Starting Now (3 page)

She turned on her one-cup coffeemaker, brewed a mug, and carried it into her home office. Setting it down on a coaster, she looked at the picture of her mother that rested on the corner of her desk. Her mother’s eyes seemed to focus directly on hers.

“I know, Mom. Don’t worry. This is only temporary. All is not lost.”

It was then that Libby noticed the plant next to her mother’s framed photograph. She didn’t even know what kind it was, but regardless: it was brown and shriveled now. It had withered with neglect.

Four Months Later

With her briefcase clenched in her hand, Libby Morgan left her latest interview with the gut-wrenching feeling that she wouldn’t get this job, either. The economy was killing her chances. Her résumé highlighted her professional qualifications; Hershel had written her a glowing letter of recommendation, and yet nothing had panned out.

Four months!

Finding another position shouldn’t have been a problem; only it was. No one was hiring. No one was interested. Libby lost count of the number of firms where she’d applied, the number of interviews she’d sat through. She’d followed leads from friends, and still nothing. Oh, she’d come close any number of times, but up until now she’d always come in second … or third. Her ego was in the gutter and her self-esteem was dragging close to the seafloor. Libby had
never been this depressed in her life. Having nothing to do with her time was slowly killing her. She desperately needed to work.

As she walked into her condo, she tossed her briefcase onto the sofa and sagged into the thick, cushioned seat. The middle button of her suit jacket had stretched to the breaking point. On top of everything else she’d gained weight. Ten pounds. Ten ugly pounds. She unfastened her jacket and let out a disgusted sigh. Nothing fit right. Nothing felt right. Not her life. Not her clothes. Nothing.

The phone rang, and thinking it might be a potential employer, Libby leaped for it.

“Libby Morgan,” she said, doing her utmost to sound upbeat and positive.

“Libby, it’s Sarah. How’d the interview go?”

Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. Who was she kidding? No one was going to call her about a job. “It’s the same old story: there are at least forty candidates for every opening.”

Even before the interview was finished Libby knew she wasn’t a contender. In the months since she’d left Burkhart, Smith & Crandall she’d developed a sixth sense about her chances. Two or three times she knew she was in the running. Second and even third interviews followed, and yet it was always the same outcome. Sorry, another time. Close, but no cigar.

“How’s the office?” Libby asked. Her one lingering hope was that Hershel and the other partners would recognize their mistake and ask her to return. Four months ago, if they had, she would’ve taken pleasure in laughing in their faces and telling them to take a flying leap into some cow pile. Over the last several weeks, though, her attitude had softened considerably. She wanted to work. She needed to work. She couldn’t take this endless battle of building herself up for the next interview only to be dashed against the rocks of self-doubt and frustration.

“I was so hoping it would work out this time,” Sarah continued.

Libby had been, too.

“Don’t get discouraged,” Sarah said.

“I won’t.” Yeah, like that was possible. She felt beaten down and defeated and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Gotta scoot.”

“Bye.” Her paralegal’s calls weren’t as frequent as they’d been the first month. In fact, these days it was usually Libby who contacted Sarah. The paralegal was busy and preoccupied, and their conversations were short. Libby knew that Sarah found it difficult working for Ben Holmes. She’d gladly follow Libby to another law firm given the opportunity.

What she needed, Libby decided, was a break. She hadn’t been to Spokane since Christmas two years ago. Hadn’t seen her father or stepmother in that long. Libby got along fine with Charlene, the woman her father had married when she was a high school senior. Their relationship was warm. Charlene was pleasant enough, but she had no intention of mothering Libby, which was fine by her. Libby held on to the memories of her mother and worked hard to live up to the potential Molly had seen in her.

Unfortunately, Libby had never been particularly close to her father. He was a civilian working for the air force as a computer analyst and had always been distant. The small family had gotten their first emotional hit when Libby’s older brother, Timmy, was killed while riding his bike when he was ten. A drunk driver had hit him and then sped away. Her father had taken the tragic death of his son especially hard. Although Libby was only vaguely aware of it, Timmy’s death had put a strain on her parents’ marriage. Then her mother had been diagnosed with cancer.

Robert Morgan seemed to close himself off from life after his son’s death. In many ways that drunk driver had claimed more than her brother’s life; he’d destroyed their family. Her mother and father were never the same. Gone were the days when her father would laugh and tease her. As a child Libby had loved it when her father would pick her up and twirl her around and around. She couldn’t remember him playing with her again after they lost Timmy.

When it was just the two of them, Robert and Libby rarely even spoke. The day she was admitted into the National Honor Society,
her father hadn’t come to the school for the presentation. He hadn’t taken pictures of her and her date for the high school senior prom the way other parents did, and for her birthday and Christmas he gave her cash. He simply didn’t seem to care. Still, he was family. Her only family.

It was her mother Libby missed—now more than ever. She longed to burrow into her mother’s arms and be comforted by her warm embrace, just as she’d done when Libby was young and frightened. Her mother had always found a way to cheer her. In first grade, when Libby hadn’t gotten an invitation to a birthday party, her mother had taken her to a fancy restaurant for tea. They’d worn special hats and gloves and dined on cucumber sandwiches. All these years after her mother’s death, Libby still missed her hugs and the notes her mother used to write and tuck into her sack lunch.

Reaching for her phone, Libby looked up the Spokane number for her father on her contacts list, a sad commentary all on its own. Charlene answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Libby,” she said, sounding pleased to hear from her.

They spoke for a few moments, exchanging pleasantries before Libby asked, “I was wondering if you and Dad have plans this weekend? I thought I might drive over for a visit.”

Charlene hesitated. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, sure. I just need a change of pace.” What she needed was purpose, something to do other than sit around the condo and slowly go insane.

“You aren’t working yet?”

“Not yet.” The words nearly stuck in her throat. She felt like such a loser.

“What you need is a little TLC,” Charlene murmured sympathetically. “Come visit and I’ll make you comfort food. I’ve got a new macaroni and cheese recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”

“I don’t need macaroni and cheese,” Libby cried on the tail end of a hysterical laugh. “I need cottage cheese.”

“Oh dear, have you gained weight?”

“It’s the ice cream,” Libby lamented. Late nights with Jay Leno
and the featured flavor of the month were the culprits. With no reason to go to bed, she was often up until one or two in the morning. Libby knew she should quit the nighttime snacks, but she couldn’t discipline herself to do it. Her comforts were few. Until the last few months Libby had had no idea how consoling ice cream could be to a troubled heart and mind.

“Join a gym,” Charlene suggested. “It’ll help. Here’s your father.”

“Libby, what’s up?” Robert Morgan asked. He’d never been a warm and fuzzy father, but after losing Timmy and Molly, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with Libby at all.

“I’d thought I’d drive over to Spokane for a visit,” Libby said. “It’s been a while since I was last home.”

“You mean to say you still don’t have a job?” The question felt like an accusation.

“I’m trying, Dad,” she said, fighting back a defensive response. It wasn’t like she hadn’t put effort into this job search. She’d run herself ragged, cheerfully subjecting herself to one rejection after another. It seemed the longer she was unemployed, the harder it was to interest a potential employer.

“Well, you’re welcome to
visit
.” Heavy emphasis was placed on the last word.

Visit. Not stay. Visit.

Libby exhaled, swallowing down yet another bitter lesson in humility. “Thanks, Dad.”

That weekend Libby drove over to Spokane on Saturday morning and stayed until late Sunday morning. The
visit
was short and sweet. Charlene looked on sympathetically as her father found it important to ply her with unsolicited and unwelcome advice.

Don’t be a quitter.

Try harder.

Don’t be so picky.

Be willing to start at the bottom.

Prove yourself.

He said all these things as if Libby hadn’t been trying.

Monday morning, following her stepmother’s advice, Libby found a local gym on the Internet, stopped by for a tour, and at the end of the visit signed a twelve-month contract. She should be watching her pennies more closely, but at the rate she was gaining weight it would be cheaper to pay gym fees than it would be to purchase the entirely new wardrobe she’d need if she got too fat to fit into the one she already owned.

“Do I need special workout clothes for the yoga and Pilates classes?” she asked the perky girl who’d given her the tour of the facility. She’d introduced herself as Gina and she had a Miss Universe figure.

“Nothing special; just something loose and comfortable.”

Libby snickered. “If I had anything loose I wouldn’t be enrolling at the gym.”

“Funny.”

Libby didn’t think it was all that humorous.

The next morning at eight, she arrived to find the gym packed. Every machine was in use, and the sound of whirling wheels filled the cavernous room. Libby had chosen to wear sweatpants and a T-shirt and felt incredibly out of place. The other women wore stylish color-coordinated outfits. Looking around, she was convinced she was the fattest woman in the room.

“You can have my machine,” a tall, good-looking man around her age offered when she approached the row of treadmills.

“Thanks.” She waited until he finished, stepped onto the base, and set the speed at a brisk pace to walk a mile and a half. Before she finished she thought she would throw up. Libby had no idea she was so badly out of shape.

Afterward, in an effort to catch her breath, she sat in the dressing room on the bench and bent forward, elbows on her knees. The wall clock told her it was nine. She would be at her desk right now if she still worked at the firm, and would probably have already put in two
hours of hard work. Those days were gone. Now the rest of the day stretched out before her as a complete blank. At least now she was walking off the pounds she’d gained.

After showering and changing clothes she returned to her condo and spent the next hour on the computer in a futile job search. She broke for lunch, watched the noon news on television, and fifteen minutes of the soap opera that followed. When she realized she was getting hooked on the story line, she abruptly turned it off and headed back to the computer. A couple of days last week, she’d actually taken a nap. A nap in the middle of the day—it was outrageous. The mere thought of watching soap operas and taking naps horrified her. An unknown person was taking over her body and she had to find a way to stop this hostile takeover.

When she arrived at the gym the next morning, a professional-looking woman around her age opened the locker next to Libby’s. She looked vaguely familiar. Then it hit her. She was an attorney at one of the bigger law firms in town. It took Libby a few minutes to recall her name. Megan … Maggie … no, Maddy Something. Why oh why hadn’t she paid more attention?

Her father had offered one bit of good advice. He’d suggested that Libby needed to network more.

The problem was, Libby had been so intent on making partner that she hadn’t invested a lot in professional friendships. It wasn’t that she didn’t have any friends. She made an effort to keep in touch with a few people from college and law school. Her problem was, she didn’t know how to network. But she was willing to learn. At this point she was willing to do just about anything that might lead to a job.

Well, there was no time like the present.

“Hi,” Libby said, closing up her locker. “It’s Maddy, isn’t it?”

Maddy turned to look at her, but her face was a blank.

“I’m Libby,” she said, smiling. “Libby Morgan from Burkhart, Smith & Crandall.” No need announcing she was currently without employment.

“Oh, hi.”

It didn’t look like Maddy recognized her.

Libby wasn’t sure what to say next. “You come here often?” Oh dear, that sounded like a pickup line. “I just signed up … this is my first week and I have to tell you, this is hard work.” She waved her hand under her armpit in a halfhearted attempt to be funny. Actually, she probably looked more pathetic than amusing.