The Storm (Fairhope)

by Laura Lexington

  MONTHS LATER, AFTER my fury at Andrew subsided into slight aggravation, I was flying high on adrenaline, enjoying every challenge in my flourishing career. One of my top surgeons and another customer’s surgery nurse lived in my apartment complex, both females, and we socialized after work, building my business over hot fudge brownies and margaritas. I still think about those lazy nights under the star-streaked sky, laughing over husband annoyances as we drowned the day in whipped cream.

  The prospect of moving back to Fairhope was never far from my thoughts, but the time flew as our activities multiplied, life a whirlwind of lots of work and little play. In the blink of an eye, fall arrived and settled in with its cool breezes, colorful leaves, and shorter days.

  I left my house early on the day Chris told me about the sales force expansion. The October day was flawlessly clear and beautiful, abounding with chirping birds and absent of the muggy humidity that clouded fall days in Alabama. I rolled my windows down to feel the cool, whispering wind as I drove. I smiled, musing over my life … finally one to envy.

  As I drove, my mind lazily floated away to my conversation with Andrew the night before…

  “So, are you ready to start making babies yet?” Andrew grinned. An only child, he wanted a houseful of barefoot monsters. I was not so sure.

  “Um, you get enough practice. More than your friends.” I raised my eyebrows suggestively. Since Andrew and I started dating, his friends accepted me as one of them, which meant being privy to dozens of inappropriate conversations over beers, boneless wings, and football games. No one held back when I was around, so consequently, I knew way more than I wanted to about his friends’ sex lives, or lack thereof, and they knew way too much about ours. All that was sacred elsewhere was public in my house.

  Secretly, I was pumped Andrew bragged to his friends, saying I was a sex goddess. I thought he was the sexiest man I ever met, the only one who stole the breath out of my chest. Well, that is, except for that one night he shared way too much information after six mixed drinks. It took more than margaritas to erase the images of his previous conquests from my mind. I shouldn’t have asked.

  “We can make a baby when you make it happen for me to go home.” Privately, I hoped it would take at least a year. Andrew’s overly Catholic mother seemed to think so, since her once-heathen son and OCD daughter-in-law were using birth control pills. “Your mother thinks we are going to hell for me being on the pill anyway. If I don’t get knocked up quickly, she’s going to say we are being punished.” I refrained from voicing the thought that crossed my mind—that I might be okay with that. Being a parent scared me to death.

  I could have mimicked his unruly laugh that followed. “Yes, babe, I can see that coming. My mother’s fanatical.”

  My heart ached to go home, even if it meant participating in somewhat agonizing religious discussions with my forceful but well-meaning mother-in-law. “Evangelistic” was how my father-in-law described her. Andrew and I considered ourselves “Metholic”—he Catholic, me Methodist. We attended a Methodist church because Andrew was fairly apathetic about where to go as long as they preached Jesus. I passed a Catholic church on the way to my meeting and frowned as I thought of my mother-in-law.

  I rolled in to our meeting venue ten minutes early and decided to go inside and grab a table while I waited on Chris, who was hands down the best territory manager I could have asked to work with. Sadie, the endearing hostess who was finishing graduate school, had become a special friend over my years of visits. Dazzling in a light blue strapless stress and stylish open-toed camel heels, she opened the door for me.

  “Hi, Jana!” she exclaimed with a bright smile, sweeping a lock of gleaming red hair out of her ravishing, sculpted face. I envied her pearly white teeth, which had probably never been abused by whitening strips like mine. “We’re just opening up. Coke?”

  I giggled. “You know me too well.” I laid my computer and messy stack of reports on a nearby table, quickly scanning the wall for a plug. “Yes, Coke.”

  “What does Chris want?” Sadie called out as she walked toward the counter.

  “He said to get him a Diet Coke if I beat him. I have tried to convince him he’s dumping cancer into his bloodstream, but he won’t listen.” I flipped open my computer, anxiously checking to see if my latest numbers had come through.

  DePalma’s Italian Café was my choice for lunch when the tab was on Covington Company. That way, I felt no guilt about ordering my favorite appetizer, the pizza rotti, followed by my regular gorgonzola filet, cooked medium, and their always-delicious chocolate mousse cake. Though the café was not terribly expensive, considering the ambiance and quality of the food, the trio usually busted Andrew’s budget, so I reserved my splurge for the company credit card.

  Impatiently, I loudly tapped my favorite Jimmy Choo heels on the floor (hand-me-downs from Grace; Andrew would have fainted at the original price tag). Waiting for my ornery computer to boot up so I would know whether celebrating or mourning would be appropriate was hammering on my last nerve. So close to winning President’s Club for things to crumble now…

  “Here you go, doll.” Sadie carefully placed our drinks on the table. “Guess what? I will be finished with school in December!” Her emerald eyes glittered with excitement. “No more driving back and forth to Tuscaloosa.”

  “Congratulations!” I swept her up in a quick hug. “What do you plan on doing?”

  “I was thinking about trying to get into some type of medical sales,” she answered a little shyly. “Do you think I’d have a chance?”

  “Definitely.” As our friendship blossomed, I’d learned that Sadie was an excellent student, decorated with leadership positions and community activities. “You would need sales experience first. Send me your resume, though. I started with an internship.” I handed her a business card.

  “Thank you, Jana! I really appreciate your helping me.” She paused, hesitant. “I’ve always been interested in sales, but the only thing that concerns me is that it seems like it would be really hard to have a family with all the traveling you guys have to do. It seems like a lot of the female reps I see are young and don’t have any kids.”

  I shook my head reassuringly. “It will be fine, but your husband’s job will need to be flexible or a traditional eight-to-five. I do have some late nights when cases run over. My company offers like twelve weeks of paid maternity leave, and you can even come back to work part-time before phasing back into your full-time position.”

  “If I ever get married,” Sadie sighed, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Of course, adoption will have to be an option for him.”

  Oh, no. I had forgotten.

  Sympathetically, I placed my hand over hers briefly. Her emergency hysterectomy the year before worried us all sick. Thankfully, she was okay, but her dream of having children was killed forever.

  “You will,” I replied quietly.

  She smiled in reply, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.

  I opted for a subject change, smiling. “I need a partner in crime for pampering after work today. Up for a pedi?”

  She grinned. “Always! I need to be in prime princess condition, in case Mr. Right shows up unexpectedly.”

  “Or even Mr. Right Now,” I teased.

  Her initial comment made me think. Briefly, I ran through a mental list of all of the females who worked for Covington in Alabama. I frowned, realizing that I could not think of many who had children. No females in leadership in our area had any, at least to my knowledge.

  As Sadie walked off, Chris sauntered up to the table, snapping me back to the present. He flashed his classic cheerful grin. “Hey there! Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I had a call with the boss man.”

  “How did yesterday’s case go?”

  Chris rolled his eyes. “It was fine; ran late. We have a lot of work to do in that hospital. ” He was very direct, which was one of the dozens of reasons why I liked working with him.

 
“I have news for you.”

  I leaned forward nervously. This could be good, or this could be bad. Had our performance slipped? “Okay, what’s that?”

  Pausing a tad bit dramatically, Chris sipped his Diet Coke while I waited impatiently for his response. “Upper management has made a decision to expand our division, and some territories will now be shared.” He smiled, peering closely at me to observe my reaction. “Certain areas will be adding additional managers.”

  Territory managers? That would be a serious upgrade to my current situation, an opportunity I had not expected for at least another year.

  Butterflies swirled in my growling stomach. “Really … when?”

  “Not sure of that yet. We don’t have all of the details, but top performing associates will be considered first. That will present opportunities for you, and with your annual evaluation last year, you’ll be a prime candidate.” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

  After I was named as Covington Company’s Rookie of the Year the previous year, our boss assured me I was easily on track to meet my goal of becoming a territory manager when a position opened up.

  “I’m really excited,” I blurted out before his last question was completely out of his mouth. “That’s awesome! What about here? Will you have a partner?”

  “No, Jana. We don’t have the potential here. However, Jeff Tyler will be adding a new rep, centered in Mobile. Have you met Jeff yet? He has been with Covington for about two years now.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. Anthony wants to know if we want to … move back to Fairhope. Andrew’s words echoed in my mind. Fairhope, my quaint town on the outskirts of Mobile where families wanted to live and children were safe to play, would fall in that geography.

  “Yes, I met him at the national sales meeting last year.”

  “You’re leaving me, huh?” He pouted. “I knew it. I almost didn’t tell you.”

  “Oh, come on—that’s a big if,” I stammered, my heart pounding. “You will find a fantastic new associate. How should I start preparing?”

  Territory manager equaled big bucks. Eventually, I might pass Andrew up. I was okay with it, but he was eaten up with that Southern gentleman provider mentality. Maybe he wouldn’t micromanage my spending so much if I moved up. I could shop in material bliss, and he could still reach his goal of financial peace. Insert eye roll here.

  “I have a few mock interview questions that we can go over to help prepare you,” Chris said matter-of-factly. “And update your portfolio—for interviewing—accordingly. You really don’t have anything to worry about.” His smile shifted to an exaggerated scowl. “You’re going to hate to lose me. Collin Olivier is a real piece of work.”

  I smiled and bit my lip, tasting my berry-flavored lipstick, before picking up my Coke to avoid speaking for a minute, relishing the flattery I felt from Chris’s encouragement. Nothing I worked for had come easy … every A or B meant little sleep after working the jobs that funded college and bills. I interviewed three times for the internship that led me to this territory with Chris, after losing several years of Saturdays selling cell phones.

  Now I was one step away from making well over six figures.

  Sadie waved enthusiastically as I packed up my things and left. “Bye, Jana!” She winked, having overheard my conversation with Chris. “Meet you back here at five. I might get my nails done too!”

  Our pedicure date would be the last time I saw Sadie for a long time. The next conversation I would have with her would be quite different.

  Maybe Grace’s aura was contagious. I got exactly what I wanted: the position in Mobile and a second President’s Club plaque hanging in my office. The adrenaline rush of excitement inside me fought to win out over that irritating emotion called doubt.

  In the blink of an eye, Christmas drew near, and Birmingham was crisply dressed in festive wreaths and sparkling lights. On a quiet Friday evening, I found myself staring out our tiny apartment window as rain drizzled lightly. Lying peacefully on our snug comforter in the middle of my immaculate bedroom, I floated in and out of prayer, searching for the whisper.

  Am I making the right decision?

  “The whisper,” as I referred to it, was God’s voice. I gave it a name when I was six. Mama joked that she always wondered if I heard voices, or if I simply chose not to listen to hers. In my child-like innocence, I told her I prayed and waited for God to answer, but I never outright heard anything … I just felt it very softly.

  “He whispers, Jana.” Her response was accompanied with the gentle smile of a proud mother and a glistening tear in her eye.

  The whisper became a part of me, a token of my identity that guided my life. Its conscience sparked my intuition and planted my feet in the right direction … if only I listened to it. I never felt as perfect as some of the pious girls I went to school with, but I wanted to live the right kind of life.

  My coveted Christmas holiday vacation flew by like watching a favorite movie for the third time. Mama and Daddy were more than ecstatic that their baby girl was moving back, and joined us for house-hunting during our holiday visit. Thanks to Andrew’s budgeting obsession, our savings account waited for us to withdraw the twenty percent down payment. We—well, he, since I was the compliant wife who nodded in agreement, mentally kissing my dreams of a swimming pool and a hot tub in my future backyard goodbye for now—wanted to be debt free as soon as possible. I squashed thoughts of Caribbean cruises and tried to embrace the thought of yelling, “We’re debt free!” on Dave Ramsey’s radio show.

  Grace was one step ahead of us. “You can stop looking. I know you, and I found your house.” I envisioned her radiant smile through the phone on our way to Fairhope for the holiday season. In typical Grace-like fashion, one evening after dark, she casually knocked down the FOR SALE sign to discourage potential buyers.

  Grace’s choice was perfect with its darker stucco exterior, three large bedrooms, dark wood floors, family-friendly sidewalks, and a modern, granite-trimmed master bathroom, packaged in our tightly defined price range. After my first step into the ballroom-like entrance, I was confident I found my castle.

  The icing on the cake was the cottage-like, tiny room in the back of the house that most people would have found a waste of space. The window allowed the perfect amount of soft light, and the light blue paint lent it an artsy feel. I would place my easel in the far left corner and escape to my happy place, where I could paint to my heart’s content. I experienced no greater fulfillment than when I was painting. No matter what went wrong, I could whip out a paintbrush, prop up a clean slate, and my problems melted into art. My emotions redirected and my arm exhausted, I would relinquish my paintbrush after several hours, swimming in my undying hope that one day my paintings would be fought over in a gallery.

  Despite the puzzle pieces falling perfectly in place, I could not ignore the nauseous churning in my stomach as Andrew and I traveled back to Birmingham. The whisper’s guidance was lost in my feverish planning and neurotic house hunting. I hushed the whisper and was left with the ominous feeling that something was going to go very wrong. Nothing in life arrived on a silver platter for me—ever. The house, the impending promotion, the timing … packaged perfectly … almost too perfectly.

  THE TEMPERATURE LINGERED in the sixties, and the humidity was at a record-breaking low on the weekend Andrew and I graced Fairhope with our permanent presence. By the time we moved in, enchanting pink and purple flowers blossomed throughout the flower beds, and hearty green bushes promised to keep growing. Grace was a five-minute drive away, and if I could muster enough motivation, a twenty-minute walk. Pleasantville, but perfect for me.

  Mission accomplished—all of our boxes were stripped clean, unpacked completely, by Sunday afternoon. I was grateful for the fact that two televisions had cable installed (thanks to Gavin, who helped us get prepared) so we would not fight over CSI versus Breaking Bad reruns.

  Worn out but giddy with excitement, we snuggled up on t
he couch with plates piled with steaming hot pepperoni pizza. I had no time to buy curtains for the gorgeous bay window in our living area, and now I was sort of glad. I gazed outside at the beautiful sunset. The sky was a glistening array of blues, pinks, and soft purples. Wildlife sang their last tunes before settling for the evening.

  “Man, it’s been a long weekend.” Andrew grinned, his dangerous blue eyes sparkling with excitement. He propped his long, tan legs up on our new mahogany coffee table. I noticed it still had a “sale” price tag dangling from the side, and I ripped it off. “But we’re in our new house. No more apartment. Awesome!”

  I frowned at his dirty shoes on the table. “Feet down.”

  Obediently, Andrew placed his feet back on the floor, sarcastically taking his time. His dimples flashed just as I was starting to get agitated, and he affectionately rubbed my shoulders.

  “Anything for my Jana Banana.” He grinned. I hated when he called me that.

  Five minutes until show time. “Don’t even think about it. I’m watching CSI in here. You can go watch Jesse’s girlfriend overdose again in the other room.”

  “I know.” He gestured toward the other side of the house. Andrew’s grin widened. “Now we have a future room for Baby Cook.” He winked at me, massaging my shoulders and leaning forward to brush soft kisses on my neck, sending chills up my spine. Chills that never failed to remind me of the night we had met.

  I still can’t believe Andrew Cook picked me. He could have had any girl he wanted, and he picked me. He had that special something you couldn’t put your finger on, the special something that made arguments over laundry worth it, the special something that spun your senses with novelty, and the sex never grew stale … that special something that left you living life on your tiptoes, waiting for what came next.

  I was practically drooling the moment I laid eyes on him, but the connection was more than the wetness that soaked my lacy Victoria’s Secret thong. Real chemistry—that knock-you-off-your-feet infatuation you can’t fathom until it steals your breath away—the knowing that fate has chosen this precise moment for you to discover your soul mate.