“Century Health is hiring,” Peggy said. “That outfit up around Marin County. They pay a lot, but housing’s expensive.”
“What I meant was I’m freelancing. I do contract work.”
“Is that right? Are you turning into one of those people who stay in their pajamas all day?”
“Almost. I’m at a Laundromat right now.”
“Sounds very glamorous.”
“Doesn’t it?” Karen loved that she didn’t have to pretend with Peggy. “And I can see the ocean, if I squint. It’s right on the other side of the highway.”
“Me, too, as you recall. Big deal.” Peggy laughed, a hoarse cackle. “So, what do you need?”
“More like what do you need? I know you’re up to your eyeballs in work. How can I help?”
Peggy ran things now at Global Health, Newport Beach. She had become even more formidable since returning from a failed retirement and demanding her job back. She held the corporate checkbook and the power to decide whom to hire. “You worked here for thirty years. What do you suggest?”
“To start with, your recruitment system is out of date, and your training was never legal.” Karen listed all the areas of need she remembered from her days at Global. She was betting not much had changed, except perhaps to worsen. “And, as I recall, if anybody wanted to raise a fuss, you’d be on thin ice with the EEOC—”
“All right, all right. Jesus. You can start with a policy review, and we’ll go from there.”
“I’ll send you a proposal. Now, I heard Ben left to start his own firm. Do you know what he’s up to?”
“He bought into some smaller version of us. Him and a few guys started a partnership.” Peggy exhaled, and Karen remembered how smoky her office used to be. Peggy didn’t really care about environmental laws. “Hey, now there’s an idea. He could probably use your help.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Do you have any contact information?”
“I think so. Lemme look. Yeah, here it is. Savannah.” She read off the number. “Go get him, Tiger.”
Ben Washington had been her protégé, the most promising of dozens of young talents she’d brought along. After saying good-bye to Peggy, she found him at Savannah Health Solutions, listed as one of the founders. A quick search of the Internet told her SHS was new and expanding rapidly. She made a tentative list of the services he’d be likely to need and dialed the number.
“Karen. What a surprise.” He laughed in the deep, rich baritone she remembered. “What’ve you been up to? Are you still in South Dakota?”
People always got it wrong, but she left it alone. “Actually, I’m doing consulting.” Karen filled him in, not exaggerating but not explaining everything. He didn’t need to know she worked out of a trailer. After a decent amount of getting-reacquainted chit chat, she said, “I have business in Savannah next week.” She hoped he wouldn’t press to expose her lie. “I wondered if you’d want to get lunch. Say, Monday?”
“That’d be fantastic. I’ll clear whatever else I was doing. There’s this great little place overlooking the river.”
Karen hung up, grinning like a fool at her audacity. First the contract with Ursula, then Peggy, now Ben. It was almost as if she could conjure up work just by thinking about it.
The travel logistics would be a hassle. To keep costs down, she planned to take the truck, leaving early Sunday and driving all day. All she needed to do was figure out what to bring and where to stay, someplace cheap but clean. She began folding clothes, wondering how much leeway she had on her credit card.
Back at the trailer, she grappled with the question of what to wear. Savannah would be cooler than Key Largo. Karen pulled a box out from under the bed and unfolded a cute sweater and matching turtleneck. She would also pack the camisole that could be worn under a blouse for more warmth and provide a sexy little glimpse of lace at the bodice. Curt had loved that look. At the thought, she remembered she’d promised to call him, but their last conversation had ended on a down note and she struggled to think of what to say. Why couldn’t it be easy? She loved his company and missed him like crazy, but the next few weeks would be nuts. But maybe after that? She could check her calendar. Maybe they could work something out. She folded one more top and put it away.
After lunch, she went back to her workstation in the kitchen. She worked until evening, made dinner, and then worked some more. All the while, her phone sat silent and accusing, but she didn’t know how to give Curt what he wanted.
CHAPTER 8
CHURCH BELLS RANG THROUGH the truck’s open window as Karen left Paradise Shores. Cruising toward the mainland, she savored the balmy air and the quiet of a Sunday morning. It felt good to escape, to be moving toward something positive and exciting.
Karen had always enjoyed driving long distances alone. The automatic movements over droning blacktop freed her imagination, often sparking creative thoughts and solutions to tricky problems. When she had lived in California, business sometimes required her presence at the office in Monterey, and whenever possible, she drove from her home in Newport Beach. She’d leave early and stop in Santa Barbara for breakfast, continuing on to her favorite motel on Cannery Row.
Now, she was happy to have the time to think about Savannah. Ben Washington had been one of her most promising young managers at Global Health, and she was eager to see what he’d done professionally. Also, she hoped to find time to see the city, with its lavish gardens and monuments and its antebellum structures still intact. Maybe Ben could show her around.
So she settled in to think and plan, but the first name to pop into her head was Curt’s. She missed him, but she couldn’t afford the indulgence. If he were around, she’d want to spend languid days and torrid nights not working. She knew from their time together in North Dakota that when she was with him, she couldn’t focus on anything else. If he were to stay with her, even if only for a week or two, her resistance would falter. He lit up her body like she was seventeen again, which was when she’d first had a crush on him, but they’d gone on to create wholly separate lives.
Now they were both free, but Karen was hesitant. In her worldview, relationships had a way of taking you over. Before you met a guy, you’d be chasing your own goals. Then you fell in love, and it was all so exciting you could barely stand to get back to work. But you did, in little bits and shreds of time, while wishing you could be back with The Guy, doing whatever. And he’d be sending you texts about dinner or golf or hiking or taking a vacation. Which was way more fun than working.
As a result, your work would slide, until one day, you’d realize you’re seriously behind. So you’d lay it out for him, and he’d agree, and you’d go back to your charts and graphs, but time would pass, and you’d feel conflicted. Here you’d have this perfectly wonderful man, and he was ready to offer you the moon, and all he asked of you was time. Which you wished you could give him.
So you’d set the work aside and tell him yes. Maybe you’d have a drink or two, followed by dinner. Maybe see a movie and spend the night together. Days came; days went. It was heaven, and you were living the life.
Only problem was, it was his life. Because you had goals and dreams, and with him around, they were getting pushed aside, and against all odds, that was okay. Only it wasn’t.
Karen stared at the highway unfurling in front of her. Would relationships always be this way, a zero-sum game with no compromise? How did other people balance them?
For now, her only response was to ask Curt to be patient until she got her business off the ground. Then she’d be able to relax a little and maybe even invite him to come stay with her in Key Largo. That would be romantic. Her hormones stirred at the thought.
She enjoyed the feeling. It was something she had feared losing as she rounded the corner toward fifty, a dull, married woman with a libido as flat as the North Dakota prairie. Then Curt had come back into her life, and she’d discovered that sex at her age was even more spectacular than in her youth.
In
fact, it wasn’t just sex. At fifty, she felt like she was starting all over again, as motivated and excited as when she was young but with a much more capable mind. These were early days, adrenaline-soaked ones in which Karen was free to take chances and pursue her dreams. It was the silver lining that remained after the upheaval and loss of the past year.
But there was still the dark undertone of risk. What if she lost him? What if she failed in her quest to build financial independence?
Stop whining. Life is to be lived.
Karen grinned. Call her crazy, but there were benefits to having a great imagination. She felt as if Frieda were in her head, riding along with her. It was a comfort.
You’re welcome.
She took an off-ramp, found a fast-food place, and bought a burger at the drive-through. Under the spreading limbs of a giant eucalyptus, she ate lunch and then got back on the road. Traffic was heavier now on the Interstate northbound toward Savannah. Signs beckoned travelers to stop at any number of historic points of interest. A historic seaport, an old plantation, and an entire community on Jekyll Island all called out to her. She would enjoy seeing them if she had more time.
But a person could only do so much. There had to be a way to systematize or automate the search work she was doing. What if she could direct her computer to alert her when certain searches were conducted online? She had already set up alerts when people asked about her business. Some of these turned out to be headhunting gold, the pursuit of which yielded qualified candidates for her clients.
Surely there was some kind of software out there. And if there wasn’t, could she develop it? And once developed, could she sell it to a big company and become rich?
She jammed on the brakes, almost rear-ending the guy in front of her. What a great idea.
It was worth thinking about anyway. She filed it away and went back to driving.
Trees bordered the highway, two lanes on each side separated by a wide strip of grass, and the sky was a perfect deep-blue backdrop to drifting, fluffy-white clouds. At times like this, Karen—child of a small town in the Midwest—felt lucky to have lived in several different places in the country. From the Dakotas to California to Florida, she’d loved some part of all of them, although her hometown would always represent her foundation.
Toward evening, she drove into Savannah, crowded with traffic and hopping like the busy riverport city of old. Her hotel, though economical, was clean, new, and geared for business. In the old days, when she had been wealthy, she almost didn’t appreciate a decent hotel as much as she did now, when every dollar was so precious. Humbled at the realization, she went downstairs to find a place to eat dinner.
The hotel opened onto a busy side street lined with crumbling brick facades. The brickwork moldered with the black patina of southern damp, and castor-bean trees sprouted from underneath buckling sidewalks. Yet she walked without fear, joining a crowd of tourists and businesspeople, the former laughing and sipping beer from paper cups, the latter scowling into phones or jabbering at Bluetooth earbuds.
Three blocks away, she found a down-home diner furnished with the aluminum-edged laminate tables of her childhood. Overhead, a collection of hand-crank eggbeaters hung from the ceiling. A well-padded waitress took her order of shrimp and grits fancied up with smoky andouille sausage. The restaurant was filled with a mix of family types and worker bees.
Other than Ben, she knew no one in the city. She wondered what he’d be like now. Sometimes the people you mentor break away in a bid for independence that makes continuation of the relationship awkward. She hoped they’d still have their easy camaraderie.
She looked around the diner, taking in the fact that everyone else seemed to be here on holiday, relaxing and enjoying their leisure, but she was gearing up for a business pitch. So this was her life—at fifty, she was working as hard as a kid again.
Her phone rang. It was Curt.
“Perfect timing.” She smiled into the phone.
“You sound happy. Where are you?”
“I am, at this very moment, having dinner in Savannah, Georgia.”
“My rambling woman. What’s in Savannah?”
As Karen explained, she heard the joyful lilt in her voice. Somehow, talking to him about her plans made them seem more possible. “Thanks for your faith in me,” she said. “It helps.”
“You’ll be successful, Karen. You always are.”
She felt the warmth, and a wave of longing nearly overwhelmed her, but she had to stay strong. As if sensing it, he closed in. “Why don’t I come visit you when you get back to Florida?”
She hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No, that sounds wonderful,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t know how much fun I’ll be, working and all. If you came to visit, I’d want to spend all day with you, but I really have to focus.”
“I understand.”
“I really appreciate that.”
They hung up, and Karen went back and forth between regret at not being nicer to him and frustration that she felt guilty. She enjoyed his company so much, and the lovemaking—she shifted in her seat at the memory—well, it was first class. But she wished he would cut her some slack.
She flagged down a waitress and ordered a refill on the wine.
CHAPTER 9
DOWNSTAIRS IN THE BUFFET line, Karen followed a round-shouldered giant who scooped a mound of scrambled eggs and sausage onto his plate while talking to the party in his ear. Most of the tables were taken, filled with tourists in bright florals and working people in beige and black. She grabbed a cup of coffee and a bagel and returned to her room, where she spread the newspaper on a small round table and read while eating. Savannah was recovering from the recession, thanks to tourism, but well-paying jobs were still scarce. That would make it easier for her if Ben needed employee recruitment. She scanned the rest of the paper, folded it to the side, and mentally rehearsed her pitch for the variety of services she could offer. Then she drove through downtown traffic to Savannah Health Solutions, a granite ten story overlooking the river. When the elevator opened onto the fourth floor, a receptionist led her down the hall to Ben’s office.
He stood at the window, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the riverfront. His posture was relaxed yet elegant, French cuffs perfectly white against dark skin, hair trimmed in a classic fade. At the receptionist’s voice, he turned. His face broke into a smile, and he crossed the room in two steps and swept Karen into a hug.
“Where on earth have you been?”
“Working. I’m in Florida right now.”
“You look great.” He led her to a conference table. “Tell me everything.”
She didn’t, of course, having rehearsed the update speech last night until she could say it with apparent spontaneity. But she told him enough to get him excited about her new business.
“So you’ve become your own boss, Karen. Congratulations.”
“And you, Ben. What a gorgeous office. You must be doing very well.”
“We’re rockin’ and rollin’ here. Nothing but blue sky ahead.” He reached for her hand. “I owe you. You got me started.”
She returned the squeeze. “You would have made it under any circumstances.”
“No, you brought me along when I was in a bad place. Trained me up, got me thinking like a CEO. And now look.” He gestured toward the whole of his lavish office. “Who’da thought?”
“Me.”
“Yes. You would have.” Ben pulled a file out of a drawer and handed it to her. “These are our growth projections. We’ll need additional staff, from physicians to desk crew. Second, we need compliance manuals and other internal forms. Third, work fast, because there’s always something coming down the pike.”
As Karen listened, she marveled at his maturity. He’d ditched the slouch, the two-day growth of beard, and the baggy slacks. This Ben was a grown man, a professional. Maybe she’d never been privileged to hav
e children, but her work in human resources gave her plenty of opportunities to help young people get a start. Looking at Ben, seeing his confidence and hearing the enthusiasm in his voice, she could not suppress a proud smile.
After showing Karen around and introducing her to his staff, Ben took her upstairs to the Bayou, a white-linen restaurant on the top floor. “Try the ham,” he said. “They bake it in a bourbon-molasses sauce that is out of this world.”
“I’d love to, but...” Karen looked over the menu and, mindful of her shape, ordered shrimp salad instead. They chatted as they ate, while watching barges, tugs, and pleasure boats ply the Savannah River below. “The view is spectacular.”
“It is. They demolished a warehouse and shoehorned this one in.”
“Must be pricey.”
“We can afford it.”
On the far banks lay a sprawling convention hotel surrounded by a lush, manicured golf course. “Did you ever take up the game?” she asked. “I know you wanted to.”
“I did. It used to greatly annoy me, watching you and the other execs head out for a round while I was stuck at the office.”
“That’s why I learned,” she said.
“Do you still play?”
“Every chance I get.” It was a lie. Karen hadn’t golfed since the Bully Pulpit, early last summer with Curt. She remembered her delight at running into him that afternoon. They’d played the Dakota Badlands, renewing their friendship after thirty years apart. Afterwards, he’d asked her to be his date at a black-tie dinner at the university, and they’d ended the evening in his bed.
She realized Ben was talking, and tried to focus. “It’s hard to find the time though,” he was saying, “between work and family.”
“You moved here because your mother-in-law is ill?”
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