I studied her for a moment. She was tiny, and with her light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, she looked more like a teenager than an adult...until you saw her eyes. They made her look twice my age instead of two years younger. She didn’t necessarily scream ex-junkie, but she seemed to understand that no matter how different she looked, the temptation wouldn’t go away.
“I’ll do it,” I said finally. “I would’ve done it anyway, but the fact that you asked makes me trust you more.”
Before Camry could respond, the flight attendant returned with our drinks. After she’d moved on to check with the others in first class, the younger girl gave me a wide-eyed look.
“They give you one in first class before they even take off?”
“They better.” Rolling my eyes, I lifted the glass to my lips and took a long drink before continuing, “They charge a ridiculous amount for these tickets.”
Camry laughed and wiggled her butt in the seat. “Well, you also get these big, comfy seats where you can actually move. Being rich has got to be so awesome.”
I didn’t offer any sort of answer. What was there to say?
I loved being able to go shopping whenever I wanted, and it didn’t hurt that I had all this wiggle room sitting in first class. Being able to buy that cute Coach bag I’d seen while we were killing time thanks to a flight delay wasn’t anything to sneeze at either.
But there were things money couldn’t buy.
I’d heard Kaleb and Camry talking about vacations they’d taken with their parents before the car accident left the pair orphans. Simple enough affairs that would probably have made me break out in hives, like camping. For real camping. Tents and everything. I was a city girl through and through. But having my mom and dad spend that kind of time with me?
And Camry’s dad had taught her how to swim. Himself. She hadn’t had a private instructor come to her home and do it in their personal Olympic-sized pool while her parents were off doing God knew what. I thought about Jamie and her miserable parents. They hadn’t been rich, but they hadn’t exactly been poor, either. And they hadn’t given that girl any love at all. There were more important things in life than money, and Camry had made bank in at least one of those areas. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if that had played a role in the fact that Camry was here and Jamie wasn’t.
I gave myself a mental shake.
“So, have you decided what you want to major in?” I asked, keenly aware of the insightful look she was giving me. She had a way of seeing straight through people, and I had no doubt she’d been putting that skill to work on me just then.
“I want to do what you and Piety are doing.” She gave me a sheepish shrug. “Piety…well, Kaleb knew I was in trouble, but Piety…she had a way of making me realize that I either needed to fix myself or…” Her words trailed off as she glanced past me to study her brother and Piety, talking quietly on the other side of the aisle. After another moment of hesitation, she finished, “It was time I either fixed myself or killed myself. She didn’t say that. She didn’t make me feel like that. But she made me see that I’d been doing that anyway, killing myself. If I was going to do it, why be slow? Why drag it out? I just needed to decide I wanted to die…or if I was ready to live.”
Misery burned inside, reminding again of Jamie. For the cries of help the young girl had thrown out, only to have them go unheard. She’d decided she wanted to die, had seen no other way out. I’d cared, and I hadn’t seen how close to the edge she’d been. I should have. Otherwise, what the hell was I doing?
Camry sighed, shaking her head. “I sound kind of pitiful, don’t I?”
“No,” I quickly cut in before she could start feeling any guiltier. “You sound like somebody who understands where she’s come from and accepted that she needs help.”
Any further conversation was halted by a man’s voice coming on the intercom, and Camry and I both settled back for the tedious in-flight announcements. Taking my wine, I lifted it to my lips and settled more comfortably in my seat. I had a long flight ahead and some thoughts to think.
“You’re quiet.”
Piety’s voice caught me off-guard. Jumping, I looked over at her. “When did you sit down?”
She grinned at me. “Camry wanted to talk to Kaleb. She gets nervous flying, I think.”
“That’s because she’s smart. We’re hurtling thousands of feet over the earth at hundreds of miles an hour. Who wouldn’t be nervous?” I reached for my wine, only to remember I’d already emptied it. Dammit.
“I’m not.” Piety shrugged. “Fewer people die from plane crashes than car crashes.”
“I bet there are fewer people flying than driving, so that makes sense.” Rolling my eyes, I pushed the button for the flight attendant. Now, Piety had me thinking about planes and crashes. My pulse ratcheted up a notch.
“You’re such a mess.” She sighed and settled back as the flight attendant came to a stop next to us.
Once the attendant left to get my wine, Piety looked over at me. “Are you sure about this move? I mean, I know you’re hurting over Jamie, but this is a big change, even for you.”
“That’s the point.” I lifted a shoulder. “I need a change. Desperately.”
Her eyes softened. “I understand, but this? Malibu is so far from Philadelphia. What about your kids?”
“They need somebody better.” Shaking my head, I looked out the window. Jamie had needed somebody better. Maybe if she’d had someone else to talk to, she wouldn’t have done what she did. Maybe she’d be alive right now, trying to decide what to do about her baby.
Piety put her hand on my arm. “You’re punishing yourself because she committed suicide, but that wasn’t your fault. Blame her parents. Blame the jackass who got her pregnant but didn’t offer her any support.”
Sighing, I closed my eyes, wishing I could believe her words.
“What if you’re miserable out here? Then what?”
“Right. I’ll be miserable in Malibu.” I sniffed and looked over at her. “I hate the cold. I hate winter. I hate snow. Please tell me why I wouldn’t love Malibu for the weather alone.”
“You love your kids,” she said quietly. “We both know that even if you’d gotten bored at the shelter, you would’ve kept in touch with them. And you love your parents, even if they can be idiots sometimes. You had friends at work.”
“I’ll have you,” I countered. “You and Kaleb and Camry. And I’ll still keep in touch with the kids and people from work. Social media’s a great thing.” I swallowed hard. “I’ll find other things to love. I need to find something else. Even thinking about walking into the shelter right now hurts. Staying, it would’ve destroyed me.” I made myself look at her. I didn’t like revealing any sort of weakness, not even to my best friend.
But we didn’t hide things from each other. She knew that, despite my habit of moving from one thing to another, the thought of moving across the country was a daunting one.
She watched me for a few more moments, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Just make sure you’re doing it for the right reason, Astra. You’re hurting over Jamie, and like I said, I understand that. But you have to accept that it’s not your fault. Learn to deal with that guilt, and with the hurt. You can’t outrun it.”
She smiled at me and then took the edge of the over-large sweater I’d been using as a blanket and tugged on it. It’d been my grandmother’s, and she was closer to Piety’s height than mine, which meant it was huge on me. It had been my comfort object since she’d died six years ago.
Piety tugged again. “Come on. I’m tired.”
I glared at her. “You’re using my sweater as a blanket.”
“That’s what friends do.”
“Brat,” I muttered even as I snuggled in a little closer so it could cover both of us. Sighing, I closed my eyes but couldn’t sleep. Her words kept echoing in my head.
I needed to do this for the right reasons. I knew I was trying to outrun the pain, distract myself f
rom the guilt, but who knew if those were the right reasons? I didn’t. I had no idea what the right reasons were.
Camry was moving for college. Kaleb was moving to be closer to his sister, and so he could finally follow the dream he’d put on hold to rescue his sister. Piety was going because it was what her husband needed. Who was to say that my reasons were any less right than theirs? We were all trying to make fresh starts.
But even as I tried to argue my way around it, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe I wasn’t looking for a fresh start, but rather a place to hide.
13
Dash
“Things really took off this past week, haven’t they, Mr. Lahti?”
Glancing over at the administrator I hired three weeks ago, I nodded. Frederick Leiu had a face that made him seem far younger than he was and a warm, humorous attitude that had made him stand out from every other person I interviewed for the position. He also had an outstanding resumé.
I had no doubt the facility I hired him away from was pissed that I’d gotten my hands on him. I intended to do everything in my power to keep him, which was why his contract said that we were entitled to counter any offer he received. He wouldn’t be obligated to accept our offer, of course, but I liked having the option.
I’d given him a lot of incentive to change jobs, and he was definitely earning every penny. The Monday following our dinner at Didi’s, Sondra had met with him to discuss some things he needed to do, and in just a week, he’d managed to fill almost every position, and gotten many of them to agree to starting the week of Thanksgiving.
“It will be moving at top speed from here on out,” I said, pulling my phone out to check the schedule. “How many people will be here for orientation today?”
“Roughly half.” He blew out a breath, then absently stroked the neat goatee that framed his mouth. “With the rest, it’s their current jobs, as I’m sure you understand. Nobody wants to just walk out and leave their employers in a lurch, or the people they care for. It’s the nature of the business. Some didn’t feel comfortable counting the week of Thanksgiving as part of their two-week notice.”
I nodded. I understood, but it was another hold-up. “What’s the outlook?”
“With orientation this week, about forty percent can start next week. The rest won’t be in until two weeks from today. Some of that group are willing to come in for a few hours in the evenings next week if they’re compensated for their time. They might even be willing to do this week if the price is right.”
Fred gave me a direct look. I liked that about him. He didn’t dance around things. Not even the issue of money.
I knew the people I’d hired for the clinic weren’t just doing this to fill some void inside them. They wanted to help people, but they also needed to pay bills, feed families. Fred had been very blunt when he explained that he’d not only advocate for the clients we took on, but for the caretakers as well. The quickest way to undermine the work, he explained, was to undervalue the people hired to care for the clients.
That all-encompassing way of thinking hadn’t just made me hire him. It’d made me trust his intentions.
I nodded. “If they’re willing to come in next week, they’ll be compensated. Perhaps three hours, three nights a week. I’ll offer a bonus, and meals will be provided. Make sure the new hires who come in this week are giving a signing bonus if they’re on time and don’t miss any of the orientation.”
“Excellent.” The broad smile communicated his satisfaction, and we both went back to watching the state of organized chaos taking place below us in the atrium. As they came in, people were being sorted into their various departments – direct client care, support staff, counseling, human resources…
“Ah, there she is.”
“Who?” I asked absently as I tried to picture how this would look when everything was running.
The atrium would be ideal for family visits or for when those with high enough privileges just wanted to sit down and enjoy the sun or read a book somewhere with a bigger air of freedom than the more locked-down sitting room. I hadn’t quite understood the privilege system that had been outlined when I first set out to make this into a reality, but the team of therapists, psychologists, behaviorists, and a whole lot of other -ists had enough experience that I trusted their judgment.
Incoming clients, especially those in immediate danger, needed a lot of structure – limited time with family, limited phone calls, that sort of thing. Once they were no longer in danger of hurting themselves or others or had been clean for a certain amount of time, they could start earning privileges.
“The HR woman who’s responsible for sending reports to Senator Thatcher.” He gestured down into the people flowing through the atrium. “Imogene Traore.”
Before I could ask him to point her out specifically, someone caught my eye. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Then she shifted, and the woman at her side came into view.
No. Fucking. Way.
I muttered something to that same effect.
“What’s wrong?” Fred asked.
“What…no, nothing. Excuse me.” I nodded at him, my mind racing. What was she doing here? I’d gone over the name of every employee hired, and while I didn’t have faces to go with names yet, I sure as hell would’ve remembered the name Astra since the little mermaid had been on my mind more than I cared to admit.
I jogged down the steps, cutting through the flow of people, my eyes on the taller, dark-haired woman I first saw because she was easier to spot in the crowd. I reached them just as they found the human resources section.
The man at the desk repeated the same questions he’d asked everyone else in line. “And what’s your name, ma’am?”
“Piety Hastings.”
That was why she looked familiar. And as I put a name with a face, I remembered her resumé. A resumé that had contained her maiden name. Congressman Van Allen’s daughter had gotten married not too long ago. Married name: Hastings.
But her name and why she was here wasn’t as important as that same information about the brunette next to her.
And I’d been right. Those curls were anything but a boring shade of brown.
“Astra Traore,” she said with a sigh. She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Do I need to spell it?”
Traore? I’d just heard that name, hadn’t I? But where – shit.
“Right,” she said suddenly, “It’d probably be under my legal name. Imogene Traore.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never liked my first name.”
Imogene Traore.
Shit.
Not good. She was the new HR manager responsible for sending the senator progress reports, which meant this flighty mermaid held the future of my facility in her hands. How in the hell had this happened? I stepped to her side and caught Astra’s arm, just above the elbow.
She turned, mouth already open like she was going to say something witty. Her jaw snapped shut the moment she recognized me. Before she could say a word, I spoke.
“Excuse us, please, I need to speak with Ms. Traore.”
I took a step, but she didn’t walk with me until I gave a none-too-gentle tug.
“Wow, rude much?” she demanded from behind, jerking against my grip. “Who in the hell is in charge here? I need to have a word with him.”
I pulled her into the nearest room, which happened to be a small conference area. Shutting the door, I let go of her arm and turned to face her. “I’m in charge, and you can have a few words with me after you answer a few of my questions. Like what in the hell you’re doing here.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Finally, she planted her hands on her hips, giving me a lofty look. “I’m here to work. Shouldn’t you know that since you hired me?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, I did not.”
She mirrored my stance, highlighting her ample chest, and I tried to ignore it. “Well, somebody received my resumé and offered me a job in hum
an resources.”
“A job that includes reporting to Senator Thatcher.” I glowered down at her.
Astra’s mouth tightened. “My best friend’s father is a congressman. My parents and their families have moved in all the same social circles as some of Washington’s biggest politicians. I know my way around them.”
That information didn’t exactly endear her to me.
“I’m here to work.” She planted her hands on her hips.
“You?” I stared her down. “Just how are you ready to work? Are you going to dress up like a mermaid when you do your interviews and write your reports?”
The second I said it, I wish I hadn’t.
But she just laughed, those gorgeous gray eyes going from iron to sparkling. “Unless it’s a costume party, why would I dress up like a mermaid?”
A hot flush crept up my neck. She was right, and I was an idiot.
“I’m sorry,” I said flatly. “That was uncalled for. But this is a serious job. Are you aware of that? A serious job. With real life implications and real life consequences.”
What she said about her family finally clicked. She hadn’t just been heading that fundraiser. She was from one of the old money families who were part of that crowd. It was no wonder she’d seemed so comfortable around all of them.
“Are you even qualified to do this?” I asked.
“Are you?” She arched an eyebrow at me, tilting her head. “Because I would think that whoever hired me had read my resumé and done the research before I was offered a job.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question. What kind of experience do you have? You know, you need to know more than how to plan a party and raise money to do this sort of thing.”
She frowned at me. “Somebody should teach you some manners.” She sniffed and turned on her heel. “If you want to know what kind of experience I have, go find my resumé and job application. You’re the boss. You should have access to it. Until then, I have a job to do.”