The Promise of Change

Chapter 7



“Any luck with the job search?” Ann asked. “Way to go, Lily!”

They sat on bleachers in the scorching summer sun watching Ann’s daughter’s soccer match. Lily ran down the field after scoring a goal, arms raised in triumph. The goal put her team up one-nothing.

Rob, Ann’s husband, let out a shrill whistle, followed by a loud woohoo!

“Nothing terribly promising.” Sarah shielded her eyes from the sun as she followed Lily’s progress down the field. “I’ve got a phone interview next week with a company that hires independent legal drafters for law firms.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Ann asked. She pulled out the sunscreen and slathered more on her nose.

“We’ll see . . .” Her voice trailed off. “What if I have to move, Ann? What if I can’t find anything here?” She looked at Ann, tears in her eyes.

“Oh honey. We’ll cross that river when we come to it, and hopefully we’ll never come to it.”

Sarah rolled her eyes at Ann’s muddled cliché.

“That’s right,”—Rob reached over and patted Sarah’s leg—“no sense borrowing trouble.”

Ann jumped up when Lily got tangled up with another player and fell.

Rob grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down. “She’s fine,” he told Ann. “Shake it off, sugar,” he yelled to Lily.

“Ann, do you remember that manuscript I wrote back in college?”

“Yeah, I wondered why you never did anything with it. You always were a good writer.”

“Well, I’d forgotten about it until Sam reminded me of it when she was here last weekend. I found it, and you know something . . . it’s not half bad.” Sarah smiled as she thought about how she’d read through it after a sleepless night. She couldn’t make herself put it down. She’d sat right there in the attic and read at least the first hundred pages, before her stomach spoke up, reminding her that she hadn’t had breakfast yet.

“I think I’ll work on it again, maybe clean it up, try submitting it. Sam said she’d thought it was good back in college, and it’s something I can do while I’m looking for a job.”

Ann’s eyes lit up. “I think that’s a great idea. You could be the next Jane Austen.” She wore an impish grin. “But if you want my advice, I think you should spice it up with a bare-chested hunk or two . . . and a lot of rowdy sex.”



Sarah had her head in a tall cardboard box when the doorbell rang. Who could that be?

She caught her reflection in the hall mirror. She looked a mess. Her hair was twisted into an unkempt ponytail that hung slightly askew after her submersion into the box. She had on shabby sweats and a ragged, holey T-shirt that didn’t match, and her big toe stuck out of a hole in her sock.

She tentatively opened the door, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Ann’s astonished face.

“Well, look at you. Don’t you look like something the stork dragged in.” She stepped into the foyer where Sarah was cleaning out the coat closet. “What are you doing?” She looked around in disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re cleaning out another closet.”

It’d been two weeks since she’d told Ann about the manuscript, and she hadn’t written or edited the first word, but her closets and attic were well-organized, and Goodwill had scored a windfall in donations.

“I thought you were supposed to be clearing your head and getting in touch with your inner Jane Austen. Not cleaning your closets and getting in touch with your inner maid.”

“Just because I’m cleaning out closets doesn’t mean I’m not getting in touch with my inner Jane Austen. The mindless work gives me lots of time to think . . .” she finished lamely.

“Honestly, Sarah, you’re wasting precious time. Once you get a job, you won’t have time to devote to creating the sensitive, sexy, well-muscled hero we’ve all been yearning for.”

Ann had been so excited about Sarah’s writing scheme she’d already planned what to wear to the premier of the implausible blockbuster movie based on her currently unfinished, unpublished manuscript.

Sarah didn’t know what was wrong with her. It wasn’t like her to procrastinate. When she set a task for herself, she started on it right away.

“I know, I know. And I leave for England next week.” And that’s another thing, she berated herself. She should have her head examined for jetting off on a two-week vacation when she was currently out of work.

But the trip was paid for, and she couldn’t get her money back at this point, so it was a shame to let it go to waste. At least that’s how she rationalized it.

“Hey, maybe that’s just what you need to get your creative juices flowing. Your story takes place in England, right? Maybe you’ll be inspired . . . and maybe you’ll live your own little romance while you’re there.” Ann waggled her eyebrows.

“You and Becca conspiring again?” At Ann’s confused expression, Sarah explained. “She said the same thing. Trust me, with all the upheaval in my life right now, the last thing I want or need is a romance, little or not.”



“God honey, are you bringing your entire wardrobe?” Ann asked, trying to heave Sarah’s steamer-trunk-sized suitcase into the back of Becca’s SUV.

“The weather in England is so changeable, I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought a little of everything.” Sarah shrugged as she helped Ann maneuver the suitcase into the car.

“Really? I hope the plane is carrying extra fuel with all this added weight.”

“Funny.”

“You girls need to stop chit-chatting and let’s get on the road before you miss your flight.” Becca used the same tone of voice their mother had used when her patience wore thin.

The ride to the airport descended into silliness as the three girls competed to see who could insert the most British colloquialisms into the conversation.

Sarah thought she won, but lost track with all the laughter.

“Here,” Ann said as she handed Sarah a small wrapped package. “This is for you.”

Sarah unwrapped the package to find a hardcover journal, bound in beautiful handmade rice paper.

“In case you’re inspired,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you. That is so thoughtful.”

“Wait. Me, too.” Becca handed Sarah another gift box. This one held a fountain pen emblazoned with the Oxford logo.

“You guys are such givers.”

Amid smiles and tears, Sarah hugged Ann and Becca goodbye. “Take care that you don’t come back with a stiff upper lip.” Becca’s parting shot as Sarah went through security made her giggle.

“Don’t forget to water my plants, fill the feeders, and get my mail,” Sarah shouted as she walked down the concourse.

“I know, I know,” Ann said.

On the plane at last, Sarah could breathe easy. Preparing for trips always wound her up, but once on the plane, she knew there was nothing else she could do but sit back and relax. Her vacation was mapped out to the last detail, with some unscheduled time allotted for unexpected detours, whimsies, and such.

She was determined to put the worries concerning her jobless status out of her mind for the next two weeks.

Before it was time to turn off ‘all cell phones and portable electronic devices,’ Sarah sent one more text to Ann to remind her to water her plants, fill her feeders, and pick up her mail. She grinned as she turned off her phone. That should do it. She could just hear Ann’s groan at the nagging reminder.

The flight attendant announced the preparation for their initial approach into Gatwick.

The patchwork landscape of the English countryside was visible from Sarah’s window. Pale green squares, abutted golden patches of hay ready for harvest, and the occasional patch of lavender fields in bloom, all stitched into an irregular quilt, with stands of tall cedars, majestic oaks, and hedgerows creating the seams that held the vibrant patches together. This multi-hued quilt blanketed the undulating hills as far as the eye could see.

Sarah sat back in her seat and smiled. She was already waxing poetic. Ann could be right. Maybe this trip was exactly what she needed.