The Summer I Saved You (The Summer #2)(8)
I end the call and get on with the process of getting the kids ready. Sophie cries about having to go to aftercare the entire way to school and Henry is unusually pensive, staring out the window. They barely say a word as they walk to class, and my phone is already buzzing with incoming texts from Jeremy, the ones he sends every morning, intended to ruin my day.
JEREMY
Your mom told me about your job. You couldn’t even remember to buy toilet paper, so I hope their expectations are low.
This is his specialty, finding some stupid mistake I’ve made and throwing it in my face endlessly. And it’s hard to argue when I’m about to leave my children miserable at school, am nearly out of gas, and may well lose my job today. It’s barely eight in the morning and I already want to give up.
I arrive at work on fumes and smile at Kayleigh as I walk in. She looks at me blankly, as if I’m a ghost or perhaps simply an employee she knows won’t be back tomorrow.
Turn this around, Lucie, I command as I walk to my cubicle. Yes, things look bad, and your mother has taken your cheating exhusband’s side, but…turn this day around.
I’m still saying it when I open my laptop to find an email from Caleb:
See me as soon as you get in.
There is no greeting, no signature. It’s the email you send someone who has really fucked up or is about to get fired, and every ounce of determination I had seconds before fails me. I rise slowly from my chair, forcing my feet forward. I looked at jobs online last night but was too tired to send out resumes. It appears I should have.
The phone in my hand chimes just as I reach Caleb’s door. I’m certain it’s Jeremy telling me I’m stupid or losing my looks, and whatever it is, I’ve no longer got the energy to fight. My mother, Jeremy, Caleb—I officially concede to any or all.
I enter Caleb’s office, and his gaze moves over me, head to foot, before he swallows and looks away.
Go ahead, Caleb, fire me. I give up.
“I’m approving the walking program,” he says.
What?
It’s shocking enough that I’m not in here to be fired, but did he like the idea? I straighten. “That’s—”
“Have it ready to present to the executive committee on Friday and I’ll need some results for an interview the following week.”
I freeze. Results? What he’s asking is impossible. I need Molly to create the software that will track the miles. I need to arrange the prizes, figure out how the hell to divide up teams when employees are leaving in droves, and promote it to the entire freaking company. Even with a staff at my disposal, I couldn’t have results in a week.
Yet…it doesn’t take away from the thrill of having succeeded at something, and I want him to admit it because he was kind of a jerk yesterday. “So you were impressed?”
He shifts a folder in front of him and releases a sigh. “This was the board’s decision, not mine. I thought you understood the assignment, which was not to come in with something they’d be wowed by.”
If he was a stranger, I’d be intimidated by this conversation. I might apologize. But this is the same boy who used to whoop as he raced down to the water, the same boy who used to stand on a floating inner tube and beat his chest like an ape until his friends made him capsize. The same boy who was consistently kind to me at a point in my life when no one else was. He doesn’t scare me, even if he should.
I grin. “It still sounds like you were impressed.”
He waves me away, but there’s a ghost of a smile pulling at the side of his mouth. “You’re a pain in the ass. Go create your expensive fucking program we don’t need.”
“I’m eager to do so.”
His not-really-a-smile fades. “Lucie, this doesn’t change anything. We’ve got stuff going on with the company that I can’t discuss, but...we need to be as streamlined as possible. So no matter how much the board loves your dumb little walking program, in three months, you’re going to need a new job.”
Except forty-eight hours ago, he was telling me I only had two weeks. Now I potentially have months.
Three months is enough time to change my entire life.
I’M up late again Wednesday night, working on the web page for the walking program. As a kid it kind of stunk to sit next to Ruth all summer, completing whatever busywork she’d tasked me with—especially once I was old enough to realize how my half-siblings were spending their summers, which focused heavily on European vacations and less on ‘You have to stay inside so no one suspects you’re Robert Underwood’s illegitimate child.’ But she also spent those summers equipping me to become more than my mother was, and it was because of them that I now know HTML and how to write a grant proposal. It’s because of them that I’m even willing to hope I can pull this whole thing off.
I’m yawning on only two hours’ sleep again Thursday as Molly walks me through the software over the phone. She reminds me that sleep deprivation is negatively correlated with longevity, and that, on the whole, poisoning Jeremy would be a healthier solution. She then mentions that prisons in Norway are like spas, though I’m not sure how that’s relevant to my situation. I think she just really wants Jeremy poisoned.
I’m so tired I’m almost numb as I shepherd the twins through the grocery store after school. I barely have the energy to get down the aisles, much less stop them from pulling food off the shelves. When Henry accidentally knocks over a display of gift cards, it takes all my self-control not to burst into tears.