Bundle of Trouble (35 page)

“Don’t apologize! I have closure. Come inside. I rarely drink, although today I think I’m going to have a small glass of champagne. What would you like?”

“I shouldn’t have any alcohol. I’m breastfeeding,” I added as way of explanation.

“One drink won’t hurt.” Mrs. Avery tsked. “Besides, we need to have something to toast a job well done. Brad would have wanted that.”

She called Marta and requested a bottle of Dom Perignon.

As Mrs. Avery poured the champagne, I filled her in on the pertinent details about KelliAnn. We both wept as I told her about Penny.

When we had finished crying, Mrs. Avery pulled out a checkbook.

“You found my son and my granddaughter’s killer. I’ll always be indebted to you. Please accept this.”

She handed me a check for twice the amount due. “Consider it a little bonus for bringing the nasty drug business to my attention. You didn’t really think I could have been involved, right?”

“Only for a moment.”

 

 

I drove home with the bonus check burning a hole in my pocket. I couldn’t believe Mrs. Avery had been so generous. It would help pay our mortgage until Jim found a new job.

I waited for Jim to come home, to share the news. I was able to pump out another entire three ounces. Now I had five ounces in the freezer. I was starting to feel proud of myself—only twenty-seven ounces to go to get to the recommended thirty-two-ounce supply. Maybe over the weekend I’d be able to squeeze out a few more ounces, and then at least Jim would be able to give Laurie breast milk the first day I was back at the office.

I looked in my closet, peering desperately at my wardrobe, wondering what I would wear to work on Monday. I tried on a couple of outfits and got even more disheartened. The only things that fit comfortably were my maternity clothes. When was that supposed to change?

This morning, at my six-week appointment, Dr. Greene said I could begin working out again. I knew I needed to schedule gym time and abdominal work, yet I felt so tired all the time. Breastfeeding was taking its toll on me, and I wondered with a pang how long I would be able to do it.

I searched the floor of my closet for my shoes. What a joke. None of those fit either.

Dr. Greene had also said that my bones would go back into place, whatever that meant. Was that really going to happen? Would my size seven Nine West shoes ever fit?

And what would I do in the meantime?

I slipped into the unattractive size eight
wide
flats I’d been forced to wear during my pregnancy. They fit fine, which served only to make me feel awful, bloated, and unattractive.

Laurie was sound asleep, and I wondered if she would enjoy a trip to the mall with me. I heard the front door open. Within seconds, Jim was in the kitchen picking me up in his arms.

“My God! What’s going on?”

He kissed my face all over. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“I love you, too,” I said. “What’s going on?” I repeated, then added, “And shhh, you’re going to wake the baby.”

“She can be awake! We’re a family! Go get her, get her, get her,” he said excitedly, running his words together so they sounded like “gethergethergether.”

“I’m not going to wake a sleeping baby,” I said firmly.

Jim laughed. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not,” I said sternly, trying to hold back my laughter.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jim said, disappointed. “Guess what?” he asked, excited again.

“The interview went well?” I asked hopefully.

“Forget the interview,” Jim said.

“What?”

Jim took a deep breath. “Dirk Jonson called me. I got the account!”

My stomach flip-flopped.

“It’s big, Kate. The account is big,” Jim said, a smile crossing his face. “In fact, it’s huge! We’re set for at least a year. Look at this.” He pulled the contract out of his briefcase.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “What does that mean?” I said, indicating the six-figure number on the page.

“That’s the amount I’m going to get paid. Me. Not the firm that fired me. But me.”

I nearly choked. “You’re going to get paid this amount? For what?”

“For doing what I always do. Creating an ad campaign. I’ve already come up with a lot of it. Check out my proposal.”

Jim flipped through the pages of the contract, until he got to some pictures.

“Oh, my God. My husband’s a genius!”

Jim laughed. “The genius part was getting fired from my old firm.”

“Getting fired turns out to be a good thing?”

“I’ll make four times as much as an independent contractor.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to go to the office on Monday?”

Jim smiled. “That’s right, honey,” he said, stroking my hair. “That’s exactly what it means.”

 

1. Quit Job.