Lost on the Way

by Isabel Jolie

  Hassenfeld Children’s Hospital paints the walls bright and cheery. They do what they can. But, no matter how happy they paint it, they can’t cover up the unfairness of it all. Seeing what these kids go through always helps me with my perspective. Reminds me of what I have to be grateful for.

  I entered that hospital all twisted over a text exchange with Jason. Meanwhile, some of the kids in these walls have terminal illnesses and won’t live to drink a cocktail legally. To go to college. To live on their own. Perspective. It does a body good.

  I’m cranking up my computer, absorbing my coffee, and reading my to-do list when an unknown number rings.

  “Good morning. This is Maggie Thompson.”

  “Hi. Ms. Thompson, this is Rachel Lee with Chi-Town Recruiters.”

  “Hello.” She’s got my attention. She’s the first recruiter to ever call me.

  “I’m searching to fill a director position at The Health Foundation, and your name was recommended to me. Do you have a moment now to talk?”

  “Sure.” It never hurts to hear about an opportunity. Although her information must not be too accurate, given I’m not at the director level.

  “Great. Are you familiar with The Health Foundation?”

  “I am.” It’s my job to be familiar with most of the top-performing cancer research charity groups.

  “Well, your name comes highly recommended for the director position based on the grants you’ve submitted on behalf of The McLoughlin Charity. The open director position would be a step up from your current role as an associate. You would manage five employees, and in addition to grant writing, your responsibilities would include managing charity fundraising events. The salary is $115,000.”

  Holy shit. I currently make $60,000. “The position sounds interesting.”

  “They’d like to fly you out for interviews as soon as possible. Interviews with other candidates are occurring next week.”

  And there’s the issue. “Where are they based?”

  “Chicago.”

  Somehow, before the end of the phone call, I’ve agreed to fly out for a Monday interview. She asks if I’d like to fly out this evening or tomorrow morning, to spend time with my family. The family comment throws me, then I remember it’s on my bio on our company website. I can hear her fingers tapping away on a keyboard. She says there are still flights available on both the 7:00 p.m. flight this evening and the 9:00 a.m. flight tomorrow.

  I text my sister while I’m on the phone with the recruiter.

  Zoe: Yes! Come on! I’ll pick you up from the airport.

  As if. Chicago is a two-hour drive from her house. I’ll rent a car. I’ve been wanting to see her.

  I text my boss. Her response is almost instantaneous.

  Jane: No problem. I won’t be back in the office until Wednesday.

  Within a mere ten minutes on the phone, I’m confirmed for weekend plans, and Rachel, the recruiter extraordinaire, promises to email my interview schedule before the end of the day. Crazy. It’s more of a free weekend trip home. There’s no way I’ll move away from New York. My life is here.

  Within minutes of saying goodbye to Rachel, my phone rings, displaying Zoe’s number on the screen.

  “Hey, lady.” I knew she’d call.

  “I’m so excited! I texted Will and told him he’s on kid duty this weekend.”

  “Hey, now! I want some Natalie time.” My niece is the absolute cutest. Zoe and Will are discussing a sibling for her, and I can’t wait. There is absolutely nothing in the world like the smell of baby. Second best is toddler, and that’s what my little Natalie is now. She’s two and still has plenty of baby fat to squeeze.

  “There will be plenty of Nat time. Trust me. Will being on duty hardly means I’m off duty.” There’s a touch of annoyance in her tone. He’s a good guy, but they’re among the first of their friends to have kids, and I sense at times they miss their freedom.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t I babysit Saturday night and let you and Will go out?”

  There’s a pause. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course! I’d love to.”

  “Maybe we will do that. So, tell me, what’s this interview?”

  I tell her all about it. “And the salary is one-fifteen.”

  “What? You mean $115,000? At a non-profit?”

  “Yep. I mean, I’m not gonna get it. But, crazy, right? It’s not like I’d leave New York, anyway.”

  “Wait. Stop right there. Why wouldn’t you leave New York? The job is doing what you love, making twice as much as you make now, in a city with a fraction of the cost of living. Why, exactly, would you not move?”

  “I love New York.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What does that mean?” I know that tone. She’s mastered the art of speaking volumes with her varying versions of “uh-huh.” Sometimes I feel for Will because he doesn’t always register when he needs to be backtracking.

  “It has nothing to do with that city. You’ve told me before you think Chicago’s better. You prefer the lake to the brown rivers over there.”

  I rest my forehead on my hand. She’s not wrong. On a different day, I’d change the subject or fight her, but today, I’m beat. There’s no fight in me.

  “It’s Jason.” She practically spits out his name. I don’t understand the venom. He’s a nice guy.

  “He’s important to me,” I say with a defensive tone that I absolutely mean.

  “Well, I don’t need to remind you that you’re thirty-two years old. And you want more than friendship with him, and he doesn’t. It’s not a healthy place to be in.”

  “What does my age have to do with it?”

  “The clock is ticking!”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” I huff. And I’m not thirty-two yet. I have over a month to go. Just because she went and got pregnant on her honeymoon, now she’s like this have-a-baby advocate. “Besides, the clock doesn’t really start to tick these days until thirty-seven or thirty-eight.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Just a gazillion bloggers.”

  “Yeah, a gazillion bloggers who are going to end up adopting. Look, kids or no kids, getting away from him will be good for both of you. You guys are, like, addicted to each other. You can’t go out without the other, and all you really want to do is stay in. And news flash. You aren’t going to meet another guy sitting on antisocial Jason’s sofa.”

  “He’s not antisocial.”

  “Yes, he is. At the very least, let’s agree he’s seriously on the far end of the introverted spectrum. Possibly depressed.”

  “Leave Jason alone.”

  “Seriously, Jason is fine. He’s been your best friend forever, like since I was in junior high. I just want you to have an open mind about moving. I think it would be good for you. You deserve everything you want in life, and I know that includes a husband and kids, and you’re not gonna get that with Jason.”

  I want to argue, but I don’t. She’s right. She can’t resist driving it home when she adds, “He’s just not into you that way.”

  She’s wrong, of course. He’s proven he’s attracted to me. But something’s not right. Maybe he doesn’t see me as wife material. Maybe he doesn’t know how to leave the friend zone.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe. I might drive myself crazy with maybe.

  I leave the office with the intention of heading home, doing a load of laundry, and packing. Instead, here I am, knocking on Jason’s half-cracked open office door. I know his schedule. I have a printout of it on the small corkboard in my office. Each semester, he emails me the schedule, and I switch it out.

  He lifts his head and instantly smiles. His reddish hair falls somewhat in place, but toward the back a few strands stick up where he has his cowlick. There’s something about that cowlick, the way he can’t keep everything buttoned up, that draws me in. Always brings out my smiles.

  “Hey. Do you have a few minutes?”r />
  “Yeah. Of course.” He pauses, and his brow wrinkles, his concern evident. “Is everything okay?”

  I laugh, a mix of awkward and amused. Yeah, he’d be concerned because I rarely, if ever, stop by his office in the middle of the day. He’s the one who stops by mine.

  “Jane’s out of the office.”

  “Ah. Did she ever get you those numbers you need?”

  “She’s going to have them to me by the end of the day.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to look it over.”

  “Oh, no.” I wave my hand in the air as I slump down into his uncomfortable visitor chair. “She made it clear I am not to share anything else with you.”

  “Don’t you find that to be odd?”

  I lean forward, considering. “No. Charities come under scrutiny all the time. Especially those run by politicians. As Jane said, our numbers right now are incomplete. If any rumors got started, it could not only hurt our fundraising goals for next year, but it could hurt Senator McLoughlin. And it’s normal business practice. No business should be sharing private data.” I made a mistake, one I think Jane has forgiven me for. But that’s not why I’m here.

  “A headhunter called me today.” I bounce a bit as I say it. This is my first headhunter call, and it’s kind of freaking exciting. “I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

  “What? Where’s the job?” Jason’s pale skin flushes with color and his seat rolls backward from his quick thrust forward.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna move. But it’s a free trip to see Zoe. I’ve been wanting to spend time with her. The headhunter offered to fly me out so I could spend the weekend with family and interview on Monday. I’ll be back Monday evening.”

  “What’s the job?”

  “It’s a director level. The Health Foundation. It’s all that I’m doing now, plus more. I mean, it’s crazy they called me. It’s basically Jane’s level.” A buzz rises as the reality of being considered for a job that’s the equivalent of my boss’s job surfaces.

  “That sounds great, Maggie. Why wouldn’t you take it if you got it?”

  His question punches me as if he physically reached out and shoved me. I cross my legs and scan the stacks and stacks of books and papers that line his back wall. He needs to spend time filing.

  “Maggie.” His tone pulls me back to the here and now. “When they meet you, they’re going to love you. You’ve dedicated your career to raising money for cancer research. You know the industry inside and out. You’ve got a Rolodex of contacts that has to be exceptional. You interview well.”

  “How do you know that?” He’s my biggest cheerleader. You’d think he was my parent and not my best friend.

  “Because I’ve prepped you for interviews before. I’ve watched you when you’ve done podcasts and newspaper interviews.” He makes it sound like I’m a celebrity. I’m not. At all. But we do focus on PR, and every now and then, especially before bigger charity events, I get pulled in to talk about the work our non-profit does.

  “Well, they’ve been interviewing candidates. I have to believe some of those candidates are already at the director level and have management experience.”

  He pulls on his chin, slipping into thoughtful professor mode. “Maybe. But they’re flying you out. They wouldn’t do that if they already had the perfect candidate. And it’s in Chicago? How did they get your name?”

  “I’m not sure. A recruiter called me. She said someone recommended me, but she clearly did some research about me on our website.” I have a hefty paragraph on the site, with contact information, in case someone reviewing grant applications wants to learn more about the staff.

  He exhales loudly and walks around his desk to sit in his other empty guest chair. “You shouldn’t be dismissive of this. It could be a great opportunity. And I don’t have a great feeling about where you are now.”

  “Oh, my god, Jason. You’re just saying that because you don’t like Senator McLoughlin.”

  “It’s true. He’s a schmuck. Lying sack of shit. I’ll never vote for the man.”

  “Well, you can’t. He’s in Illinois.”

  “Exactly.”

  I shake my head at him, grinning. It’s been a long time since he poked jabs at McLoughlin. I tend to agree with Jason and probably wouldn’t vote for him either, but the man’s still kind of an indirect boss. “Anyway, how would I ever leave New York? I can’t imagine leaving you.” There. It’s out there. My truth.

  Chapter 27

  Jason

  “If you moved, I’d move too.” Obviously. She needs to pursue this job. Something is off with that charity she’s with, and she needs to get the hell out of Dodge. My guess is Senator McLoughlin is using that charity to funnel campaign donations, and that’s why Jane reacted the way she did when I looked at their books. Maggie might not be suspicious, but I am.

  Anger mounts as I think everything through, growing more certain Maggie isn’t working at a legit nonprofit. I pace the room and accidentally kick a pile of papers, scattering them several feet. I really need to throw this shit out, but the blue recycling bins are at the end of the hall, so I keep putting it off.

  Maggie stoops to help me reform my piles of papers into a semblance of organization. We’re both in a squatting position, our knees almost touching, when she asks, “You’d move if I moved?”

  “Of course.” There’s no question.

  “But…”

  “But nothing.”

  “Your job, though?”

  I reach out and lift her hair, placing it behind her ear so I can get a better look at her. All her freckles are visible, which means she didn’t put much makeup on today. Maybe some blush. I’ve watched her do her makeup a thousand times. She has different levels of makeup. Today’s look takes less than ninety seconds, and it’s one of my favorites.

  “I’d get another job.”

  “You’re teaching at an Ivy League school!” Her eyebrows shoot up with her exclamation.

  I stand and extend a hand to help her up. “So? I don’t know if I really like it, anyway. I’d find something else to do. You’re passionate about your work. It’s more important that you find a place worthy of you and that’s going to bring out all your potential.”

  “And you’d move with me?”

  What the hell does she find so difficult to understand about this? Of course I’d move with her. We moved from New Hampshire to New York together.

  She reaches up and cups my jaw. Her fingers on my skin feel good. I must lean forward, and I’m not quite sure how it happens, but we’re kissing. Her lips are soft. Our kiss is slow, almost dream-like.

  She pulls away, and I’m buzzed, off-balance as if I’ve had a few beers. She pushes my office door closed and flips the lock. The sound of that lock clicking knocks any remaining air right out of my lungs. Holy shit.

  In a step and a half, she’s back in front of me, and I pin her against the wall. In my peripheral vision, I notice another pile of papers cascading across the floor, but she pulls my shirt out of my slacks, and it’s as if I’ve fallen under her spell. There are a hundred reasons, some solid, good reasons we shouldn’t be doing this, but right now, I don’t care about any of them.

  She unbuckles my belt and drops to her knees, and I swear it’s as if a fantasy I’ve had for millennia plays out. My knees go weak when she pulls my cock out, lightly gripping it and stroking. When her warm, wet tongue swipes across me, I plant my palm along the wall to remain standing.

  Mind blown. I have no idea how this came to be, but there is no way in hell I’m stopping it. She goes down my shaft, and holy shit, what she does with her tongue. I watch, completely transfixed. The warmth of her mouth feels so much better than in any fantasy I’ve had of her lips wrapped around me.

  My desk has a bunch of crap on it. Nothing that can’t be placed in piles again. I can push all that off and clear off a place for her in, I’m estimating, ten seconds. If I pull her off me, but I don’t want to stop this. Incredible. She’s
working me, her head bobbing up and down, and holy fuck, I do not want this to stop. She massages my balls then licks them, almost sending me over the edge, then she resumes working up and down my cock. That familiar tightening at the base of my spine hits, and I barely get the warning out before I’m coming down her throat.

  “Fuuuck.” So much for sex on the desk. Holy shit, that was fantastic. Over way too quickly. I watch her, mesmerized, as she licks up some of my cum she couldn’t swallow, cleaning me up with her tongue as if I’m a lollipop. I’ll gladly be her candy any day of the week.

  Holy shit. My breathing evens out as she places me back in my boxers and zips up my pants. I stop her hands as she sets about buckling my belt and kiss her, forcing myself upon her, overwhelmed by love for her, amazement and gratitude. Never in my life has anything like this happened to me.

  She asks if I can take off this afternoon and hang out while she does laundry. I say yes because right now, I’ll do anything she asks. Anything at all.

  She reorganizes my paper stacks while I unplug my laptop and throw it into my backpack, along with some blue books I need to go through. It’d be so much easier to grade if I didn’t give partial credit and have to figure out exactly how my students screwed up.

  We’re turning right, headed for the stairs, when a voice calls out my name. I’d normally ignore it and continue down the hall, but I’m with the world’s most kind-hearted person.

  “Hi, there. How are you?”

  Maggie and I are holding hands, something I become aware of when I catch my colleague staring at our intertwined fingers. I let her hand go and re-shift my backpack.

  “Good.” Now he’s focused on Maggie, and I wish I hadn’t let her hand go.

  “Are you going tonight?” He asks the question while blatantly perusing Maggie.

  “To what?” I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. This guy, Thomas, is Mr. Social Coordinator.