I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”
Leggitt stands. “You have some time off next week, right? For your reunion?”
“I’m not sure that’s going to work out,” I look at the desk. “I have a lot of work to do here.”
He chuckles. “Nonsense. You just cleared your case, and you don’t have anything else pressing. Your vacation is approved. I contacted the SAIC to meet with you while you’re in the area.”
Hope -that brazen hussy -rears her ugly head in my chest. Could I do this? Could I take the promotion of a lifetime?
“The reunion festivities don’t start until Wednesday,” my mind starts wheeling. “And I know my parents would like to see me before then.”
Leggitt pulls paperwork out of his pocket. “That’s why I rescheduled your flight to tomorrow out of Reagan International. Your interview is Monday. Why don’t you get out of here and go pack?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he shuffles out of my office and down the hall.
I stare at the paperwork on the desk, afraid it will set me on fire if I touch it. Chest pains rear up, forcing me to reach for the Sprite in my illegal mini-fridge under the desk.
As I pop the top, I consider the situation.
When I think about the job and being closer to my family, it’s a no-brainer.
But running into my worst nightmare? My chest tightens. I can’t breathe. I have to sit down. None of my coping mechanisms are working. I fumble in my purse for my medication, gulping it down. I breathe deeply, waiting for the panic attack to subside.
If this is what happens just thinking about the job, there’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to take it.
I shut down my computer, grab my purse, and drop off the case evidence on my way out.
I’ll go to the interview because not going would be career suicide, but I won’t take the job. It’s too much for me to handle on my own. I never told my family what happened in college, and I’m certainly not going to start now. They don’t need to carry that around.
I just need to get through the next week with as little stress as possible.
Everything will be A-OK.
Right?
Chapter 10
“Lalalalalalalala. I can’t hear you!”
-Carolina
Things are decidedlynotA-OK.
For starters, I can’t find Inigo Montoya.
Which leads me to the second problem. I need to leave for the airport - five minutes ago.
“Mrs. Whitby,” I wring my hands. “You’re sure you haven’t seen Inigo?”
She gets on her tip-toes to pat my shoulder. “Not yet, honey, but he’ll come back. He always does. Now, don’t you have a flight to get to?”
I shake my head and pace through my living room. “I can’t leave without knowing he’s okay.”
My elderly neighbor drags my suitcase to the front door. On the other side of the door, the rideshare driver has waited for the last ten minutes. “Carolina, honey, I’ll keep an eye out. When Mr. Inigo returns, I’ll bring him right inside your house and take care of him while you’re gone. You don’t have to worry about it. Now, you need to skedaddle!”
With that, she slaps me on the ass, pushing me toward the front door.
“Don’t forget to check all the window and door locks,” I shout over my shoulder as the driver puts my suitcase in the trunk. “Call me if you need anything. Or anything comes up. Or, you know, anything.”
