Page 4 of Falling Slowly
Charlie finally broke eye contact, pulling a bottle of organic cola from the fridge. “I think she’s getting a bonus,” he said evasively, taking a swig. “Personalized gifts and all.”
I stared at the envelope he’d placed back in my hands. Why, oh why couldn’t it be a bonus? Instead, I got a week’s getaway I couldn’t possibly make use of. I opened the envelope again, browsing the details.
“I appreciate this, but it’s next week. I have work lined up. I can’t just go.” I hoped my expression said I was grateful, yet conflicted.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. There it was. The true reason I couldn’t ‘just go’ anywhere.
“Sorry, it’s the school.” I gave Charlie an apologetic smile and backtracked into the hallway, searching for a quiet corner.
He followed me, halting a few steps away. My stomach tightened as I listened to the teacher’s disapproving voice, telling me that my child had thrown up in the middle of the classroom. Again.
“Was she coughing?” I asked. “If she coughs a lot she will easily throw up. It doesn’t mean she’s sick. It might just be a one-off.” I was grasping at straws.
“She coughed for a bit, but we can’t risk it. I’m going to need you to pick her up right now.”
“Okay. Okay.”
I finished the call, mortified to find Charlie still standing behind me.
“Is Celia okay?” His thumbnail scraped at the cola bottle label, peeling it off at the corner.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. But I have to pick her up. I’ll call my mom. Maybe she can get her so I can finish work.”
I had to finish clearcutting those pictures. They were due today. If I left, I’d lose my extra hours.
“Bring her here. She can hang out with Rhonda.” He gestured with his bottle at the hallway leading to the private offices, including the one belonging to our elderly accountant. “And me. I have a new robot she can play with. It just arrived.”
I huffed at the ludicrous idea. “You don’t have time to babysit. You’re working on the credit union campaign, right?”
Charlie’s eyebrows drew together as he stared at his cola bottle, that thumb working tirelessly to remove the label. “You mean Thriver? Yeah. But you should talk to Rhonda. I think she organized the art retreat, too.”
“Oh? Okay. I’ll see her after work.”
“You should go now. I heard she might be leaving early.” His voice rang with urgency as he took me by the shoulders and pointed me in the right direction.
A strange vibration travelled through me at his sudden touch, leaving its warm, confusing glow as I walked towards Rhonda’s office.
Once I was past the production desks, I called Mom.
“Yes?” She chirped, then quickly followed up with a ‘no’ as I stated my case. “I’d love to help but I’m seeing my gynecologist in one hour. I’ve been waiting for this appointment.”
Mom worked from home and had a far more flexible schedule than I did.
“Can you please just pick her up and bring her here?”
“Is Rhonda there?”
The last time she’d visited the office, she and Rhonda had bonded on their mutual love of Bridgerton.
I glanced through the small window into Rhonda’s office. “Yep.”
“Great! I can… great! I’ll pick up Celia on the way. See you soon.” Her tone brightened so suddenly I would have questioned it, had I not been desperate.
I thanked her, slid the phone in my pocket and rapped on Rhonda’s door. An absent-minded ‘Come in’ sounded behind it. As I stepped into her potted plant adorned lair, my stress levels dropped. Rhonda was the polar opposite of every other person at Wilde Creative—well into her sixties with zero interest in fashion and defiantly unhurried manner. Her office even had a couch, making it my favorite spot in the whole building. As a bonus, she loved my daughter and kept lollipops in her desk drawer.
“Bess!” She beamed at me from behind her laptop. I heard the faint sound of Bridgerton playing on her screen, all proper and English. “Come, sit. Have a cookie.”
She gestured at a packet on the table. I wasn’t sure how she kept her job, going about it the way she did. Maybe she had some leverage, like compromising photos of George.
