yet and didn’t plan to for the first couple of weeks. Downtown Denver didn’t appeal to me. Since I was in the same state as my parents after being gone for so long, it made sense for me to be closer to them. I just had to convince Cora.

  I wasn’t keen on spending too much time in Colorado. After living abroad and then in New York and several other cities, I feared I’d feel stifled in the West. Not that Denver was a forgotten wasteland. Cora had sent me to much smaller places before. There were too many memories in Denver, and I wasn’t sure if I welcomed them yet. Or if I could handle them.

  I thought of Claire. What did she do for fun?

  Spent time with her husband and son, probably.

  I frowned. I had constantly thought about Claire since landing at the airport, even though it had taken years to accept that Claire was gone for good.

  And now I had to see her every day.

  It felt like a gaping wound had been ripped opened for all to see. It nearly killed me the first time. Actually, I didn’t think I ever got over her. How was I going to get through the next two years, working side by side with her? That was, if I met corporate’s demand by New Year’s.

  I groaned.

  I thought back to our last night together. To the words Claire said and the unsaid accusation that Claire thought I wouldn’t amount to anything and that Andrew was a safe bet. A provider.

  Now I was the publisher of the paper Claire worked for. Did that impress her?

  Did it matter? I rubbed my eyes and then massaged my temples.

  She had a kid and was more than likely married.

  I sighed while remembering the phrase, “You can never go home again.”

  “Shit,” I muttered and walked to the minibar. The whiskey bottle practically call
ed my name. My fingers reached out for the bottle that towered over the rest, and I remembered Claire asking me if anyone ever called me Dr. J, the six-foot-seven basketball star, the night we met at our dorm floor initiation meeting back in the first year of college. A lot of people teased me about my short stature, but when Claire made jokes about it, it didn’t feel derogatory, but sweet somehow right from the start. Smiling, my fingers searched for and found some tonic water.

  Ten years, now. I’d been clean and sober for ten years. Yet I still had to fight the urge on a regular basis.

  I became quite adept at hiding my drinking and drug problem back in the day. Those in the know joked that I was a “high-functioning” addict. Amazingly enough, my addictions hadn’t interfered with my job.

  At first.

  I could drink well into the early morning hours. To get through the day, I’d snort coke. I convinced myself that if I didn’t start drinking until after work hours, I didn’t have a problem. And on occasion I would go for a few days without either booze or drugs, just to prove to myself that I could. Ergo, I didn’t have a problem.

  For the most part, this logic had worked.

  Then the cravings increased. My hands shook. I would break into a sweat during meetings. I was green around the gills or a sickly gray color. Cora, who grew up with an addict, recognized the signs. After years of managing it, I was on the brink of losing my career. I wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing, but it was all I had. If I woke up with nothing to do, no job, no partner, no children, I feared I wouldn’t make it. I’d go crazy. Or worse.

  Cora recommended a program. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about rehab and didn’t think it would work.