Please, God, don’t let that be it.
My family is small now. Smaller than it used to be.
But I still love them—even if they don’t quite understand me.
Even if they love me in ways that sometimes hurt.
My phone sits on the desk like it’s judging me.
I feel him before I see him.
Thatcher.
I don’t look up, but I know he’s nearby. I can feel his attention like a weight between my shoulder blades.
It’s unnerving and oddly reassuring at the same time.
I snap my focus back to the computer screen, forcing myself to concentrate on invoices and numbers instead of spiraling.
The phone rings.
I jump.
It’s not my cell phone. It’s the landline.
The sound is sharp, sudden, and for half a second I just stare at it like it might bite me. I’m still frozen when I hear heavy footsteps approaching.
I grab the receiver.
“McCrae Lumber & Sawmill, can I help you?” I say, proud my voice doesn’t shake.
“Where the fuck is McCrae?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Are you fucking deaf, woman? I said I want McCrae! That son of a bitch is out of his fucking mind if he thinks I’m paying this exorbitant?—”
The voice is loud. Angry. Too similar to someone else’s and in all the wrong ways.
Before I can react, the phone is gently but firmly taken out of my hand.
“Goddamn it, Leonard,” Thatcher growls, voice low and lethal. “Do not call my office and chew out my employees with that fucking tone again. You hear me?”
My heart slams against my ribs.
My employees.
That’ s what I am.
It hurts. But that’s dumb. There’s no reason for it to.
Thatcher presses a button, rerouting the call to his office, and replaces the receiver like this kind of thing doesn’t faze him at all.
Then he looks at me.
The edge in his expression softens immediately.
“He’s a dick, but he’s a good customer. That’s no excuse for talking to you like that. I’m sorry, Baby Girl,” he says quietly.
