Chapter fifty-one
One month later, Seattle: Tabitha
“Handcock.Comein,comein,” Claudia hollered as Tabitha knocked and peeked into her boss’s office. “Thanks for coming all this way.”
“I work right down the hall on Mondays. I was already here.”
“I know,” her boss groused. “It’s just what people say to each other—never mind. Let’s cut to the chase.”
Tabitha relaxed into the chair opposite the stocky, older woman she had been reporting to for the entirety of her journalism career. She’d been a champion of unwavering support for ten years, and Tabitha was grateful to her. She’d given her a shot as an intern and extended an offer for hire before her eight-week stint was over.
You got chops, kiddo. I see big things for you.
Claudia could believe in her all she wanted, but if anything was going to save Tabitha’s career, it was the six-page spread on Off the Beaten Adventures that she’d submitted two weeks ago.
After returning home from her Leavenworth trip, she’d locked herself in her condo and toiled away until the piece was just right. The process had been surprisingly cathartic. She started as a mopey mess with a soggy face and puffy eyes, but as she strung her article together, she processed what she’d felt and what everything meant to her. She’d emailed the final product to Claudia with her heart in her throat. Would her boss love it? Would the higher-ups?
“Your article.” The woman was impossible to read. Happy, frustrated, delighted . . . it all looked the same on her.
“My article.”
Claudia put on the reading glasses dangling around her neck, peered at the computer screen, and then side-eyed Tabitha. “The feedback is primarily positive.”
Tabitha could finally breathe. Primarily positive was good, wasn’t it? “So what does that mean for me?”
Claudia popped her glasses on her head before leaning forward. Her elbows rested on that ever-present stack of files. Tabitha itched to clear away the clutter, but it wasn’t her problem. If the woman preferred to work that way then who was she to bust in and change that? Journalists came and went fromRock ‘n’ Ropes, but her editor would probably survive an apocalypse and keep the magazine afloat all on her own. The woman was a grade-A boss.
“Do you want the good or bad first?”
Tabitha never understood the point of that. She’d rather have it all together without having to pick her poison. But she humored Claudia. “Gimme the good.”
“You’re here to stay.”
Effervescent joy fizzed inside of Tabitha as she sat there and barely heard much beyond the job security.
“—relatable and vulnerable. I don’t know what lit the fire, Handcock, but I’m sure as shit glad you came back blazing.”
Letting the pessimism seep in a moment, Tabitha asked, “What’s the bad news?”
“You’re stuck writing the six-page feature each month, which means more travel. I know you prefer to stay close to home, but that’s what the the-powers-that-be want, and you know how the saying goes.” Claudia’s grim expression made Tabitha chuckle.
Five weeks ago, the news that she’d be traveling regularly would have steeped her in fear. She preferred the comfort of the office, of sleeping in her bed each night. Researching from behind a computer or over a few phone calls to get direct statements. The years following her accident she’d shut herself away, letting the fear dictate her adventures.
Even before breaking her leg, she pushed down the fear or apprehension that would trickle in, neatly packing it away to be dealt with later . . . or never, as the case was.
But after Leavenworth—after climbing with Zac—she felt imbued with a novel sense of bravery. She faced her fear and was learning how to live with it while also working through the moments where it decided to linger. Going on location for her articles wasn’t a “bad,” as Claudia assumed. It was another element to add to the “good” column.
“I think I can manage that,” she assured her boss.
“Great. I just sent your next assignment to your email. How do you feel about Red River Gorge?”
“Oh, wow.” That was fast. “I feel optimistic about it.”
“Glad to hear it. We done here?”
Tabitha nodded and headed for the door. “Thanks, Claudia.”
“It wasn’t me, Handcock. You did the work, and it was superb.”
