Chapter 6 - The Work I Left Behind
The fellowship position had been filled.
I knew that before the director said it, but disappointment still moved through me with surprising force.
For eleven months, I had believed I was not good enough.
Now I knew I had been good enough, and the opportunity was gone anyway.
“I can document our correspondence,” she offered. “And you’re welcome to apply again.”
I thanked her.
After the call, I cried over the kitchen sink while Audrey pretended to reorganize a drawer nearby.
Eventually, she handed me a dish towel.
“It’s clean.”
That made me laugh.
Then cry harder.
Recovery, I was learning, could be embarrassingly ungraceful.
Some mornings I answered emails, made breakfast, and almost felt like myself.
Other mornings the toaster startled me so badly that I had to sit down.
I found a counselor through the hospital referral list. At our first appointment, I talked almost entirely about Evan.
What he meant.
What he felt.
What might happen to his career.
The counselor listened, then asked, “What happened to you?”
I looked at her for so long that she repeated the question.
I did not know where to begin.
Meanwhile, Nora’s freelance assignment waited on Audrey’s dining table.
A community center in North Philadelphia needed a revised lighting plan for its multipurpose room.
Small budget.
Low ceilings.
Old wiring.
Exactly the kind of practical problem I used to enjoy.
I opened the drawings and discovered that I still knew what I was doing.
The knowledge had survived everything.
On Thursday, I joined Nora for a site visit.
I wore makeup over the fading bruise on my cheek, then worried that wearing makeup meant I was hiding it.
Then I worried that thinking about my face at all made me vain.
Nora took one look at me outside the building.
“You don’t have to get through today perfectly.”
Inside, a contractor named Miles Bennett stood on a ladder examining an old fixture.
He climbed down when we entered.
“Sloane? We worked on the Mercer renovation.”
I remembered him.
He had been the person who noticed that the architect’s ceiling detail left no room for maintenance access.
“You saved us six weeks,” I said.
“You’re being generous. I complained loudly until someone listened.”
He smiled, then handed me the inspection notes.
He did not stare at my mouth.
He did not lower his voice into pity.
He asked whether the proposed fixtures would create glare over the homework tables.
For twenty minutes, I got to be a person with useful opinions.
Afterward, Nora and I stood beside her car.
“I’d like to talk about bringing you back,” she said.
I looked down at my folder.
“I don’t know if I can handle full time yet.”
“Then we won’t start there.”
The offer was modest. Part time, with a review after several weeks. I would work under another project lead until I decided how much responsibility I wanted.
I accepted before fear could write a speech.
That evening, my father came over with groceries.
He had spent the afternoon reviewing the financial records with me at my request.
We had found explanations for some transfers.
Other amounts remained unclear.
The $28,400 was no longer one frightening number. It was a list of transactions we could follow.
“I can give you money,” he said.
“I know.”
“I don’t mean you have to depend on me.”
I looked at him.
“I might need some help.”
His shoulders lowered.
“Okay.”
It was such a small conversation.
Nobody asked me to prove gratitude.
Nobody said the help created a debt.
Before he left, he placed a bag of oranges on the counter.
“Your mother says you forget to buy fruit when you’re upset.”
“She’s right.”
After he drove away, I opened my laptop and finished the community center plan.
At 9:12, an email from Evan arrived at the address I used for work.
You always come back when you calm down.
I forwarded it to Mara without replying.
Then I returned to the drawing.
May you like
The next morning, Nora told me someone had called the firm claiming I had stolen confidential client materials.
The caller had identified himself as my fiancé.
