Page 64 of Forgotten Path
“Bri, come on. Being the sustainability officer at that company is the equivalent of, I don’t know, being the hall monitor in a maximum security prison or something. You had an impossible task. Everybody knows Gulf Paper will do anything to make a buck—or save one.”
“They do?”
“Sure. You didn’t grow up here. But when the mill was open, there were weeks when the water was dark brown. People say it sometimes bubbled from whatever crap they were dumping into the bay. Itbubbled.”
“I’m such a moron,” she moaned.
Steffi stood and clapped her hands together. “Up. Come on. I know what will make you feel better.”
“A gin and tupelo tonic?” she asked hopefully.
“Later. First, the food bank.”
“The food bank?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes, we’re going to help pass out food at the food bank.”
“And this will make me feel better because why?”
“Because it’ll take your focus off your own misery. Trust me.”
“I dunno, Steffi. I don’t feel like talking to anyone. I’d much rather wallow. Or drink. No, wait, drinkandwallow.”
Steffi thrust out one leg, jammed her hands on her hips, and gave Brianna an unamused look.
“Fine,” Brianna moaned, her voice just this side of a whine, as she hauled herself to her feet with a heavy sigh. “Let’s go.”
“That’s the spirit,” Steffi told her, deliberately ignoring her attitude, as she nudged her toward the door.
She called over her shoulder to the guy playing a word game on his phone behind the counter. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He raised two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute and then returned to his puzzle.
Steffi beamed at Brianna. “You’ll feelsogood after we volunteer. It’ll remind you of all you have to be grateful for. There’s literally zero downside.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
Craig dropped jars of peanut butter into the row of brown paper bags that Clara had lined up on the long white table splitting the rec room. The mail carrier leaned over to peer into a bag.
“You checking my work, Miss Clara?”
She sniffed. “You haven’t been here in quite a while. Wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten how things work.”
Focus.He bit his tongue to keep from asking if there’d been many recent advancements in the art of bag filling. He wasn’t here to argue. He was here to gather information. Information that he could trade to Fred Glazier for fresh, crisp Benjamins. Or dirty, crumpled Benjamins. Either way, they spent.
“Yes, ma’am,” he finally muttered so she’d move on and hassle someone else.
It must’ve been his lucky day because just then, Steffi from the juice place walked into the basement kitchen with her friend from the paper company trailing behind her. Clara turned her attention to the newcomers.
“Hi, Clara! Patty sent us in to see if you need help carrying the filled bags out to the tent,” Steffi chirped while her friend glared down at the floor.
“Oh, Steffi. Not yet. Why don’t you and …?”
“Brianna,” Steffi supplied. “Brianna Allen. You know her. She works over at the paper company.”
“Worked,” Brianna barked.
“Worked,” Steffi corrected herself.
