Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I laugh and nod. “Let me get the water going.”
After I set a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies, we settle in the living room—Frankie on one end of the couch, me on the other. With tea prepared the way we like it, we face each other with our backs pressed against the armrests. My legs are stretched along the inside, hers on the outside. We often sit this way when we have long discussions, sometimes with tea, sometimes with wine.
“My next class isn’t until six p.m.,” Frankie says as she blows across the top of her steaming tea. “Job first.”
Balancing my cup on the saucer, I tell her about James’s call. “He demanded I get on a plane and head to Chicago, and I just couldn’t do it.”
Frankie tilts her head, her expression empathetic. More than anyone, she knows the depth of my struggles since the attack. She knows all my fears and insecurities and the tremendous guilt I’ve carried. While I’m close to my parents, I didn’t want to burden them with all that. They know some of my struggles but truly have no clue how seriously debilitated I’ve been.
And because I still visit them regularly, they honestly have no clue how withdrawn I’ve become from normal society. As for my job, they assume I’ve taken a higher-level position in the company, given that my near-constant travel stopped.
I don’t want them to worry.
“What are you going to do?” Frankie asks.
I give her a sheepish grin. “Do you have a Buddha idol available so I could rub his belly for luck? Maybe some incense I can burn for clarity?”
Frankie rolls her eyes. “Seriously… you’re going to have to figure out something. I know you have savings, but that won’t last forever.”
The reality of my predicament sets in. I’m unlikely to find a work-from-home job and even if I could, is that really the best thing for me? To make matters worse, I have no inkling what I want to do.
“Do you think I should have gone to Chicago like James asked?” I inquire. Because my ultimate fear is that I’m being ridiculous. Maybe I’m so mired in the safety and comfort of sticking close to home that I’m making bad choices. Maybe it’s not that I couldn’t get on that plane… maybe it’s that I didn’t want to.
Frankie shakes her head, tapping her fingers on the edge of her cup. “I’ve seen how much you’ve wrestled with this, Sophie. You’re not avoiding these things simply to avoid. And you’ve made progress, albeit slow progress. Still, you can only do what you can do. You are the most driven person I know. If you could’ve gotten on that plane and gone to do your job, you would’ve done it.”
I nod, pensive for a bit. I’m definitely the type who wants to take care of myself. I’ve always been self-sufficient, able to set goals and achieve them. In fact, I have a goal right now to get back to normal. To be able to go to sleep at night and forget to set my alarm and be okay with it. To get on a plane and go to a city I’ve never been to before, and walk the streets without fear of being attacked. These are things I desperately want, and as Frankie says, I have the ability and determination to get them.
I’m just frustrated it hasn’t happened yet.
“Are you good paying bills?” she asks.
This is funny, because her tone implies she’s going to step in and help me financially. But Frankie makes a pittance now compared to her former salary at Reynis, so between her living expenses and paying back student loans, she doesn’t have much.
“I’m good. I have a good chunk in savings, and I’ve got leads on several interesting jobs.”
“Have you considered going back to school?”
I had been, in fact. Without any strong idea of what I want to do with my life, perhaps I need more education.
“I thought about it. Along with a million other things. Unfortunately, when you’re paralyzed with fear, it makes it hard to conceive what your potential might be. But I’m working on it.”
“I know you are,” she affirms, nudging my leg with her own. “Okay, enough with this boring stuff. Tell me what I really want to hear. Lunch with a devastatingly gorgeous man. How did you meet? How did you get the guts to go downtown? Are you seeing him again? And will you be having sex anytime soon, because, girl… you are way overdue.”
My face heats—the thought of having sex with someone as fine as Baden Oulett is completely overwhelming. He’s totally out of my league.
“It’s not like that,” I rush to assure her.
She smirks, and I can read it in her eyes. She doesn’t believe that for a moment.