Anyway, Aerie needed a freelance writer to help out. With Kay gone, she was absorbing the responsibility of both divisions, and on top of that, so many employees had quit. I said I would help and have actually done a lot work under my pen name—my New York City name—Alex Coven.
Yesterday she contacted me to see if I could help her with something important . . . of personal interest to her. She needed some research done right away on Damon Wolf’s companies—I jumped on it like a bulldog. I managed to obtain access to Damon’s company, Sheep Dynamics, under the guise of writing an article on his rise to the top. I knew that would get me in. I perused all of Sheep Dynamics subsidiaries’ financials. I found what she was looking for in no time—information on Nick Wilde’s career. The more I learned through my research the more my stomach turned over for the swine that Wolf is, and the more I knew I could help her. I also discovered that Sound Music Magazine was in the red and they were financially vulnerable. So I decided to take it. Why not?
The night air is warm as I cross the bridge to the beach. I make my way to the rocks and sit. Raising my head, I watch the momentary sonic boom that fills the sky. I think about my life and the choices I’ve made, finally understanding I can’t change any of them. I can only move forward, which I’m trying to do each and every day. Streaks of color cross the sky and I lean back on the rocks to absorb the sounds of the fireworks in the darkness of the beach. I watch the sky come alive with so many vibrant hues, starbursts of color, and showers of light. And as ribbons of smoke blur the sky, I can say for the first time in a long time, my path is clear.
Epilogue
Disappear
October
3 months later
The one year anniversary of my mother’s death
Tonight journalists from all around the state came to see me receive the award I was originally supposed to get three years ago. At first I intended to turn it down when they approached me again. I reminded myself that it was a time I’d tried hard to forget. But then after I thought about it I decided, yes, I wanted it. I felt I had earned it.
News of the drug cartel’s trial coming to a successful end had swept the airwaves. Senior management at the Los Angeles Times took notice and decided they wanted to honor me with the honor I was supposed to receive, but never did, almost four years ago—California’s Journalist of the Year Award. They wanted to, and I quote, “Highlight my brilliant work in underground crime investigation.”
I was nervous as hell. When I wrote my speech, I’d decided I would approach the award with levity. I’d tucked a not ecard into my back pocket. But as I moved to take the podium, I decided to change gears and approach it with honesty instead. I strode across the stage and took a deep calming breath.