The Writer (8 page)

Clicking through the email, I realized I had accumulated an astonishing 10,000 frequent flyer miles on my business loan, which was only a few hundred dollars from being paid off. It was a special "thank you" for being such a consistent customer.

Without giving it any thought, I started looking at airline tickets.

At first I thought of Florida. The sunny weather and a visit to some friends from high school would be rejuvenating. But I hated humidity. I looked at Nebraska, and contemplated seeing my retired school teacher father - that would be a welcome change of pace, to spend a few weeks on the farm with him.

But then I figured, why would I stop there, with a ticket virtually paid for anywhere in the world?

London, Madrid, Dubai. I could go anywhere.

Why should I spend another Christmas around my tree, sipping apple cider and contemplating my loneliness, when I could be snapping pictures of Stonehenge, or climbing the rock of Gibraltar?

Writing about all my adventures, maybe getting a gig as a travel journalist.

The problem with journalists – we always, always want to see the world.

My gaze floated to my tall bookcase, tucked in the corner behind the door. Journalism and psychology text books, references books, three different dictionaries, hard copies of Time magazine, Martha Stewart, and an encyclopedia crowded the shelves. My French dictionaries, from a long year I spent abroad. A framed copy of my first published story in Writer's Review sat next to copies of my degrees, including my journalism degree from the University of Paris years ago, a few honor societies, and certificates of works I had published over the years.

But next to that bookcase in the middle of the wall under the clock, sat my postcard, hanging in a carefully construction oak frame. The one I had sent home from France when I had studied my last year in graduate school. My father had given it to me on my graduation day, to remind me of how far I had come.

My life was told in a serious of framed plaques.

The flight was booked quicker than I could have thought, with surprisingly no blackout dates the week after Christmas.

No sooner had I hit print, then a knock on my door, startling me. With a quick click of the mouse, I closed the windows on my computer, and hit the "sleep" button on the keyboard, just to be safe.

No sense in stressing people out about this so soon.

Alex opened the door slowly. "You got minute, Ro?"

"Yeah, I guess." I felt guilty, as if he knew was I was doing, as if he knew I was going to run away. "What's up?"

"I'm just checkin' in on you," he said, crossing his legs in the armchair and wrapping his laced fingers around his knees. "Things were a little... weird today."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. You and Elijah always come in at the same time, you're both here when we all leave, you guys always joke around. Today was just... quiet."

"Hmm. Guess we were busy."

"Rochelle, really, honey, what is wrong?"

I shook my head. We were not talking about this.

He gasped, putting a shocked fist to his lips. "Oh my god, did you guys sleep together?"

"No!" I said, adding: "Gross!"

"Something happened, what was it?" He rolled his eyes. "You know you'll feel better if you told me."

"Alex, I know we've been friends for a while, but this is not something we are discussing. I hate gossip, and I hate drama. I'm not doing it."

"Oh, you're doing it, alright," he said, smiling and winking all at the same time. "I don't know who the lucky guy is, but it's someone. You breezed into this office on Monday, flushed and excited. But by Tuesday, you fizzled out fast. Girl, I wish I knew what was wrong."

"I had an extra shot of espresso that morning, that's all," I looked down at my folded hands in my lap, "must've been a sugar crash."

"Well, if espresso does that, I want to know where you're getting your coffee."

I chuckled, briefly, wanting this conversation to be over. "I think it's time to lock up shop."

"You're right. I'll walk you out," he said.

"Okay, give me a minute."

As he left to get his coat, I grabbed my face down flight reservations from the printer, folded it twice, and tucked it into my pocket.

It burned there, my own little secret. It was very rare that I had one all to myself.

Alex offered me his arm as we braved the ice in the parking lot at the back of the office.

"Elijah's been strange this week," he said, his voice quiet but earnest.

"Strange? How do you mean?" I figured ignorance was always bliss, right?

"Rochelle, he's hardly talked to anyone this week." He tiptoed around a large puddle that had frozen over since the sun disappeared.

"Hmm."

"Including you."

"Why do you care, Alex?"

"Because, honey, you are both miserable, you're both my friends, and I don't know what's going on. What happened?"

We reached my car, and I took back my arm to unlock it. I turned to him with my hands shoved in my pockets. Our breaths came out like smoking dragon's fire.

"Alicia may have caught us together the morning after the bachelor party."

His eyes flew wide at my statement. "Was ya'll wearing clothes, by any chance?"

"I was, he wasn't."

"Oh, my." He smirked behind a gloved hands held to his mouth.

"It's not like that," I protested. "Nothing. Happened."

"Something happened after I dropped the truck off, because you went back into their house."

"To take a shower!" I blurted, and my hand flew to my mouth. That was more than I wanted anyone to know.

"Why? Feeling dirty for sleepin' with a taken man?"

"No!" I knew my voice was rising, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks. "No," I repeated. "He threw up on me at the club. I had a 5-block walk home and I didn't want to do that with puke in my hair, okay? Alicia got home early..."

Alex put his hands up defensively. "Okay, so nothing happened – so you say – but you have to admit, it looks bad."

"I know, I know." I took my hands out of my pockets and studied them for a while.

"I mean, if I had a nickel for every time I'd been alone with a naked guy in my bedroom..."

"Alex, stop..."

"I'd be broke, of course."

That was more than I ever needed to know.

"I'm never wearing clothes when there's a sexy man piece in my bedroom."

"Alex! Oh my god, seriously?" I couldn't help but smile. "I love you man, but sometimes - I just would rather not picture that!"

He struck a dramatic pose, with a hand behind his head and one knee bent. "You're just jealous because I have all the tools and I know how to use them."

I really had nothing to say, so I opened my car door. "On that note, I'm really just going home now."

He gave me a peck on the cheek. "G'night, boss lady." As I slid into the driver's seat and cranked the engine, he added: "Don't be too hard on Elijah, remember we're all just guys, and we often think with our little head before our big one."

I laughed. "Okay, um, thanks?"

"All I mean is, when it comes to matters of the heart, logic rarely has much to do with it – so go easy on him."

A truer statement had never been spoken. I blinked back some tears. "G'night, Alex," I said, and he nodded, shutting my door.

I went home that night and sent one of the hardest text messages of my life – mostly because my throat hurt too much to say it to him. I held my flight reservations in my hand, and convinced myself that if he responded and we could make amends, I wouldn't go. But if our friendship was over, I'd leave. I could face my world here without him.

Technology can be both a blessing a curse sometimes. As soon as my message was sent, my phone told me he'd seen it. Then it told me he was typing a response.

And then, nothing.

I waited, worried my message had somehow bounced back, so I sent it again.

Message not received.

I stared at my phone in disbelief. I dialed his number without thinking. "The caller you are trying to reach is out of service."

Oh my god. He blocked me from talking to him.

I couldn't even make it right, whatever I had done. On a whim I called Alicia's number, and got the same message. They had both cut me out of their lives.

I packed, then. I needed something to occupy my thoughts. Rage, anxiety, stress, it was all flooding in at once. My hands shook as I tuck light, but functional, with slacks, sweaters, and blouses into my large rolling suitcase. My mind still raced, and I spent the wee hours of the morning researching different places to visit and stay, and worked through a few language tutorials on YouTube to brush up on my rusty skills.

The next morning, Thursday, Elijah beat me to the office. I waved hi, and he turned back to his computer, without a motion or a word.

My heart burned so badly. As the day wore on, I realized: he probably remembers, and hates me for lying. Considering that he'd removed me from being able to call or message him, well, I think that was a definite goodbye. He'd turned in his formal resignation last week, and his final day would be December 30th. That was fine with me. If he wasn't talking to me, then so be it.

Our friendship was crumbling, and all I could do was watch.

It's amazing how one interaction can change that entire mood of the workplace.

Our weekly meeting that afternoon, accentuated the somber tone of the week. It was dour and drab, with awkward lapses between discussions, and silences that made my eye twitch.

"Just a brief reminder, we're down to the wire, but I'm pushing article deadlines until next week. We're hoping to publish mid week, so we can hold the... party... next Friday."

Friday of course, was going away party/engagement party for Elijah and Alicia.

I'd be on a plane headed east before the party ever began.

All around the circular table, blank stares greeted me, Elijah's was the only one I could see. As soon as I looked at him, he looked away.

A few collective groans greeted me as well.

"Okay who died and made you Ebeneezer?" Alex spoke up.

"Yeah, I mean, Christmas is Saturday!" Tim said nasally, blowing his nose loudly into a tissue.

Marion looked at me and shrugged. "I'm done."

Everyone looked at each other and nodded.

"Is everyone either done or close to being done?" I asked, looking at my meeting notes instead of his crystal blue eyes. "I'm using the holiday to work so I'll probably be here..."

There was silence at that, then a few murmurs.

I switched the subject. I cleared my throat, looking at Alex. "Plans okay for the..." I searched for the right words, and forced them out: "boy voyage party?"

He nodded.

This meeting was dragging on. "So, um, how are we doing on our assignments? I've finished Barb's Barbs, and the expose on the local Christmas celebration at the resort is done. Let's go around and check in."

Silence.

"M, why don't you start?"

Marion looked me, blinking.

"M?"

"Oh, um, the Christmas dessert article is done, today I should finish the bacon article as well. Did you want the crepes recipe in the international section?"

"Yeah, that would be fine." I looked at Tim.

"Edits to the webpage?"

"Yeah, they're fine."

"How about you guys?" I looked pointedly at Elijah and Alicia.

Elijah shuffled his notes, staring intently at them. "Announcers articles are done, Coach Smith interview just needs to be typed up. Alex, you have the pictures?"

My photographer nodded. "Yeah, just shoot me the interview and I'll put the pictures in."

"Okay."

Alicia stared at me, not saying anything. Her glare was harsh, almost hostile. Elijah nudged her. "We have the accident reports from last year I've compiled, and some health and safety tips for the holidays. I'll get those to Alex."

I looked at Alex. "So I need the articles in PDF format submitted by the close of tomorrow, so I can get the final editing done on Wednesday. Tim, I'll have the file formatted for upload Thursday morning, if we have no other hiccups."

I looked at my team once more, knowing this was the last time I would see them all in one room.

It was bittersweet.

They all looked back at me.

"Meeting adjourned." I banged my gavel just once, for the last time. The quiet shuffle out of the room was deafening.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve.

As the hour hand was dangerously close to 5pm, I poked my head out my door. "Marion, can I see you in my office for just a sec?"

"Yeah," she said.

I motioned for her to close the door. I knew I had her full attention when I didn't use her familiar nickname. My serious tone had her on alert right away.

"Marion, how long have you worked with me?" I asked as she took a seat.

"Three years now, boss man," she smiled. Her folded hands in her lap twitched slightly.

"How many food editions have you done solo?"

She thought about it. "The Christmas special last year, the Bacon edition a few months before that, and the dessert one we did a year back. Why, Rochelle?"

"Because I'm taking some time off. You're my new editor."

"What?!"

She stood then, her face a mix of confusion and elation. "Why? Where are you going?" She pushed her pink rimmed glasses up her nose.

"I just have to get out here," I said. My hand flew to my abdomen, glad for the high desk that blocked it from her view. "A change of scenery, maybe do a little research. Consider it a sabbatical."

"I can't do this on my own."

"Nonsense," I said, shuffling some papers around aimlessly. "Tim can do the web design, and Alex is taking over the graphics publishing. All you have to do is use your amazing leadership abilities during the weekly meetings, and check our staff progress. Write a few articles, maybe."

"But you do so much more..." she protested.

"I'll have my tablet, and we can Skype – weekly – if you have any problems. You can do this – there's no one I trust more."