Falling Forward

by Dawn Robertson

  “Hey, you got a minute?” She turns and acknowledges me in stride.

  “Can it wait till tomorrow?” Chelsea pushes me off, just like always.

  “Not really,” I tell her honestly. “It will only take a minute.”

  She steps into my office, and I close the door behind her. Looking around the room, she sees the box on my desk.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head when she realizes what is coming.

  “You know you can’t go anywhere else to work. You have a non-compete contract,” she immediately throws at me, and I know I am doing the right thing. She doesn’t care about me, or hearing me out, she only cares about her bottom line and the money that she is going to lose from my departure.

  “I’m not happy in real estate, so I am going to be leaving. I won’t be violating my non-compete, I’m done with this industry as a whole.” I start to toss my pictures from my desk into the box.

  “Do you have any plans?” Chelsea asks me, brushing a long blonde lock of hair out of her face.

  “Nope. For once, I don’t.” I shrug my shoulders and continue to pack up my belongings.

  “I wish you all the best, Luna.” I’m shocked because I didn’t expect anything polite from her. I’ve seen what’s happened over the years when people quit. She doesn’t like any kind of rejection, on any level.

  “Thanks,” I reply, as she opens the door and lets herself out. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, but I’m still not exactly finished here yet.

  Once all my stuff is nicely boxed up, I turn off the light and look back at the shell of an office I’ve called my own for the last couple years of my career. I’m excited and I’m scared shitless, and I still haven’t told a single soul about the fact that I just won a butt-ton of money. Technically, the jackpot is still unclaimed because my next stop is Florida Lottery Headquarters. Closing the door behind myself, I place the box down on the receptionist’s desk, and peak around the wall to the hustling and bustling real estate floor.

  “Going somewhere?” Mr. Fucking Bighead says from behind me, coming from the printer room.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I reply, looking around the room. I only see one single friendly face in a sea full of new faces and old enemies.

  “Hey, Dereck… Fuck you,” I say, and begin pointing to other people at their desks. “Fuck you… Fuck you… you’re cool… and fuck you.” I point at Dereck’s wife. “I’m out!” I pick up my box and pat myself on the back for actually doing that. Every day of the last two years, I’ve wanted to re-enact my favorite scene from the movie Half Baked, and I finally had the opportunity to do it.

  I let out a sigh, as I walk out of the building and head for my car to leave this place and never look back.

  Looking up a phone number in my contacts, I hit dial, then press the device to my ear and wait for an answer on the other end. Ring, ring, ring…

  “Attorney Sands office, this is Julianne,” the bubbly receptionist answers the line. Finally, a person, I think to myself.

  “Hi Julianne, this is Luna Rockwell. Is Rob in?” I’m on a first name basis with him, since we’ve closed so many deals over the years. I’m almost like a VIP when I call the office. They know they’ll get some kind of business out of it.

  “I believe he is available, give me one second.” She places me on hold, the elevator music would usually put me to sleep, but with the constant flow of adrenaline in my veins since last night, I don’t think it’s possible to come down from this high.

  “Luna, what can I do for you?” Rob’s smooth and sexy voice comes on the line. He’s such a sweet talker, I’d hate to be is wife.

  “I wanted to chat with you about a legal issue, do you think I could swing by in about ten minutes?” I ask, knowing he’s probably far too busy to see me, and I was lucky to even get him on the line.

  “I’m slammed all afternoon, why? What’s going on? You aren’t in trouble, are you?” The questions start shooting in my direction.

  “Our conversation is protected by client attorney privilege, right?” I ask him, knowing I don’t want any of this getting passed around the media, or my name being connected with these winnings. I just want to sail off into the sunset.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Rob…” I pause and try and think about exactly how to say this. “I’m the Powerball winner that hasn’t come forward yet. I need representation, and I would like to remain anonymous.” I’ve seen so many stories over the years about people being harassed and stalked because of something like this. My name is fairly familiar in the Orlando Metro area because of real estate, and I know it’s just something I don’t want to be public knowledge.

  “No fucking way,” he says in disbelief. I want to laugh because that’s exactly how I feel today. Disbelief is fresh and, apparently, never-ending. I’m sure months from now, I will still be suffering from ‘ain’t no way this is my life’ syndrome.

  “Way. I want to go claim the prize, but I do not want to be identified.”

  “Okay, give me a minute. I’m going to have Julianne clear the rest of my day so we can hammer this out. Is there any information you would like to share when claiming the prize?” I wish I would have put some more thought into that.

  “Twenty-eight-year-old female from Florida. I’d like to keep the details to a minimum.”

  “Okay, let me start working on this. Go ahead and come into the office, and we will go from there. Whatever you do, do not tell a soul about this. Friends, family, whoever will turn you over to the press at the drop of a hat,” Rob advises. I feel like I should at least tell Violet. She’s been stressed about finding a place to live now that Mom is gone. The least I could do is get her settled somewhere.

  “Not even my sister?” I ask him in serious contemplation of calling her next.

  “Not until we claim the prize and the media frenzy calms down. I don’t know if you realize this, but the Powerball prize is three hundred and fifty million dollars.” Say whaaaaaa?

  “Um, come again in my good ear?” I laugh as I think about the sheer raunchiness of one of my favorite phrases.

  “Luna, you’re a millionaire.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I disconnect the phone and start my car. Just sitting there with the parking brake on and the standard transmission in neutral. I’m a millionaire? What do I do now? That is a lot of money. Far more than one person would ever need, but then again, I’m sure after the lump sum and the taxes I won’t nearly have as much.

  Pulling my sunglasses down from atop my head, I press in the clutch, shift into first gear and take off in the direction of Rob’s office. Top down, hot Florida sun on my skin, and my long brown hair whipping in the wind.

  Chapter 4

  New Beginnings

  Do you know what the worst part of being single is? The lack of a sex life. I love sex. I love the intimacy. I love the pleasure and sometimes the pain. I love everything about sharing something so personal with another human being. Now my sex life includes a plethora of sex toys I’ve accumulated over the years. Lelo’s, a Magic Wand, bullets, you name it… I got it.

  But, it doesn’t replace the longing I have for just getting fucked sometimes. It’s been about six months since I hooked up with a guy I met on Tinder. He was cute, but as soon as he opened his mouth it was all ruined for me. There is something about a man of intelligence that gets me, and if he is smart enough, sometimes the looks don’t even matter. If I can’t hold a conversation with you about current events, politics, or just what you do for work… the chances we are going to become more than sex, is slim to none. He did the job for an itch I had to scratch, but when it was all said and done, I ghosted him. Blocked his cell number, and never looked back.

  I know that is kind of a dude thing to do, but I was only after one thing and I got it. I knew there was no happily ever after with him, and I wasn’t going to lead him on. Shit, I can’t even remember his name now. Keith? Ken? Kevin? I think it was Keith. Not tha
t it matters anyway.

  There are definitely nights that I long for someone to climb into bed with me and just show me the love that I insist I don’t need. Over the last week, I’ve really had to isolate myself because I have a big fucking mouth. If it was up to me, I would’ve told my sisters about my big win. Rob insisted no one is to know until the prize has been claimed and paid, which should be finished by tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ve started looking at cities to relocate to. I’m done with Orlando, and while I will always be Orlando Strong, I need a change. Everywhere I go around this city, I can see the ghosts of my parents. The memories I shared with them growing up, and it’s not letting me get past everything that has happened. It’s making my whole grief process a lot harder than it needs to be.

  I’ve narrowed my list down to Key West–or just one of the Key’s in general, Charleston, South Carolina, Savannah, Georgia or Chicago. Each place I love for one reason or another, but it’s made the process harder than I expected. For what I want and need, each place really has its own pluses and some huge minuses.

  Chicago has beautiful buildings, history, and the best pizza I’ve ever had. Seriously, I think I’ll fly there just for a slice from Lou Malnati’s. Their sausage is to die for. I laugh to myself at the simple fact that this is my new reality. I could book a plane ticket tomorrow and go anywhere in the world, just for the fuck of it. But with all the issues they’ve had lately, I think I may just keep Chicago as a vacation spot. Sadly, I haven’t always been the most adventurous soul. I’ve always been the one who plans everything, which is why my first instinct was to call Rob and set up legal representation. If it was Violet, she would have been all over the news with pictures out the ass of her holding that big ass check.

  Looking around my condo I have bags and boxes packed all over the place. If anyone was to come by, they would know I’m on my way out of here. I’ve left a hand full of clothes, toiletries, and my laptop, since I’ve been searching feverishly for a townhouse or something in any of the cities on my list. The struggle is real y’all!

  In a moment of desperation and my new found free spirit, I grab a small notepad from the top of the box on the counter, that has all my office supplies I’ve been ignoring since my tirade at the office last week. I take a piece of paper and fold it into four squares, slowly ripping the edges and making them four individual pieces of paper. When I was a little girl my father would do this all the time. Anytime we couldn’t agree on anything, from dinner to a movie, this was his fair way to solve all our problems. I take a deep breath and start to write down my four finalists, while starting a conversation with my Dad.

  “Can you believe this shit?” I laugh like he is really listening to me. “Me of all people? I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve something like his, but please guide me through it. I wish you were here.” I push a tear to the side, and start writing down my choices on the pieces of paper.

  Key West

  I fold up the first piece of paper, and toss it into my pink and black baseball cap sitting on the counter next to my laptop. Grabbing the next piece of paper, I write down the next city.

  Charleston

  God, I love that place; the Pineapple fountain, and the history. Charleston continues to be voted the number one city in America year after year. As a little girl, we would go there on family vacations and I would dream of growing up to own one of the old homes on Rainbow Row. The bright colors, the side porches, the view. Everything about Charleston just makes it a magical place. Fold it up, throw it in the hat, and move on to the next place.

  Chicago

  Even though I know I will probably toss that one right into the trash, I add it with the rest of the papers in the hat, then I pick my mother’s favorite city in the United States.

  Savannah

  I toss the last piece of paper into the hat and shake them all up. Closing my eyes, I put my hand into the hat and grab a piece of paper, but before I open my eyes back up I drop it and put the hat back down on the counter. A small gleam of sweat starts to glisten on my brow, while I take a moment to collect myself. This is going to be the biggest change of my entire life, I need more than thirty seconds to make it. I close my eyes again and start talking aloud, this time to my mother.

  “Where ever you are, Mom. Please help me to make the right choice for me. Help me move on with my life without you, because God knows it’s been hard enough so far. Show me where I need to be. Help me,” I beg. Grabbing the hat off the counter, I grab a single piece of paper, throw the hat back onto the granite and slowly start to unfold the paper square.

  Savannah

  I look down at my own handwriting, second guessing the choice already. Could I actually live there? Knowing all the history my parents had there, my mother’s connections to the city, all the memories that we made over the years? But, I guess if it is Savannah, maybe my parents really did have a hand in making the choice for me?

  What’s the worst that could happen? I could move in a couple months. It’ll be a good move, a fresh start, and I will be able to get on with my life in a city where I can be a stranger. I can start all over with my life and finally work on my happiness. Something I didn’t realize was missing from my life until it was too late.

  I’m startled by my cell phone buzzing across the countertop, the caller ID shows Rob’s cell.

  “Hello?” I say, and hold my breath because I have no idea what kind of news he is going to have on the other line for me. Every time he calls now, my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach like he is going to say this has all been a dream.

  “Hey Luna, it’s Rob,” he starts the call out with. “I just wanted to give you a quick update. The taxes have been paid out of the winnings, as well as my fee and the remainder of your money has been distributed as we agreed into the various accounts.” Did you know a bank and the FDIC will only insure your money up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Yeah, neither did I. Needless to say, in order keep my money protected, I needed to split it into several different accounts. Then, of course, Rob’s firm took a pretty penny to set it all up, but I knew he would. That was something we had discussed up front.

  “What is the total?” I ask, wondering what I have left out of three-hundred-and-fifty-million dollars. The IRS is fucking brutal!

  “Between the different accounts, there is two-hundred-and-fifteen-million dollars. I’ve put one of my associates on the task of your investments.” I asked for advice on an avenue to invest money into some startup companies that would double my investments. I’m just trying to be smart, my father always taught me to invest and prepare for retirement. Since I was a little girl, I always had a savings account I squirreled money away to, and being in real estate I always needed a backup plan. Money isn’t always flowing in when you work for yourself.

  “So, everything is all set. I have access to it all?” I’m still shocked that this is my life.

  “Yup, congratulations kiddo. You are a millionaire, don’t blow it all in one day,” he laughs.

  “Thanks Rob, I really appreciate your help. I don’t know who else I would trust to handle all of this for me. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me over the years,” I say sincerely. I mean it. He’s always been my go-to for legal advice, which I’ve needed more often than not.

  “Take care kiddo,” Rob says before hanging up. Just as I shove the phone into the back pocket of my jeans and start to stack a couple boxes by my front door, I hear the intercom buzz. Someone is downstairs in my building, trying to get in. I really don’t want to see anyone, but they probably just have the wrong unit number. It happens more than I want to deal with.

  “Can I help you?” I press the intercom button.

  “It’s Violet, buzz me in.” My baby sisters voice echoes through my nearly empty foyer. Shit! How the fuck am I going to explain all of the boxes? My heart starts to beat out of my chest, as I press the intercom button to open the door. I have about three minutes before the elevator will drop her on my floor and
I have to explain myself. I’ve been quiet since my mother’s services. Lucy went back to Georgia, and Violet took on the process of cleaning out mom’s house and getting it ready to go on the market. The home I grew up in. I learned to ride a bike in the cul-de-sac and scraped my knee, giving me my first nasty scar, when I jumped out of the giant oak tree in the front yard. So many memories were born within those walls, but just thinking about it now brings me misery.

  It’s astonishing that something that is supposed to be so special to you, can end up as such a trigger. I’m lost in my own thoughts when Violet’s knock on the door disrupts me. Shit! I didn’t have enough time to think of an excuse for the chaos my condo is currently in. Maybe I can just tell her part of what’s going on? I mean, she is my sister. My whole life, I’ve been far closer with her than Lucy. We are a lot alike, but she’s more of the free-spirit I wish I could be.

  I open the door of my condo to let her in, flipping on the light switch in the dark living room as she walks in. I didn’t realize just how… cluttered it all looked. My teal sectional sofa is covered with piles upon piles of clothes on hangers, boxes are everywhere, my television is off the wall and wrapped in a blanket, ready to transport. I’ve thrown myself into my plan of moving all week, instead of dealing with anything else in my life. I feel bad because I should be helping Violet with Mom’s affairs, but after being the one to handle everything for so long, I’m just too emotionally drained.

  “What in the ever-loving fuck?” Violet says as she pushes her thick black framed glasses up on her nose. Her long funky multi-colored hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she has on a pair of old gym shorts and a tank top that says On Wednesday’s We Wear Pink. I bought that for her years ago for her twenty-first birthday. She loves Mean Girls.