Chapter 1
Tough Times
Arielle Nygard
“This is no good,” I say with a sigh as I close the browser on my laptop. “Why did I think finding a second job would be so easy?” I cup my hands over my eyes. I want to give them a good, hard rub, but I don’t want to ruin my make-up, so I content myself with blocking out the world for a few seconds. A knock on my open office door forces me back to reality.
“Are you busy?” a voice asks. Lisa Massay, my friend, and co-worker at the Lady of Everlasting Mercy Hospital, is standing in the doorway with a look of mild concern creasing her brow.
“Not right now,” I say.
Lisa steps into my office and walks over to my desk. “Just thought I’d see how you’re doing,” she says. “I know this week is hard for you.”
I sigh. She’s right. Tomorrow will be the second anniversary of my husband’sdeath. Steve was shot while on duty as an officer for the Las Vegas Police Department. He had responded to a call about a drunk guy harassing a woman on the Las Vegas strip. The confrontation turned deadly, and the drunken bastard fired a loaded gun at the woman. Steve stepped in front of her, taking a fatal bullet to the chest. He died on the scene, leaving me to raise our son alone.Austin was just seven at the time.
I miss him almost every day, but around this time of year, the ache is a hundred times worse. And I don’t handle the pain very well. My temper is short and my tongue sharp. Even when I’m trying to control myself, I still lash out at those around me.
“I’m hanging in there,” I say, hoping that I sound more convincing than I feel.
Lisa takes a seat in one of the visitors’ chairs. “What are you doing for your birthday next week? You need to start your thirties off right, or the whole decade will suck.”
I hadn’t given any thought to my birthday. With it being so close to Steve’s death, I haven’t been able to celebrate without sadness, and I fear this year will be the same. But, in case Lisa’s right, I don’t want to jinx myself into ten years of misery.
“I wasn’t going to do anything, but maybe a drink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” I say.
“Of course it wouldn’t! As long as I’m invited.”
“You’d better be there,” I say with a smile. “If I can arrange a babysitter for Austin, we can go to the bar down the road.”
“Excellent,” she says and stands. “Well, I’d better get back to work.”
“Thanks for checking on me. And for giving me something to look forward to.”
“Anytime,” she says as she leaves my office.
I leave the hospital at two ‘o clock and pick up my son from school. Austin is sitting under his favorite tree, waiting for me, but he doesn’t come to the car. I park and go to meet him. I squat down to his level.
“Hi, buddy,” I say quietly. “You ready to go home?” He stares off to the left but nods his head and stands. I pick up his book bag, and we walk to the car. Once he’s safely buckled into his booster seat, I play his favorite music and maneuver the car onto the road.
Austin is autistic. He doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t like to be touched, and has absolutely no sense of humor when even the slightest thing in his world changes. We drive the same route to and from school every day, listening to the same songs. He will only use one particular brand of shampoo, and he can tell if I accidentally buy the wrong brand of orange juice. But give him a puzzle, and he changes from a disengaged boy into a complete genius. Jigsaw puzzles. Word puzzles. Number puzzles. Weird abstract puzzles. He loves them all. And he completes them in record time.
He’s my boy wonder.
