Of course, when I tried to go back to work, I was promptly told that I didn’t have a job.
They could not hire me.
And I couldn’t work there anymore, of course.
I don’t know why that was surprising.
You don’t beat up a customer and make the headlines and then come back thinking you still have your job.
It’s like all the bad luck happened to me while everybody else that hurt me gets to go free.
Whatever.
Now I just have my remote job.
And this apartment is pretty expensive.
The remote job isn’t enough to cover it.
Also, the money left over from my mom’s life insurance is almost out, running low, because healthcare is so damn expensive.
And my dad is getting worse. He’s going to need more surgeries.
Of course, he’s better than he was.
And he stays like that for a little while… until something else crops up.
Doctors said something about degenerative tissue and damage over time.
At this point, I feel conspiratorial, wondering if they’re keeping my father sick for the money.
Of course, there’d be no way for me to prove it.
But I swore, just like my mom, that I would take care of him.
He busted his body to take care of us.
And with my mom gone, I’m going to do the same.
But I can’t do it just on this meager salary at my remote job.
No restaurant will hire me.
Not after my face is all over the headlines, having attacked the country’s freaking sweetheart, Sarah.
If they only knew.
I could come out and say something.
But maybe I’m an idiot.
I don’t want the drama.
Because people are going to ask more questions.
And it’s going to make Lincoln look bad.
He deserves to look bad.
