Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy)

by Morgan Mandel

  “Thanks, Candace. I appreciate your understanding and help. You’ve been such a great boss. I doubt I’ll find another half as good.”

  Candace flashed a warm smile. “I’m sure you will, Dorrie. You’re diligent, punctual and have much to offer. Now, listen, you’re the first I’ve told. There will be many others I’ll call in, until I’ve spoken to them all. Please don’t let anyone know of the situation beforehand. I owe it to each of them to personally explain what has happened. It’s the least I can do, and what every staff member deserves.”

  “Don’t worry, Candace. You have my word.”

  Frowning, the principal reached for the phone, “Well, I best get on with the chore.”

  Dorrie stood up to leave. With her mind in a fog, she stepped out of the principal’s office. She didn’t envy her the task of breaking the news. It would be horribly hard for Candace, since she was such a caring person and had known the majority of the staff for ages. Dorrie had only been there a short while, yet dreaded leaving. And what about poor Mr. Landscomb? The man had poured his heart and soul into his job for over thirty years. He could have retired ages ago, yet this place was his life. Where would he go? What would he do? What about the other teachers, the cafeteria ladies and the cooks? All would face unemployment with small chance of finding a new job soon.

  She ached for them almost as much as herself, but dare not dwell on their predicament. She had her own plight to resolve. If she didn’t find a job immediately, she’d be in trouble.

  Though the prospect of again proving her worth to strangers was not appealing, it couldn’t be avoided. Unemployment compensation could never keep her afloat, not with the house payments and her other responsibilities.

  As the staff members approached, Dorrie smiled noncommittally at them, and tried to act as if nothing were amiss, though her heart ached at what they’d learn.

  “Mrs. Donato, do you know how long this will be? My students are alone in the classroom,” Mr. Landscomb said, coming up to her desk.

  She’d known this moment would arrive. Afraid she’d break down, Dorrie shook her head. He gave her a sharp look and hastened into Candace’s office. This was not right. Someone as dedicated as Mr. Landscomb should at least be allowed to transfer to Greenberry instead of being dismissed. How could the district be so cruel?

  He re-emerged, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, not saying a word as he trudged back to his classroom.

  Finally, the school bell rang at three-thirty. Dorrie had never been so happy to leave the place she’d always loved.

  At home, she dragged herself into the family room. In slow motion, she sank onto the cream and olive recliner. This new blow was too much. Everywhere she turned, bad news seemed to follow. How many times could she pick up the pieces? How much more could she handle?

  “Lord, give me strength,” she said, quoting one of Mom’s sayings.

  As if in answer to her prayer, another of Mom’s pet phrases flashed through her mind. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

  “Thanks, Mom, I needed that.”

  Shamed into action, Dorrie climbed out of the chair and into the kitchen. The expanse of cherry stained cabinets, granite countertops, mosaic tiles, and stainless steel appliances which had given her so much pleasure when she’d first arrived at her home, now made her uneasy. Could she afford to keep all this?

  She crossed over to the corner and flipped the switch on her laptop computer. A quick glance at the checkbook balance and further calculations of her future bills reminded her she didn’t have time to loaf. She reached for the newspaper on the table. A perusal of the want ads revealed a few possibilities. She’d check the websites of the companies, and while online, see what else turned up.

  Determined to think positive, she examined the leads. She had skills. Her qualifications and referral from Candace should stand her in good stead.

  The search began. For the next few weeks, Dorrie went on interviews during her lunch break and after work, took typing tests, answered questions, and did everything she could think of to get hired.

  “You were less than a year at your last job,” some employers said. After she explained why and showed a copy of the school district’s letter, she still had to explain the reason she’d been out of the work force so long before then. Was she paranoid, or did they think she’d cooked up the story about her mother? Sad to say, she couldn’t prove they were wrong, even if she produced Mom’s death certificate.

  Others found her job skills lacking. “If you only knew spreadsheets, databases or other programs, we’d hire you.”

  She could take courses to beef up her qualifications, but that would mean using up such precious commodities as time and money.

  Friday, February 10 came all too soon. After a glum last day at Foster, Dorrie joined Candace and the other faculty members for dinner at the family restaurant not far away. They all smiled bravely, though from time to time they openly or surreptitiously blinked back tears.

  At home afterward, Dorrie’s stomach churned, as she thought of the fear and sadness lurking in the eyes of her dinner companions. No doubt they’d seen the same qualities reflected in hers as well.

  She had to find a job, but how? She’d followed up on every likely ad, yet the results were discouraging. Sighing, she stepped into the kitchen to check again, in case something new had turned up.

  She stared at the screen, knowing what it said, yet not liking it. Life had turned out so wrong. The only man she’d loved had died, as had her mother. She missed them both dreadfully. She also missed her friend who lived miles away. Now to top off her misery, soon she’d have no income to pay her pile of bills. Would she soon be homeless? She didn’t enjoy wallowing in self-pity, but how much more could she take?

  The phone rang. Dorrie glanced away from scouring the ads. She didn’t recognize the number on Caller ID. Maybe it was a telemarketer, but she couldn’t take that chance. It might be someone important. As she lifted the receiver, she decided it was time to get rid of the landline and save money.

  “How’re you doing, Mrs. Donato?”

  Guilt filled her as she recognized Mr. Remington’s distinctive voice. Though queasy at the prospect of working at the Institute, she should have checked with him for an opening.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Remington. Thanks for calling. How am I? Well, I’d say, life could be better. I just lost my job at the high school because of redistricting, so I’m back where I started when I moved out here from Tomahawk. Since getting my notice a few weeks ago, I’ve been job hunting everywhere, but no luck.”

  “Well, maybe that will change.”

  “I hope so. Things are not looking up right now.”

  “Listen, I’ve already filled the position I mentioned before, but I do happen to have another, much more intriguing, if you’re up to a challenge.”

  A spark of hope kindled inside of Dorrie. Would he rescue her from her predicament?

  “Tell me more. I’m willing to give almost anything a try.”

  “Mrs. Donato, why don’t you stop by my office on Monday, say, ten in the morning, and we’ll go over what I have in mind.”

  After agreeing and hanging up, Dorrie wondered if she’d done the right thing. Could she handle going back to the scene of Larry’s accident? What would it feel like to gaze at the spot where her husband had breathed his last? She shuddered, imagining what the impact could do to her fragile state of mind.

  “You’re a big girl. You’ll get through this,” she said, tilting her chin.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get a little moral support. Dorrie punched in Jeanne’s number. She’d already filled her friend in about the school’s closing right after hearing about it.

  “How’s the job hunt coming along, Dorrie?”

  “I don’t have one yet, but I do have a possibility. I’ll tell you about it, but first, how’s your Dad doing?”

  “Could be better, to put it mildly. I’d give anything to turn back the clock to before he fell on
the black ice in the driveway, setting off this whole miserable chain of events. The poor man can’t do anything he loves, like fishing, hunting or even something so ordinary as walking around the block. Even with medicine, he’s in such pain that half the time he doesn’t feel like eating. He’s wasting away, no matter how I keep after him to get something down.”

  “Can’t anything be done?”

  “I’m afraid not. Every specialist I’ve consulted, and there are tons of them, all say his back was broken so severely an operation could paralyze him. Given the situation, we dare not take the chance. He’s bad enough as it is.”

  “I feel so sorry for Mike. He’s such a great guy. He used to be so cheerful, too, with such a great laugh.”

  “Well, not any more. I can’t remember the last time he even smiled. I’m constantly monitoring him in case, God forbid, he breaks down in a moment of weakness and does something drastic. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this.”

  “I know exactly how you feel. I had a hard time dealing with Mom’s osteoporosis, especially near the end when she was so helpless. It’s difficult to stand by and know there’s only so much you can do.”

  Jeanne sighed. “I guess we’re at that age, you know, the time for reciprocating for all we’ve received, but it’s not like a day at the ballpark, that’s for sure. Well, enough about me. Now, spill. What’s happened on your end? You mentioned a possible lead.”

  “I do have something to report, but I’m not sure if it’s good or bad. Larry’s boss, the Angel Man himself, says he might have a job for me at the Institute. He’s invited me to his office tomorrow to talk it over. It’ll be nerve racking facing that place. I hope I’m up to it.”

  “I appreciate what you’re going through, but maybe if you get it over with, you’ll feel better afterward.”

  “You may be right. Anyway, I did agree to go, so I won’t back out now.”

  “I wonder. If you didn’t call him, how did he know you needed a job?”

  “Not too hard to figure out. He knew I worked at Foster High, and the school board cuts have been all over the news.”

  “It’s nice he thought of you, but be careful. A man with his popularity is used to getting his way in more ways than one. Don’t let him think he can hit on you, because you’re lonely and a widow.”

  Dorrie gave a short laugh. “Whatever made you think of that, Jeanne? Need I remind you, I’m at least twenty years older than the man and not exactly the most gorgeous woman who’s walked the face of the earth?”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Dorrie. There’s nothing wrong with your looks, and lots of men go for older women.”

  “Oh, please, you’ve got to be kidding. There’s no reason for someone in his league to be attracted to me. Besides, if such an unlikely event were to occur, I’d have no trouble refusing him. Sex is the last thing on my mind. I miss Larry too much.”

  “Forgive me, little sister, for my warped sense of humor. Sometimes I don’t think before I speak.”

  For as long she could remember, though they weren’t related, Jeanne had been dubbed big sister, and Dorrie the little one. It was their way of acknowledging their significance to each other.

  “Thanks, Jeanne, I know you mean well. It’s good to know someone out there cares,” Dorrie said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

  “Always have and always will.”

  “Ditto.”

  “On that note, I hear Dad calling me, so I better see what’s going on. Let me know how the interview goes. I’ll cross my fingers and toes and say lots of prayers that something good comes of it.”

  Thank God for Jeanne. Without her, Dorrie didn’t know what she’d do.

  ***

  On Monday, Dorrie steeled herself to make the drive to the Institute. Her heart almost burst as she maneuvered down the mountain road. When she made the turns near the steep drop off, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking on the wheel.

  Unlike the last time, after the trek down the mountain, this time a uniformed guard stood at attention outside his station and checked her ID. Was it the same person who’d suffered the intestinal emergency the night of Larry’s death? She didn’t have the fortitude to ask. As she drove onto the straight stretch, she glanced ahead at the parking lot. Vehicles crowded the area, yet Dorrie could still see the emptiness of that horrible evening and the still form sprawled across the asphalt.

  She pulled into a parking spot not far from the scene of the accident, and forced her trembling legs to propel her out of the car. Tears clouded her vision as she stopped to stare where she’d last seen Larry. Coincidence or not, that was the only space empty.

  “Lord, please help me cope. I miss him so.” Her prayers drifted on the morning air of a sky blue day. The birds chirped. A gentle breeze rifled her hair. Everything continued, as if Larry had never been part of it.

  She swiped at her eyes, hoping her mascara wasn’t running. She did want to look professional for the interview.

  A second glance at the fatal spot set off a wave of guilt. Was she doing the right thing? Didn’t Larry deserve more respect? What was the matter with her?

  “Larry, I’ll always love you. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I must go in there and apply for a job. I hope you understand,” she whispered.

  Her husband had adored his position at the Institute. In a way, being here might make her feel closer to him. Besides, at this point, she’d have to take what she could get.

  Determined not to give in to self-pity, Dorrie straightened her shoulders and headed for the front entrance. Once she reached the glass door, she pressed the button, gave her name and was buzzed in. A high heeled, suit clad receptionist greeted her. “We’ve been expecting you. Right this way, Mrs. Donato.”

  Dorrie caught a quick glimpse of the atrium’s vaulted ceilings, citrus trees and greenery bathed in sunlight, before she was whisked into a modern, glass enclosed elevator, which transported her to the third floor, and down a hallway lined with geometrically patterned black and white pictures. More patterned pictures lined the walls of the waiting room, some with varying concentric purple circles in dizzying patterns.

  “Have a seat, please,” the receptionist said, gesturing to a chrome and black chair.

  Dorrie sank gratefully onto the chair, which proved surprisingly comfortable, despite its sparse appearance.

  Once the woman had left, Dorrie wiped her moist hands on the skirt of her navy blue suit. Job hunting, even without the impediment of disturbing memories, didn’t top her list of fun things to do.

  The muffled tread of footsteps on the grey patterned carpet alerted her that someone approached, even before the door opened to reveal Mr. Remington, perfection himself in a tan suit and cream colored shirt.

  Looks weren’t everything. As in her first impression of the man, he seemed plastic, without dimension, like an actor in a commercial.

  He gestured her inside. “Mrs. Donato, come this way, please.”

  They walked past a populated area of cubicles, from which resonated the click of keyboards, and then proceeded down another grey carpeted hallway to what appeared to be a separate office suite.

  Once inside, she noticed three doors leading off the hallway, two of which were closed. He led her to the open one. Royal blue and gold carpeting lent an impression of richness, even without the added dimensions of the massive mahogany desk, cordovan leather couch and matching chairs.

  “Please, have a seat,” he said, pointing to a chair facing the desk.

  The entire room spelt quality and meticulousness, from the comfortable, yet supportive chair where she sat to the other tasteful accoutrements. She wouldn’t expect less from a man of such genius and talent.

  “Now, Mrs. Donato, let me be up front. The position I’m offering involves an extreme amount of risk, but the benefits far outweigh them.”

  That didn’t bode well. She held back a frown of disappointment. He had to know from their previous conversation, plus her résumé, her qualificatio
ns lay in the areas of office work, such as receptionist or administrative assistant. Why mention something else?

  “What kind of position?”

  “I’m getting to that. First, promise to keep an open mind. This job could be the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s different and exciting, perfect in your situation, and involves my new invention, the Forever Young pill.”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes, the promising pill Larry helped you tweak.”

  “That’s right. Well, as you know, your husband played a role in its development, by ironing out some of its minor bugs. I’m almost ready to offer the pill to the general public, but one last step is involved. This is where you can come in.

  What I’m offering is a chance for you to get in on the ground floor, and play a pivotal role, much as your husband did, but in an even more electrifying way. The tests have been successfully concluded. From every indication, the pill is absolutely safe. What I need now is a pioneer, someone from your age group, who will accept the challenge and get the ball rolling. Should you accept this position, you’d be the first person to take the Forever Young pill, be transported to the age of your choice, and become its official spokesperson.”

  She gaped at him in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. “Mr. Remington, no offense. I’d like to help you, but that’s going too far. Down the line, I might be tempted to try your pill, but right now at the beginning, before anyone else does, that’s way too scary.”

  “Now Mrs. Donato, please don’t say no without hearing me out. Think of the substantial benefits. Wouldn’t you like to be young again?”

  She gave a short laugh. “Of course. What person my age wouldn’t dream of turning back the clock? Sure, my body isn’t what it used to be, but it’s something I have to accept. What you’re suggesting sounds dangerous, and I’m not a risk taker.”

  He leaned across the desk, his blue eyes staring into hers. “Think about it. You could stay whatever age you want and never grow old.”