Page 94 of Child of Mine

“How about I tell Carol and see what she says?”

He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Sounds like a plan.”

Five minutes later, I find a While You Were Out message on my desk with a request to see Carol ASAP. Thinking that perhaps the universe is giving me a little nudge toward full disclosure, I head to her office.

“Hey, Carol, what’s up?”

The set of her jaw tells me that whatever it is, it isn’t good. “Close the door behind you, please.”

I do so, and when she gestures for me to sit, I do that too. “Is something the matter?”

She runs a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair, mussing it. “I really don’t know where to begin.”

My breakfast churns in my belly as she slides a piece of paper over the desk.

“This was in the mail this morning, addressed to ‘Producer,Boom.’ Thankfully, the mailroom didn’t give it to the volunteer screeners.”

My hand shakes as I pick it up, so much so that I can’t read the typed words. Setting it back down on her desk, I pin my hands between my knees as I read.

To Whom It May Concern;

Isabelle York is a drug fiend and a lush and shouldn’t be working with children.

If you don’t fire her, I will leak PROOF to the press.

Signed,

A Concerned Citizen

“Is there any truth to this?” Carol asks.

Fighting tears of rage and a swell of despair, I nod. “Yes.”

“Are you—do you use drugs—”

“No,” Hand up, I interrupt her. “Oh, no. I’ve been clean for more than seven years.” I meet her gaze. “I swear.”

A line forms between her brows. “We did the usual background check when we hired you.”

“Nothing would’ve shown up. I was never arrested, and anything else in my background was scrubbed clean.”

She drags two fingers across her forehead, but the crease of concern remains. “I guess it’s not surprising that you didn’t tell me if it happened that long ago, but I wish you had.”

“Because you wouldn’t have hired me?”

She opens her mouth and then closes it again. “I don’t… I don’t know, honestly. It is a concern. I mean, because you are working so directly with the children.”

I nod. “Do you want me to quit?”

“I have to think about it.”

I nod again. “For what it’s worth, I couldn’t have told you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess since you already know, I can fill in the details.” Heart pounding, I make an attempt to slow it by taking in a deep breath, but my voice still wobbles. “When I was on the soap, I was abusing alcohol and a whole slew of drugs.” Rushing to clarify, I add, “I went through rehab, and I’m clean now—I haven’t had a drop of anything since.”

After a beat, she asks, “You’re sure the pressures of working on TV again won’t be a trigger?”

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