“James … are there other options?” I asked hopefully. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that there were alternatives.
“Nope. Unfortunately not. This is the best we’ve got,” he responded, looking disappointed. “I can tell by the look on your face that you feel the same way I do, which isn’t great. But we’re going to fix this, Ash. We’ll work all night if we have to.”
I glanced around the room and saw something close to defeat on the faces of my creative team. I knew they’d been working long hours on the campaign, but hard work without on-strategy, effective creative wasn’t going to cut it for our client meeting the next day.
“Okay, well let’s take a look at what you’ve got. Maybe there’s a thought starter in one of the other ideas.” I set my file folders on the table and sat down, reaching for the other comps. Each one was worse than the previous.
Awkward silence filled the room as I took one more look at each comp. There was nothing there we could work from.
“Uh … we could really use your help, Ashley,” James stammered. He was a strong mind that had been responsible for a tremendous amount of award-winning campaigns, but he was clearly struggling with what had been asked of him this time around. “We’ve been at this for a few weeks now and, to be honest, I think we’re starting to suffer from brain burnout.”
“Not yet you’re not,” I responded with a smile and a wink. “We can do this. We’ll do it together.”
James shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I continued. “I’ll send Emily on a Starbucks run, and get her to bring back a whack of brain food … cookies, muffins, yogurt, candy … whatever you guys want, we’ll get. Then, we’ll start at the beginning. Together. We’ll throw out all of these ideas and start fresh. Who knows … we might circle back to one of them eventually, or borrow a general theme, but for now I don’t want to be limited to them. I want us to think bigger. To be more on brand. And definitely more on brief. We really need this campaign to be an evolution of last year’s creative, and to fit like a glove within Campbell’s three-year strategic plan. Does that sound good to everyone?” I paused to look around the room. The previously sluggish faces began to perk up. The team sat taller. Energy began to fill the room.
“Sounds great. Thanks Ash,” James responded. Around him, the team nodded their heads in unison.
“Let me just see if Ben can lend us a few members of his team so we have some new thinkers in the room.” I picked up my phone and sent Ben a message marked urgent. “You guys definitely know the brand and the brief, but having fresh minds sometimes helps to spark ideas.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we all sat around a food- and drink-filled table with a few new faces eagerly waiting to get started. I took my position at the white board and said, casually, “Let’s start with the easy stuff. Don’t think too literally. Or specifically. Let’s let our minds open to all ideas and all concepts that revolve around coziness during the holidays. We’ll throw them up on the whiteboard and go from there. And remember, no idea is a bad idea. No matter what. It might not be what we’ll go with, but you never know what will spark the next idea, which could be the winner.” I smiled again at the group. I didn’t want them to be frustrated. I needed them to be filled with energy. We had about a week’s worth of work in front of us with less than twenty-four hours in which to do it. We were going to need to dig deep to pull it off. “So. Who wants to start?”
“How about flannel pyjamas?” A twenty-something guy named Hunter suggested. He was one of the new additions from Ben’s team, and I was thankful Ben had sent him, given what I’d heard about his brainstorming contributions. I nodded my head and wrote it down. “Anything else?”
“Roaring fires,” Nicholas threw out. On the whiteboard it went.
“White twinkly lights.”
“Snow falling in the woods.”
“The smell of apple pie baking in the oven.”
“A new pair of mittens. You know … the really soft kind. Like cashmere.” I wrote quickly. The ideas were beginning to tumble out of the team’s mouths and, within thirty minutes, we had two oversized whiteboards filled with marker.
I glanced at the clock on my phone. I was ten minutes late for my next meeting, but I knew I couldn’t leave. It was internal, so I wasn’t as concerned about bailing as I would be if it included clients, and there was no way I could risk our momentum falling to pieces if I moved on.
Inwardly sighing, I sent Emily a note asking her to reschedule my next meeting. I knew it was likely going to be at seven a.m. the following day, given that it was time-critical and I was already stacked with meetings for the entire day. There was zero wiggle room in my schedule.
“Okay,” I said, turning back to the team. “Let’s keep going. There are some obvious idea keepers that we’ve put on the left side of the whiteboard, but there could be some others over here as well. Before we abandon them, let’s go through the list to prioritize the better ones and see if anyone has ideas for how we could build on them to support the brief we’ve been given by the client.”
Together, we worked for three hours, prioritizing the list and fleshing out the ideas we knew could work.
In the middle of the afternoon, I left the group to go to a client meeting that I couldn’t miss, and returned a few hours later to check in on their progress. While I knew my chances were hovering somewhere just above zero, I was keeping my fingers crossed that the team would be far enough along that I could let them officially take over.
“How’s it going?” I asked, forcing a smile.
“We’ve made some progress, for sure. But we’re glad you’re back, as we need your opinion on a few things …” James replied.
I glanced at the sketches on the table, and felt my shoulders drop as I realized how much work there still was to do. We were on our way but definitely nowhere near done.
At six o’clock, I excused myself to call Pete. I was dreading the phone call, but knew I had to let him know I wouldn’t make it home for dinner.
“How’s Nate? Did he have a good day?” I asked, once I’d given Pete my disappointing news.
“Unfortunately not, I’m afraid. Mrs. Brock said that, at first, she thought he was going to love the zoo animals. But when the rest of the class came in he barely said a word. Apparently she tried her best, and coaxed him all day to participate —”
“But he didn’t?” I interrupted. Pete wasn’t getting there fast enough.
“No, he didn’t. And she thinks he was using his ankle as a crutch, so to speak. The only thing he did say was that his ankle was hurting and that he wanted to sit by himself in the back of the classroom.”
My heart ached. I had no words to reply.
“And those little bullying shits in his class seemed to take advantage of him being that way, too. Mrs. Brock overheard them laying into him pretty good at the back of the class, calling him a baby and a wimp. She kept him inside at recess and tried to talk to him, but she said he just stared out the window.”
“I’m going to come home. I don’t care about this creative presentation anymore. I need to see Nate.”
“No, no … you stay there. We’re just about to sit down to dinner and then he’ll be in bed soon after that. I get it … you need to be at work right now. I’ve got things covered here.”
I didn’t respond right away, trying to decide if I should listen to my husband or my gut. I knew I should go home to Nate. He needed me.
“Seriously, Ash. Nate will get it too. We all do. Just do what you have to do, and come home when you can.”
I began to feel Pete push me towards my acceptance of fate. Before I could respond, I felt a sharp pain on my thumb, and looked down to realize I’d subconsciously peeled away a hangnail using my pointer finger, causing my thumb to bleed. I was more stressed than I realized.
/> “Ashley? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Look, I’m going to try my best to make it home by bedtime. But I’m not convinced it will happen, unfortunately. We’ve got a long road in front of us.”
“Sounds like it. Don’t worry about it, hon. We’ll see you when we see you.”
I was appreciative of Pete’s change in attitude and of his support of my working hours. It was a long cry from the guilt he’d recently shoved at me and I wondered what had changed.
At two o’clock in the morning, I unlocked our front door and fell onto the hall bench to take off my boots. My whole body ached, and I longed for sleep. All around me, our house was dark and silent.
Pausing in the kitchen for a glass of water, I noticed a new drawing that had been stuck to the fridge door with Nate’s favourite magnet, a bright red replica of the Golden Gate Bridge. It had been a gift from my father after he’d returned from one of his trips to San Francisco. Nate was obsessed with it, and used the magnet whenever he was particularly proud of something he’d created and wanted to display proudly.
I peeled the artwork from the fridge, and took in the picture of an angry-looking elephant. It had sharp, pointed tusks and deep red eyes. Almost bloodshot, but more intense. The elephant had been coloured a shade of grey that was so dark it was almost black, and was snarling to show its mean-looking teeth. All around it, black clouds closed in on the scary looking creature, and a bolt of yellow lightning shot across the page. The picture was both aggressive and frightening.
I shuddered, wondering why Nate would draw such a disturbing picture. I hesitated before putting it back up on the fridge; I didn’t want such an angry-looking elephant up on display in my house, but I knew Nate would be crushed if I took it down, given that he’d used his favourite magnet; it was an obvious signal that he was very proud of his drawing.
After filling my glass with water from the fridge, I crept up the stairs, pausing first to kiss Grace’s sleeping cheek, and then to peek in on Nate. I was more than five hours too late, but still wanted to say good night, even if it was to already sleeping bodies. I paused a long time to watch Nate sleep. His breathing was rapid and shallow.
I took his little hand in mine, but he didn’t react. He didn’t even flinch. Taking it as a sign that he wouldn’t wake up, I buried my head in his little chest, happy to be near him again. When he still didn’t stir, I crawled in next to him, careful not to wake him or hurt his ankle. I listened to his heartbeat. Felt my head rise with the rhythm of his breath. He was so peaceful, and perfectly at ease.
With his eyes shut, I couldn’t see the lurking demons that haunted the baby blues I had loved for a lifetime. I couldn’t see any of the tell-tale signs of whatever it was that was suffocating my baby’s soul. Everything was hidden by sleep. Guarded by closed lids.
Lying with my sleeping son, I felt I was also temporarily at peace. I liked that it was hidden, that I couldn’t see what was truly going on. I liked that I couldn’t see the foggy gaze that now trumped Nate’s former bright, shining eyes.
And when my tears came moments later, I also liked that my son couldn’t see his mother cry.
20
Nate
It’s still dark. I lie in bed. I slowly turn my ankle in a circle. It feels way better but I still cannot walk on it by myself. I need crutches. Or someone to carry me. Mostly that is Dad. But sometimes Mom carries me too.
I miss my mommy. She did not come home last night. Dad said she was working. She always has a lot of work to do. Dad told me Mom would be home in the morning.
I wanted to know more about what Mom was doing last night at work. But I couldn’t seem to find the words. Or make myself talk. I want to talk. But I can’t. I don’t know why.
Dad says Mom has a lot of work to do. I wonder if she misses me too. I want to ask her. I want to find her.
I sit up in bed. I feel all fuzzy in my head. Mom says that is called groggy. I wait a minute. It goes away.
Outside, I can hear rain. It’s hitting hard against my window. I wonder if the bird I saw staring at me is getting wet. I wonder if he is still as sad as I am.
I edge my way to the side of my bed. I put both feet on the ground and test my ankle. That is how Dad told me to do it. It hurts a little bit. I think I can step on it. I think I can get to Mom’s room without my crutches. I hate my crutches.
I walk slowly in the dark. I feel my way. I touch all of the walls. It helps me to get to Mom’s room. It helps me walk with my sore ankle.
The door is shut. I open it.
The room is quiet. And dark. It makes me feel sad.
I walk in. I go to her side of the bed. I want her to hug me.
I can’t see her. I need to see her.
I turn on the lamp beside her bed.
Mom is not there. But Dad sits straight up.
“Huh? What? What’s going on? Nate? Hey … what’s up, buddy? Why are you up so early? It’s only a quarter after six.” Dad is squinting into the light. He is holding his hand up to his forehead. I think he is protecting his eyes. I wonder if his eyes hurt. Like mine do. The light is hurting my eyes.
I want to ask where Mommy is. She is not in the bed. She is gone.
I still can’t find the words. I still cannot make myself talk. I do not know why. I feel like I can’t breathe. Can’t find the words. I think it is called suffocating. Whatever it is, it hurts.
Dad must be used to the light now. He takes his hand down from his forehead and reaches for me.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
I feel myself blink. No words come out.
“Do you want to come into bed with me?”
I do not. I want my mommy.
“Come here, bud. Mom had to go into work early. She had a seven o’clock meeting. But she’ll be home tonight.”
I do not believe him. Because Mommy is always gone.
21
Ashley
I sank further into the soft leather of the town car back seat, and sipped at the complimentary water, wishing it was some sort of caffeine. My body was so tired that it ached all over, and I longed for sleep. I wished I could tell the driver to turn around and take me back to my bed.
I squinted to see through the windshield. We were speeding, and the rain was so heavy that the wipers couldn’t keep up. Blurred lights streaked by at lightning speed.
It was far too dark to be en route to work.
My pulse quickened and I thought about asking the driver to slow down. I likely would have, except I was afraid I would be late for the seven o’clock meeting I couldn’t miss.
I longed for a double espresso latte, but knew we didn’t have time to stop. The impact of the late hour from my night before was making my brain feel completely foggy, and I needed to find caffeine quickly in order to have half a chance at making it through my meetings.
With five minutes to spare, I got to work and was walking to my office when I noticed Emily sitting at her desk.
“Emily? What are you doing here so early?” I asked her, searching for my keys in my oversized bag.
“I knew you had the numbers meeting this morning, and I suspected you were here far too late on the Campbell’s creative. So I thought I’d join you in case there was anything you needed…”
“You’re such a gem. Thank you, Em.” I managed to find my keys and let myself into my office. It was pitch dark and felt far too chilly.
Emily followed me into my office. She handed me a venti latte, perfectly made-to-order, with non-fat milk and one raw sugar.
“Oh Em! You’re a lifesaver. How did you know this is exactly what I needed?”
“Because you never have time to stop and you always need a morning latte.”
I flashed Emily my biggest grin. She made every difficult part of my work life easier, and I’d walk over coal to keep her as my assist
ant.
“Andrew is waiting for you in the boardroom,” Emily informed me, referring to our chief financial officer. “He got here about ten minutes ago.”
I smiled at her again as I grabbed my files for the meeting.
“Here!” Emily said as I flew out the door. She raced towards me and handed me my favourite sketch pen, which I had at every meeting. She walked with me the rest of the way to the boardroom to fill me in on some changes to my meetings later that day.
Andrew was already seated at the table, nose deep in his BlackBerry.
“Andrew, thanks so much for rescheduling. And for coming in at this crazy hour.” I took a seat opposite to him and braced myself for an uncomfortable conversation. Andrew needed to speak to me about the creative hours that had been creeping upwards in recent weeks.
“Not a problem. I know how crazy busy this place can be.” Andrew grinned at me. As far as finance and creative people went, Andrew and I were at the top of the list in terms of getting along. “And I just got a BBM from Charlee. She’ll be here any second.”
Just as Andrew finished his sentence, Charlee Browers, our head of accounts, flew through the door. She looked soggy from the rain.
“Sorry, guys!” she said, breathless. She wiped the drizzle from the shoulders of her fall coat. “I had a tough time getting a cab and, of course, forgot my umbrella.”
“Let’s get started,” Andrew said, his stern side emerging. “I know you’re under significant pressure to deliver creative, Ash. But the hours the creative team has been billing lately are crazy. And as Charlee can attest to, we’re getting significant push-back from almost all of our clients.”
“It’s true, I’m afraid,” Charlee jumped in. Her pretty face wore a sheepish grin. “My team has been fielding calls left, right, and centre from clients who are questioning the hours spent on creative development. We need to fix this, Ash. And soon.”
“You weren’t at the senior management meeting yesterday. But this was a big part of our discussion, and Jack’s worried we’re pissing off clients.” Andrew explained. “With the economy the way it is right now, budgets are tight, and we have to be accountable for every hour billed.”
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