Calendar Girl

by Georgia Beers

  A beat of silence passed. Two.

  “Just say it,” Katie finally whispered. “Get it over with.”

  A small flash of surprise actually zipped across Addison’s face before she caught it, cleared her throat, and went back to all business. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me and for Fairchild Rentals, but I don’t think we’ll be needing your services any longer.”

  “My services.”

  As if realizing how maddeningly robotic and unfeeling she sounded, Addison quickly added, “We’ll be giving you a generous severance package, of course, and I’m happy to give you a reference.”

  Knowing something was coming didn’t necessarily prevent it from punching you in the gut. Katie learned that little fact in that very moment. She stood there, absorbing, willing her brain to focus on the anger and not the hurt. Not the pain. Not all the possibility that Addison had just ripped away.

  “I understand,” she said quietly, turned, and walked toward the door. Something stopped her, and before she even realized what she was doing, she’d spun on her heel, facing Addison once again. “I understand a lot. More than you, I imagine.” She kept her voice low and calm for two reasons. First, she wasn’t the kind of vindictive woman who, when scorned, thought the entire surrounding world should know about it; she’d keep their private business private. And two, she didn’t want to give Addison the satisfaction of knowing exactly how hurt she was right then. “You’re so worried about what others see, what others think, what your mother sees and thinks, that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually think for yourself.” She waved a finger in the yawning space between them. “We have something here. Something that could be amazing, and you know it. You feel it, too. I know you do.” There was more to say, she was sure of it, but somehow, the words just dried up and left Katie standing there, staring at Addison. Who sat wide-eyed, infuriatingly still, and said nothing. Katie blew out a breath of defeat. “You’re a coward.”

  Katie turned and walked calmly out of the office and out of the building, to her car, and headed home.

  She didn’t cry until she was safely out of the parking lot.

  * * *

  You’re a coward.

  Those words sliced through Addison like a razor blade, so much more painful than anything her mother had said to her last night. And she’d been surprised by them. How was that even possible? Katie was absolutely right, and Addison realized it almost immediately, even though she’d done what she thought she had to, what was the best thing. Now? That certainty waned, damn it, and Addison wanted to spring out of her chair. To chase Katie down, to grab her, to pull her into a hug. To kiss her senseless.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she’d sat there. Watched her go. Watched that wonderful, exciting, sexy, intriguing woman, her one last chance from the universe, walk right out of her life.

  You’re a coward.

  It was true. She was a coward.

  Slowly, as if she was in physical pain, she sat back in her chair as the air left her body like she had a slow leak, until she was slumped. Until she sat like a bored teenager in history class who wanted to make herself invisible. Small. Snow flurries had begun, tiny white dots blowing through the air, reminding Addison that life could be cold and unforgiving if she let it.

  If she let it.

  She squinted into the early afternoon, heard Katie’s calm, factual voice.

  We have something here. Something that could be amazing, and you know it. You feel it, too. I know you do.

  To her own astonishment, Addison felt tears pool in her eyes. She had felt it. From the very first time she realized she’d wanted to kiss Katie, she’d felt it. Something. Something…strong. Something sure. Something solid. Oh, yes, she’d felt it. And she’d tried her hardest to ignore it, to swipe it to the side, to tuck it into a corner.

  You’re a coward.

  “You’re back. I’d hoped so.”

  Addison looked up in surprise to see Sophie walking into the office, her face a mask of concern and confusion. Addison swallowed hard, not trusting her voice.

  “Why do you look like you’re about to bawl? What happened?”

  Addison propped her elbows on her desk and covered her face with her hands.

  “Addison.” Sophie’s voice was firm. “Seriously, what’s going on? You look terrible.”

  “I’m so confused, Soph. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m making shockingly bad decisions left and right.”

  Sophie dropped her purse and coat onto one chair and then sat in the other. Her expression shifted into lawyer mode, information-gathering mode. “All right. Tell me everything.”

  Half an hour later, Sophie knew everything she hadn’t been privy to. Mostly details about Katie, the discussion she’d had with her mother the previous night, and the fact that she’d let Katie go.

  “For fuck’s sake, Addison.” Sophie stood and paced. Profanity was par for the course when you were friends with her, but this was an angry-F bomb. Sophie was frustrated with her, and Addison could tell. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. It was the God’s honest truth and she was so over it. She was ready to make some changes in her life; she could feel it in her bones. “Help me. Please.”

  “Help you what?”

  “Fix the really stupid thing I just did.”

  Sophie continued to pace, her thinking face on. Addison knew it well from all the tests she’d helped her study for. Minutes ticked by. Addison waited. Finally, Sophie stopped her pacing, pointed at Addison, and said, “You need a grand gesture.”

  “A grand gesture?”

  “Yes. Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy? You need a grand gesture if you want to win back the girl.”

  “But…how? I can’t…I fired her. I let her go. Told her we wouldn’t be needing her services any longer.”

  “Jesus Christ, Addie, did you use those words?” Sophie’s eyes went wide, and Addison cringed.

  “I did.”

  With a loud groan, Sophie jerked her chin at the desk. “Get Katrina on the phone. We’re gonna need reinforcements.”

  * * *

  Katie drove around for a while, giving herself time to pull it together before she headed home. Not too long, but long enough to let the tears flow, to cry it out a bit. The last thing she needed was to give her poor mother something else to worry about.

  It was time to put Fairchild Rentals and Addison Fairchild out of her mind.

  Yeah, she needed to put Addison Fairchild out of her mind.

  What could only be described as a throaty growl emanated from Katie. A growl and wet, soppy tears. That was what she’d been reduced to.

  It was still light out. It had been a while since the last time she’d driven home in the daylight, without being able to see the Christmas lights on the houses and trees in her neighborhood. Katie loved Christmas. Always had. This would be the first one with her dad sick and very possibly the last one they spent with him at home. That thought was so heavy, she was pretty sure she could feel it settle onto her shoulders, adding to everything that had happened with Addison, and press her down farther into the seat.

  It was getting bad.

  Katie and her mother both knew it, but neither wanted to talk about it. They needed to. They really did, and Katie understood that. But she didn’t like to push her mother. While Katie could see it all happening, could see how quickly things were going south, she also knew she had no idea at all what it must be like to watch the love of your life simply fade away from you. So she did her best not to press her mother, not to force her into talking about something that had no good elements…but she was going to have to. Soon. There were things to discuss. To decide. Plans to make. Steps to be taken.

  After more than an hour of driving aimlessly, she finally headed home. The second she slammed her car door shut, Katie could hear the shouting coming from the house, and she broke into a jog in the driveway, skidded a bit on the
new fallen snow, hurried up the front steps and in, then stopped short in the entryway as she took in the scene of utter chaos.

  The Christmas tree she and her mother had put up earlier in the week was lying on its side on the floor, ornaments strewn about the living room floor, broken glass from some of the bulbs catching the light from the TV and reflecting it out into the room in a display that might have been kind of dazzling if it wasn’t for the rest of the scene. Liz and Rhonda were both in the room, Liz with her hands up in a placating stance, not saying anything, but her face a portrait of a woman about to crumble. Rhonda was calmer, of course, as it was her job to be, and she spoke in a gentle tone.

  “David…just take a deep breath…”

  The sight of her father made Katie’s stomach clench. He was wide-eyed and looked terrified, his gaze darting around like a cornered animal who had no idea where it was, sweat beading on his forehead. He wore gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt with some sort of stain on the front. It was too early in the day for him to be sundowning, but it seemed like that was exactly what was happening. Which meant he was getting worse.

  “I don’t like it,” her father said in a warning tone and pointed at the tree. “I don’t like it.”

  “Okay,” Rhonda said. “That’s totally okay. We’ll get rid of it for you. All right?”

  Katie pulled the front door shut with a quiet click, and her father’s gaze snapped to her. His eyes widened even more as his thick eyebrows raised up toward his stubbled scalp. “Who the hell is that?” he asked, his voice loud, his expression horrified as he shifted his arm to point in her direction.

  “That’s your daughter, David. That’s Katie.”

  How Rhonda remained so calm, Katie had no idea. Simply looking at the situation made her stomach churn and her eyes well up.

  “No,” David insisted, as he glared at her. “I don’t have a daughter.”

  That was it. She’d reached her limit. The way he looked at her—not only with zero glimmer of recognition, but also with such disdain—combined with the unfeeling dismissal from Addison, the pressure of having to find a new job as quickly as possible—it all just clobbered Katie fully, as if a mountain had collapsed onto her, burying her under its rubble of dirt and rocks and sadness and pain. The sob rose up from the depths of her and tore out of her throat before she could catch it. The last thing she wanted to do was add to her mother’s grief, but she just couldn’t keep it in. Her eyes welled up and the tears spilled over faster than she could even register.

  “See?” David said, waving a dismissive hand at her. “Look at her. I wouldn’t have a blubbering crybaby for a kid.”

  It was as if he’d reached down her throat and torn the sob from her body, it burst out with such violence. She couldn’t take it. She turned, ripped the front door open again, and fled out of the house. She needed to escape. To get away from this day, this house, this life. So she ran. Down the steps. Along the front sidewalk, where she slid again.

  Slid smack into another person.

  Katie looked up. Into those blue, blue eyes. Those eyes that could undo her if she wasn’t careful. This was not who she wanted to see right now, and she let Addison know it by slapping a hand against her chest, more in frustration than anything else. “Why are you here?” she managed to grind out, her tone an even mix of surprise and anger even as she continued to cry. She didn’t really want an answer. Didn’t really care. She just wanted to get around her, get to her car, get away.

  But Addison grabbed her shoulders, held her firm as she dipped her head to catch Katie’s gaze, and the concern in her own was plain, right there for Katie to see. Her light brow was furrowed, her eyes slightly wider than usual, confused, expectant. She brushed away a tear on Katie’s face with her thumb, her voice soft and gentle as she asked, “Katie, what happened?” Addison Fairchild looked right at her, steady and solid, her hand strong on Katie’s shoulder, the other on her face. She grounded her. Goddamn it, she grounded her. “What is it? Tell me.”

  Those eyes. Those godforsaken eyes held her somehow, even though that made no sense, and Katie felt all her defenses simply crumble and fall. Wash away like a sandcastle at high tide until there was nothing left but the real, undisguised version of Katie right in that moment. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “My father doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, baby.” Addison pulled Katie close—Katie couldn’t have resisted even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t—and wrapped her in a hug. “That’s got to be so hard. I’m so sorry.”

  And that was it.

  Katie collapsed into Addison’s arms and sobbed like she hadn’t sobbed since she was a child. There was no way to hold it in. The dam had broken. She cried for her mother, who was losing the only man she ever loved in the most horrific way possible. She cried for her father, who had no idea anymore and never would again. She cried for herself, who was going to lose her father and, inevitably, a big part of her mother. She let it all out. All the pain. All the horror. All of it, sobbed into Addison’s shoulder.

  And Addison simply held her.

  Addison held her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When they entered the house, Addison noticed the curtains were drawn closed despite it only being midafternoon, and the living room felt deep and ominous, almost cave-like. To the left, a man sat in an easy chair, eating a sandwich and watching what looked to be some sort of fishing show on the television. He wore sweatpants and a dark, stained T-shirt, his face and head stubbled with gray, which made Addison assume he normally shaved both. A drop of mustard had fallen onto his shirt, adding to whatever had already collected on it. In the chair next to him sat a large African American woman in a paisley smock of some sort, knitting what looked to be a hat in the muted light of the floor lamp between them, the yarn a splash of cheerfully bright green in an otherwise gray and drab scene.

  “Addison, this is my father, David Cooper, and Rhonda, Queen and Savior of All the Things.” Katie said the second part with great fondness. The man didn’t look at them at all, but the woman did, gave a chuckle and a small wave.

  “Nice to meet you,” Addison said, and crossed the room to shake the woman’s hand. David Cooper’s attention stayed riveted to the tube, so Addison didn’t force her greeting onto him. Something crunched under her feet as she returned to the entryway and Katie, and she looked down at the floor, then up at Katie with worry.

  Katie waved her off, as her eyes darted away. “Don’t worry about it.” She swiped at some remaining wetness on her face.

  A woman appeared from the kitchen carrying a broom and a dustpan. She was inarguably pretty, though it was obvious that she was also exhausted and probably thinner than usual, judging from her rather sunken cheeks and the downward slope of her shoulders. While Katie was dark and the woman was light, it was still apparent that this was her mother; the almond shape of their eyes was the same, and when the woman caught Addison’s eye and smiled, it was an exact duplicate of Katie’s.

  “Well, hello,” she said, and Addison could almost see her mentally shift, rearranging the expression on her face from “completely drained” to “we have company.”

  “Mom, this is Addison Fairchild.”

  “Oh, the woman you work for.”

  “The woman who fired me, yes.” Katie didn’t look at Addison, for which she was thankful because she was pretty sure her face registered the instant embarrassment she felt. Reading Katie’s tone was hard, especially given Addison couldn’t see her eyes. Was she toying with Addison? Was she ashamed to have been caught crying? Both? More? Addison wasn’t sure.

  “Oh,” Katie’s mom said, making that one syllable carry surprise, curiosity, disappointment, and some Mama Bear protection all at once.

  “Addison, meet Liz Cooper. My mother.” She held out her hands. “Mom, let me sweep it up. Take Addison in the kitchen and maybe pour some wine? I think we all could use a drink.”

  Liz gave up her tools and gestured to Addison. �
��Follow me.”

  The Cooper kitchen was warm and cozy and inviting, even with all the paraphernalia that spoke of an ill person living there. On the counter was a tray filled with countless pill bottles and notes, a small stack of mail next to it, but there were no dirty dishes in the sink, and the small table in the middle of the room was clean, blue and white checked placemats marking three spots where meals were eaten. The only odd thing—and it was a very odd thing—was the Christmas tree propped in the corner near the back door. It was tipped so that it leaned against the wall, as its stand seemed not to be functioning properly, and several of its ornaments looked like they were broken or missing. Addison blinked at it.

  Liz sighed. “My husband decided he didn’t like the Christmas tree today. Even though he loved it when Katie and I put it up on Monday.” She was trying to make light of it, Addison could see that, but she was falling just a little bit short. “So he threw it on the floor and broke almost everything on it.” She shrugged as if to say, what can you do? Then she pointed at a cabinet door above the sink. “Grab some wineglasses from up there, would you?”

  With a nod, Addison did as she was asked, pulling three off the shelf and setting them on the table. Liz retrieved a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, then gestured for Addison to sit down. She held up the bottle. “You okay with white?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “No. No ma’am. Liz, please. Ma’am makes me sound a hundred years old. And though I may feel like it lately, I’m not ready to age that much yet.” She filled the three glasses, her eyes never leaving the sparkle of the liquid as she said, “So, you fired my daughter today, hmm?”