Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Brussels is beautiful. My niece lives there. I try to visit as often as I can. She’s my goddaughter as well. Her mother, my sister, and father both passed away a few years ago. We’re all we have left.”
My heart ached, seeing the pain on the poor woman’s face. “I’m sorry. It’s good you’re there for each other.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say. I can’t talk right now, thanks to a stupid email I sent before boarding? My life might be falling apart right now? I’m too busy wallowing in my own self-pity to properly engage? Nothing seemed appropriate, considering what she’d told me.
“No need to be sorry, dear. I miss my sister and brother-in-law terribly, but their death reminded me that we’re only here a little while and we need to make the most of it.”
Her comment felt like a kick to the stomach. She was right. Life was too short. If I ended up fired, I would look at it as an opportunity, not a burden. I wasn’t attached to the apartment. I wasn’t even attached to DC. If I wanted to make a name for myself as an editorialist, I could do that anywhere.
This was the technological era; I could work remotely. I might need to take a few assignments that wouldn’t be my first choice, but while I was using those to pay the bills, I could work on what I really wanted to write. That plan was harder in my current position. There were meetings, press conferences, normal conferences, and traveling taking up most of my time. I didn’t have time to take a breath, let alone work on landing my dream job.
My seatmate had started reading, one of those historical romances. The kind with big dresses and big hair, with a lot of lust and drama. She looked up, noticing me checking out the book.
“Do you read, dear? I have another one if you’d like?”
“Oh, no. Thank you. I was daydreaming a bit. Sorry for that.”
“No worries.” She patted my leg. “Let me know if you change your mind. My name is Ethel, by the way.”
“I’m Tara.”
“Do you travel often? I love spontaneous trips, heading to places I’ve never been. And I made a resolution several years ago to try something new every week. I’ve made pottery, taken a cooking class and a sommelier lesson. That one might have been my favorite.” She chuckled; memories of the lesson obviously close to her thoughts.
All I had to offer was the Train Museum and reading a book in my room.
“It wasn’t always this way. I had to put on my big-girl panties and take the road less traveled. It was the best decision I ever made. Zero regrets. When I pass, I’ll have a smile on my face, knowing I checked as many boxes as I could.”
I nodded, watching her in awe. The rest of the flight was quiet. I drifted off to sleep at one point. I was used to the long flight, pretending it was just like a day at the office. Ethel had finished her book and started flipping through a magazine around the four-hour mark. Now, with an hour left, she was crocheting. I was shocked they’d allowed her on the plane with the crochet hook. She looked my way, smiling and winking. Apparently, reading my thoughts was one of her superpowers. Ethel was bad ass. My new plan was to use her as my inspiration. Live my life and do what made me happy. Now I just needed the courage to do it.
We landed easily, making the transition from plane to airport with ease. I lost track of Ethel in the crowd. Rolling my carry-on to the luggage carousel, I grabbed my larger suitcase and headed to the door. Thankfully, I hailed a taxi right away, loading my things in the trunk and giving him my address. I settled in the back seat, thinking of Ethel and her zest for life while calming my anxiety about the email I knew would be waiting for me.
At my apartment, I dropped my luggage in the living room and changed clothes before turning my phone back on. I was stalling, but I knew I couldn’t put it off much longer. The minute it turned on, I noticed a series of texts from my mother. I rolled my eyes. With her constant news briefs, it was like I’d never moved from Ashford. Needing to hear her voice, I dialed her number.
“Tara! I was just thinking about you. Guess who’s in our lobby?”
Her squeal caused me to pull the phone from my ear. I hoped the mystery person wasn’t watching her reaction to them. Remembering our last conversation, I knew it could only be one person—the author. The one who’d just moved to town. What was his name? Brandon? Landon?