“You have got to find a way to heal. You have got to find a way to move on. At the very least, you’ve got to try.”
My eyes started to well with tears.
If I was honest with myself, I’d been coasting for so many years in my romantic relationships, taking the little I needed to get by that I wasn’t sure what it looked like to really try.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but maybe this is the push you’ve been waiting for. Most people don’t get a second chance at closure, Charleston, and even fewer find a way to save themselves from the lack of it.”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say.
“You lost two people you loved so close together, and that would wound even the best of us.”
She knew me inside and out.
“If you take nothing else from today’s session, take this. The world is full of people who’ve suffered and still survive. Those people found a way to make peace with their pasts. Maybe we don’t get to erase the scars, but we can learn to love them. Don’t make your suffering for nothing, Charleston.”
She pulled me to stand and hugged me.
“Thank you.” I tightened my arms around her. This woman had been a safe harbour in so many of my storms.
“Loving the ugly parts of ourselves isn’t easy, but if we can’t love them, how can we expect someone else to?”
We stood like that for a minute or two until the clock on our session timed out.
“I’d like to see you again next week. Can you do that?”
I nodded. “I’ll schedule something with Maureen on the way out.”
She squeezed my shoulders and when she released me, I lifted my purse off the couch.
“Wonderful.”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I said with gratitude in my voice that I meant ever ounce of.
“It’s my pleasure, dear.” She led me to the reception desk before leaving me with her assistant, Maureen.
I booked an appointment for the following Thursday afternoon before eventually making my way to the elevator.
As I waited for the doors to close on the twentieth floor, I checked my messages.
6 Missed Calls—Office
3 Missed Calls—Kevin’s Cell
I’d left Kevin a voicemail first thing this morning letting him know I wouldn’t be coming into the office today, and asked that he please reschedule my appointments.
Hitting redial on the last call from the office, I put the phone to my ear and waited as it rang.
“Smith & Co Productions, this is Kevin.”
“Hey. It’s me,” I said, pressing the button for the garage. “I saw your calls. What’s up?”
His voice got quieter on the other end. “You okay?”
“Not really,” I told the empty elevator.
“Char—”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.” I heard him sigh. “What’s going on at the office?”
“Oh.” He morphed into assistant mode on my cue. “I was able to reschedule all of your other appointments except Mrs. Bridges, but Emma took the meeting and she’ll fill you in.”
The doors opened and I stepped into the underground. “Thank you for taking care of that.”
“No prob,” he chirped. “The reason I called was to ask if someone from Hart Securities had emailed you last night about delivering the specs for VanDusen?”
“Let me check.”
I pulled the phone from my ear as I walked and opened the mail app. Scrolling, I cursed inwardly.
During my episode last night, I’d gotten two emails from Hart Securities. They were the team hired by Beau Callaway’s campaign for his security detail and they required a confidential contract regarding the event specs for next year’s gala. This was not the problem, as we’d already drawn up said contract at their request. The problem was that the emails I received announced that they required it delivered in hand to their offices by end of day today.
“Yeah. They sent an email. I somehow missed it,” I spoke into the car as it connected to my Bluetooth sound system.
Kevin made a funny sound in the back of his throat. Probably because he knew I never missed an email, especially not one regarding anything to do with the foundation or gala. That meant I was definitely not okay and he was worried.
“Okay, well I was going to run over and drop it off this afternoon, but I can’t find the contract on your desk. Do you have it with you?”
Shit.
Leaning over, I rummaged through the files on my passenger seat.
“Yeah,” I snipped. I was frustrated that my personal life was erupting my professional life.
“I can come get it from your place and then take it?” he offered.
I shook my head to the inside of my vehicle and sighed. “No, I have it here and I’m already on Dunbar. I’ll take it in.”
He knew about Doctor Colby, which meant he knew her offices were on Dunbar Street. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Great, thanks,” I said, rolling the engine over.
“Call me later?” he asked, and I knew the man was relentless. He’d never let it go if I didn’t.
“Yeah.”
“Later, babe.”