“I’m gonna let that one go because I know you’re upset. Not that I don’t gossip—because you know I love that—but I’m here because I heard you quit and that you’re no longer at the cabin. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” I can’t look her in the eye when I say it.
“So, is it true that you quit and moved out?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I shake my head, still not meeting her eyes.
“Okay, well, grab your bags and let’s go.” Ruthie stands.
“Let’s go? I’m waiting for Louanne to get back with my room key.”
“Oh, there isn’t a room, honey. I mean, there is, but you’re not staying in it.”
My mouth drops open. This is pushy even for her.
“How did you even know I was here? And I can’t just leave. Louanne is?—”
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. A sheepish-looking Louanne is standing off to the side.
“I’m sorry, sugar. But I know heartbreak when I see it—no matter the cause—and it’s hanging all over you. You don’t need to be alone in a room here. You need your people.”
“You called Ruthie?” I ask in a hushed voice.
“I did, and I’m not sorry.”
“Okay, you ready now?” Ruthie asks. “C’mon, you’re driving.”
“Where are we even going?”
“You’ll see.” She turns around and walks out, and because I’m not sure what else to do, I follow.
Chapter Fifty-One
Harrison
Icall Delaney immediately after my last meeting ends, and it goes to voicemail. I hang up. What do you even say in a message after something like this?
As soon as I’m able, I grab my things and leave. Once I’m in the car, I try calling again.
“Can we talk?” I ask her voicemail.
When I get back to our property, Delaney’s car isn’t at the cabin. I’m not sure where she’s gone, but I guess I’ll give her some space until she’s ready to talk.
Instead of heading home, I turn around and go to the office. When I arrive, everyone else is gone for the day. I take the stairs to our floor, thinking I’ll bury myself in work for a bit.
When I walk past Delaney’s desk, it strikes me that the only thing she has on it, besides her monitor screen, is one of those tiny air plants. Nothing else to personalize it. It’s how it always looks, but something about it makes me feel uneasy tonight.
A moment later, I stand at my desk, staring at two white envelopes. One is mine, and one is Henry’s. Henry’s is open, andhis chicken scratch on the front reads:Call me when you’re back so we can talk about what to do.
I open the envelope and pull out a piece of paper.
Dear Henry,
It is with deep regret that I must resign my position effective immediately. My sincere apologies that I did not give notice. Please let your brothers know.
