Page 12 of Justice & Liberty

I hadn’t thought too much about it yet. There was some money in my bank account; enough to take care of me for a few months even if I did nothing, but I didn’t want to stretch it out that far. I wanted to get back up on my feet and get back to work.

Just, what did that look like now?

There was the shop, of course, but even though I’d been working at a shop in LA, I’d never envisioned my whole future as a retail drone. On the other hand, if it was my shop, no corporate lackey got to show up from regional and tell me “if you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean.” I’d be the boss, and no one could tell me what to do.

On theotherother hand, what the hell did I know about selling books and tea and...could I even make the tea? I knew the blends, sure, but I didn’t even believe in magic. I sure as hell wasn’t going to chant in Latin over a bowl of Earl Grey to make it into a sleep aid.

But what else was there?

An idea struck me as I pulled into a parking space on one side of Main Street. I turned the car off and pulled out my phone, dialing a number from my contacts.

“Jaycie?” came the slightly confused response after a moment.

“Hey Gabby. This is . . . terrible and self-serving and allthat, but . . . any openings at the old community college these days?”

“No kidding?” my old friend asked, and I heard a creak on the other end, like she’d sat back in her chair. “You thinking about moving back to Iowa?”

I shook my head, but that didn’t help her too much, so I cleared my throat and spoke up. “Already here, actually. Trying to assess my options now.”

“You moved without a job?You?” She sounded positively incredulous, and, well, not without reason. Gabriela Rivera and I had gone to college together at UCLA, and I’d always been the one with the plan. I knew what classes I was taking next semester, what assignments were due for all those classes, and had a year-by-year plan for my whole life.

At least, I had back then.

But then I always let myself be dragged in whatever direction the wind blew.

Gabby had always been one of those seat-of-her-pants people, but then she’d gone on to get her PhD, and now she was a professor in the philosophy department at Kirkwood, the local community college. A place with a pretty great reputation.

“Honestly,” I said on a sigh, “I was working retail in LA. It’s not like I couldn’t do that again if it comes down to it. But if I could be using my degree, that would be better, obviously.”

“Fair enough. I don’t think we have anything, but I can look into it. I’ll ask my department head. The adjunct staff tends to come and go. Entry level philosophy classes aren’t exactly fun to teach, most of the time, and they get used a lot as general electives by people who literally couldn’t care any less about philosophy.”

I knew that. It was one of the reasons I’d never wanted to go into teaching. A bunch of sleeping, probably hungoverstudents at eight in the morning every Monday wasn’t my idea of a good time.

But what else was I doing?

Not going to law school, that was for sure.

“I get you,” I promised. “And I know it’s not a great time to be asking about a job, middle of the spring semester. I just...my mom died. And Tanya was cheating on me. So I moved home, and now I’m trying to figure out what comes next.”

Gabby scoffed, and there was derision in her voice when she spoke again. “Of course she was. Fucking Tanya.” She paused again, sighing. “Look, I think teaching eighteen-year-olds philosophy is your personal nightmare, but I’ll ask about what we’ve got going on. My department head is a good guy, and I’m sure you’d get along. Meanwhile, we should get together for dinner sometime. You living down in that tiny podunk town of yours?”

It was my turn to scoff. “You’re living in a city that constantly stinks of burned oatmeal. You’ve got no room to talk.” Cedar Rapids, home of the local community college, also held an enormous cereal factory, and as long as I’d lived in the area, the whole city had reeked of that plant and its products...among other unfortunate things.

She needled back. “How many restaurants do you have there in South Nowhere these days? Oh, still none?”

And that was it. We both burst into laughter.

“How did we meet in LA, and we’re now living in a place that doesn’t even have a decent club within a two hour drive?”

“Three, really,” I corrected. “You’d probably have to go to Chicago. It’s not like Des Moines is a great club town.” I shook my head, checking my rearview mirror to make sure no one was coming, and climbed out of the car. “Anyway, I’m at the single sort-of restaurant here in South Nowhere, aboutto go in and get some coffee. You know how I feel about being that jerk who yammers on her phone while ordering.”

“Ew, same,” she agreed. “Like I said, I’ll talk to my boss. Either way, I’ll get ahold of you, and we should have dinner soon. Non-sorority solidarity and all that.”

We had another laugh over the old college issues we’d bonded over, and I hung up as I walked into the coffee shop, trying not to think about how if everything went well, I was about to end up a teacher. Ugh.

7

Walkinginto the coffee shop felt like walking into my own past. Walking into...home. The old house hadn’t been that yet, because it was missing Mom, but The Unique Bean? It was still perfect.

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