The first time didn’t.
Then I was busted for drunk driving. Normally I didn’t have to worry about driving drunk since I lived in New York City. I could get plowed and then hail a cab. During a visit to Delaware, I got arrested the night before my friend’s wedding. Not only did I miss the wedding, but I spent the night in the drunk tank. When I woke up, reality hit hard.
Again I turned to Cora, the only person I could trust. I used vacation time that I had accrued over a couple of years and went back to rehab. Everyone at work thought I was on the French Riviera, working on a novel. That was the cover story Cora circulated around the office.
When I returned to work, I looked healthy, without the Riviera tan. No one asked about the book that I was supposedly writing. That was when I realized my big secret wasn’t such a secret. How long had my coworkers suspected? The thought was embarrassing, but I learned not to dwell on the past. Only think about the now. Too bad I couldn’t stay off the shit.
Back in school, Claire used to tease me that I was an alcoholic in the making. And she always hated that after a bender she would be hungover and I would get up bright and early and go for a run or a bike ride.
God, if Claire knew …
I clutched the tiny tonic bottle, taking a massive swig, downing most of it with one gulp. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and decided to go to the hotel gym and run on the treadmill for an hour. Dull my mind that way so I wouldn’t think about what happened that weekend. The weekend that spurred the Miracle Girl label that everyone loved but I loathed.
Chapter Three
After my first full week in the office, I stood in the break room with a handful of enraptured employees. I was telling my story about the night I had been camping with a photographer in Yellowstone and a bear tried tearing a hole in the side of my tent.
“What did you do?” asked Brenda, who always happened to be in the break room whenever I popped in to say hello to the troops.
“I panicked. I grabbed the nearest thing I could, which turned out to be my flashlight, and I bonked him on the head.” I mimicked hitting the bear with my coffee cup.
“No way,” said John, the director of classifieds.
“I know. It was stupid,” I replied. “Like throwing oil onto a fire. But I was lucky. I think I stunned the bear enough by my idiocy, and he lumbered off, growling like he was getting his bear posse to come back and tear me limb from limb.” I smiled sheepishly. I hated this story. Why did I keep telling it? Because people expected it of the Miracle Girl. Cora kept reminding me to bolster this image even though I hated it.
“Was it a grizzly?” asked John.
I shrugged. “I wasn’t about to go out and introduce myself, John. Even though I grew up in Colorado, living in New York has turned me into a city girl.”
“Then what happened?” Brenda whispered, barely breathing. It was hard for me not to stare at her crazy, frizzy hair. Was she intentionally going for the mad scientist look?
Many of them, eyes wide and mouths dangling open, waited for my response.
“Nothing. I fell asleep once my adrenalin crashed. The next morning, I woke up wondering if I had dreamt the whole thing. My photographer slept through the entire episode, so surely it didn’t happen, right?”
“Did you? Dream it?” asked John with a knowing smile. It had to be a dream. How many people survived whacking a bear on the head with a flashlight?
I paused dramatically, sensing no matter what I said, they would believe me. “I was convinced I had. That it was just a dream. Then I went outside my tent to start a fire to make coffee, and I saw it.” Again I stalled just a moment like I was on a Broadway stage. “Claw marks snagged all the way down the side of my tent.” My voice was barely above a whisper, like I was reliving the feeling of dread.
Brenda gasped. With misty eyes, she pointed to her arm. “I get goose bumps just listening to your stories. What an exciting life you’ve led.”
“I just go where the company sends me, but I do have to admit, I was glad when they transferred me to safer tasks, like running a paper.” I winked at her.
“Is that why they call you the Miracle Girl?” asked John. He made quote marks with his stubby fingers.
I flinched when I heard the moniker, even though I had been expecting it. Not wanting to let on about my true feelings, I smiled awkwardly. “Maybe, John. But if I tell you the truth, I’ll have to kill you. Company policy.” God, did they think I was an idiot? I certainly did. However, I wouldn’t put it past Cora to kill someone to keep the truth quiet.
Everyone chuckled and realized it was time to get back to work. Saying their good-byes, each one vacated the break room and headed back to their cubbies, where they spent the majority of their lives. The awake hours, at least.
Claire strolled in with a half-empty coffee cup. I smiled when I saw “World’s Best Mom” scrawled on it in a child’s handwriting. Back in school, not many saw Claire’s soft side. She never desired attention. She left that to me. However, it was the little things that I loved about her, such as her never taking off her matching friendship bracelet for three years. Not until that night.
I noticed Claire trying to stifle a laugh while refilling her mug.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter.
Claire turned, stirring some creamer into her drink. “Nothing.” Her nothing wasn’t convincing.
“I think I know you well enough to know when you’re lying, Claire Nicholls.” I loved that she had kept her maiden name.
“You always were a good storyteller.”
“How long did you stand outside the door eavesdropping?” I uncrossed my arms and waggled an accusatory finger at her, amused by the smirk on her face.
“Long enough. Actually, it was hard not to finish the story for you.”
I cocked my head, unsure. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been telling that story for years. Except back then, it was your grandmother in the tent, not you.” Claire burst into laughter.
I was confident that crimson spots dotted my cheeks and forehead.
Claire motioned to my face. “I’ll make you a deal. I won’t tattle as long as you buy me lunch today. I forgot mine.” She shrugged as if it was a perfectly reasonable explanation for blackmail.
My broad smile sealed the deal.
“Did you even have an assignment in Yellowstone?”
“Yes, and my readers loved the bear part. Even my grandmother.” I smirked.
“And what happens when people push you for details, like did you secure your food not to attract the bear?”
“Oh, I’m good at dancing around the details.” I smiled confidently.
“I’m sure.” Claire casually looked over her shoulder while walking out of the room and said, “I’ll see you later, Miracle Girl.” She made a gun with her fingers and pretended to shoot me.
* * *
“Are you available at one?” I spoke into the phone.
I could hear Claire rustling some papers on her desk. “What?” A coworker said something unintelligible. “What’s at one?”
I felt somewhat sick that she didn’t remember our lunch date, but I pretended I wasn’t stung by her forgetfulness.
“Lunch,” I stated trying not to sound perturbed.
“JJ?”
I laughed, relieved. “Yes. Who’d you think I was?”
I heard her pen scratching on paper and imagined her signing some documents for an employee. The click of the door told me that Claire was alone. “Brenda. She’s usually the only one who calls without identifying who it is. Most people stop by my office if they want something.”
“I’m making a mental note of that. Don’t call Claire. Stop by her office to ask her to lunch.”
Claire giggled. “I’m pretty sure the publisher of the paper doesn’t have to come crawling to my office if she wants something.” Her tone was playful, like s
he and I had never ceased being friends.
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to break tradition or step on Brenda’s toes.” I hung up.
Two minutes later I knocked quietly on Claire’s door.
“Come in,” said Claire. I entered and could tell she was deep in thought. She stood facing the back wall where she scrutinized ads for tomorrow’s paper that hung on the corkboard behind her desk. Rather than rush to see who was disturbing her, she finished marking up the ads with a red pen. A delete sign here, followed by a corrected spelling of one word, and then she asked for the artwork to be centered on another. Clicking the cap onto her red pen, Claire finally turned to see me standing there, eyeing her.
“How in the hell did you get here so quickly?”
“I ran down the backstairs. Elevators are for wusses. Will one work for you, Claire Nicholls?”
Claire glanced at her watch. “It’s one now.”
“Then we better get going.” I flashed my schoolgirl grin that had always made Claire smile. Her grin suggested it still worked like a charm.
“You haven’t changed much,” Claire announced before picking up her phone. “I’m going to lunch … Yes … I’ll have my cell … ’Kay, put her on … How in the hell did that happen? … Okay, talk to the reps … All right, what do you want?” Claire grabbed her red pen again and scribbled some illegible words on her notepad. “See you soon.”
“Anything I should be concerned about?” I asked, since it sounded important.
Claire let out a long breath. “We have too many full-page colored ads for this Saturday’s paper. Talia just crunched the numbers and is at my assistant’s desk, complaining.”
I quirked an eyebrow.
“We ran a sale for full-page ads, and our reps didn’t pay attention to the fact that we only had so many spots for each day. Talia, the diagrammer, is pulling her hair out.” Claire laughed. “But she does that every day. She’s a bit high-strung but damn good at her job, so we put up with her hissy fits.”
“If we need to postpone—”
“Oh no. Trust me, Talia will have this settled in five minutes. Most of the sales reps are scared of her, and they want to stay on Talia’s good side since she decides where every single ad is placed in the paper each day. She knows she holds the power. Some of the reps try to bribe her, but Talia is too high and mighty.” Claire peeked out her door to see if anyone was listening. “When I was diagrammer, I never had to buy any scotch.” She winked. Claire ripped off the note from the pad, stuffed it in her purse, and then stood and put her jacket on all in one motion. “I did say we’d stop off to buy her lunch. Poor thing never really gets to take a lunch break and the girl has a voracious appetite. You wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Thin as a rail.”
I motioned for Claire to walk ahead of me. In the parking lot, I pointed to my rental car.
“Are you kidding me? You were a bad driver in college. I can’t even imagine how bad you are now after driving in the Big Apple and London. Do you remember the time you took out that fence? That rancher was pissed. He chased us on foot for over a mile.”
“Hey, it was snowing.”
“No, it wasn’t. That’s the story you’ve probably been telling since. Or was a bear chasing you?” She squeezed my arm. “Come on.”
Claire strode to her Prius and hit the button on her key ring to unlock the doors.
“What are you in the mood for?” I asked as I crammed my short legs into the crowded space in the front seat, thankful that Claire hadn’t changed all that much since school. No one would associate tidiness with her. Several newspapers and magazines were strewn about. Did she study the ads at red lights?
“Italian.”
“I should have known.” Back then, whenever we went out to eat, Claire always begged to go to Olive Garden. I gave in each and every time, even though I wasn’t a fan. “Have they changed the menu at all?”
Claire peered at me out of the corner of her eyes. “You haven’t been to the Olive Garden at all since school?”
I shook my head. I was a lot like my folks who preferred Mom and Pop establishments.
“Then it won’t matter. It’ll be new to you.” She perked up in her seat.
“So that’s a no.”
Even the décor hadn’t changed much inside. The only difference I noticed was that they no longer had an option for us to sit in a smoking section. I had been a heavy smoker. Claire the goody-goody only smoked occasionally when stressed or tipsy. I would suck down half a pack during one of our marathon dinners. Claire hammered down as much soup and salad as she could fit into her five-foot-seven frame. This used to make me jealous since I was inches shorter.
“Do you still smoke?” asked Claire, like she had read my mind.
“Occasionally, but I try not to.” I fiddled with the salt shaker, accidentally spilling it.
“Quick! Throw it over your shoulder.”
I chuckled, remembering Claire’s silly superstitions, but I did as instructed.
“Not that shoulder. Your left!” Distraught, Claire crossed herself and said a silent prayer.
“Is the salt thing a Catholic superstition? And when did you convert?” I scrunched my forehead, shocked by her behavior.
Claire clearly had no answer to the first question and ignored it. “No, I didn’t convert. It just—”
“Seemed like the right thing to do,” I cut in, smiling.
The waitress saved Claire from any further explanation. We both ordered the all-you-can-eat soup and salad. Claire said she did for old time’s sake, and I did since nothing else on the menu tempted me. It’s hard to go wrong with soup and salad.
“It’s nice to get away from the office, even if we are only a few blocks away.”
“You don’t go out to lunch that often?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Who has the time? Usually I eat at my desk, unless I have a business lunch, and those aren’t relaxing.” She flushed and then added, “You look good, JJ.” Claire seemed unsure if she should say it.
“Thanks. You too. How long have you been working at the paper?” I took off my blazer and hung it over the back of my chair.
“Almost twenty years now. Feels like a hundred, though.” Claire looked out the window and watched the hustle and bustle along the street.
“I like your coffee cup.”
Claire snapped her head back and stared at me incredulously like I was making some inappropriate innuendo. “Excuse me?”
Knowing I sounded like an ass, heat rushed to my cheeks, causing a prickly sensation. “The cup in the office. Did your son make it for you?”
“Oh, that. I thought you were talking in some kind of code.” Claire laughed over her suspicious mind. “I watch too many crime and spy movies.”
“Do you still watch thrillers through the cracks of your fingers?”
Her embarrassed smile answered me. “Yes, and Ian made me that cup for Mother’s Day.”
“What’s Ian like?”
I saw the tension leave Claire’s shoulders. “Oh, he’s a sweetheart. Just the other day he said he saw a butterfly on the TV and it made him think of me since it danced around the flowers. That’s one of our things. We love to dance. Ian loves the oldies. You should see him reenact Elvis’s hip movements. He can even do the famous lip snarl.” Claire smiled fondly. A dark cloud descended in her eyes. “His father …”
It was only a matter of time until her husband came up. The one who gave Claire everything she ever wanted, including Ian.
“His father what?” I pushed, even though it was the last thing I wanted to discuss. I did, though, sense trouble on the home front. I felt scummy for pushing this, but I needed to know. Did I have a chance?
“Nothing. I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom.”
I nodded, and when Claire was out of sight I pulled my Blackberry out of the pocket of my blazer to check e-mail in an effort to distract myself from dwelling on her
marriage. I had failed miserably at getting the scoop. Was I contemplating being the other woman? No, I wouldn’t, would I?
Sighing, I concentrated on my phone. Normally I had my Blackberry in sight at all times. But I knew my opportunities to be alone with Claire would be few and far between.
“Ah, you have a Crackberry.” Claire slipped back into her seat effortlessly, and I admired how all of her movements flowed liked water even at our age. One had to look closely to see the action. My body was starting to show its age, and the aches and pains were building up daily. She continued, “They tried to get me one a few years back, but I put my foot down.” It was Claire’s turn to blush. “Not that I’m not dedicated to my job. People can reach me on my personal cell.”
I slipped mine back into my pocket. “I’ll requisition one for you when we get back.” I leveled my gaze on Claire.
She sat utterly still.
“Geez, just kidding. I forgot you take everything at face value. Don’t tell anyone, but there are quite a few people who have company phones who don’t need them.”
“It’s going to cause a mini-riot if you start taking their phones away.” Claire wasn’t kidding.
“I know. But those are the cuts I want to make. Not jobs.” I realized I was gritting my teeth, and the tightness in my shoulders and neck intensified. Just thinking about the consequences of failing turned me into a stress ball. “Let’s not talk about work, though. We’ll have plenty of time to do that.”
“So, is the lion and the bath story true?” Claire grinned.
“You eavesdropped on that one as well?”
“Eavesdropped? Please! You told the story during an all-staff meeting. You’ll soon find there’s no privacy at all in our building. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is into everyone else’s business.”
I had already suspected this. Fear caused people to circle the wagons. And most of the staff had been at the paper for years. It was one big apprehensive family.
“Yes. That story was true. I wish you could have been …” Flustered, I paused and then looked relieved when the waitress set down the salad bowl. I had always dreamed that we’d see the world together.
The Miracle Girl Page 4