I step inside my office and look again at the papers clutched tight in my grip.
REVISED NOTICE PERIOD: THREE WEEKS.
How did this happen?
Since the age of fifteen, I have yearned for such an opportunity. How did I blow it so fast?
It’s afternoon and the updated contract that Vanessa handed to me sits on my table.
I’m staring at the bare sketch of the female body in my notebook when my phone rings. I groan at my mother’s name flashing on the screen.
She is the only thing missing from this horrible day.
“Hello, Mom.” My voice can’t come out more uninterested. I’ve no desire to hear what she has to say, especially today. But I know if I don’t answer, I’ll have to listen to her complaints. My mother is like a double-edged sword.
“Hello, Clementine. How is work?” she asks in that holier-than-thou tone of hers.
“Good,” I lie without missing a beat.
“Really? I thought you’d be more disappointed, now that your poor excuse of a job is lessened to three weeks.”
I lurch up from my chair. “What the— How… How on earth can you know that?” My free hand grabs the edge of the table.
“That’s not important.”
My eyes close and I can see my mother sipping tea while flattening her perfectly pressed dress.
“I hope you’re already coming to your senses and planning your return. Scott will be in St. Peppers to pick you and your things up after three weeks.”
I’m unable to reply. My mind in overdrive, I want to scream at her at the top of my lungs, but don’t. “What’s wrong with you?” I flop down. “You didn’t call to check on me when I moved out. You didn’t call to ask about my first day at work. But you are calling me today, why?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Clementine. Don’t you see I’m trying to put some sense into that rigid skull of yours. You want to work. Fine! I have no objection to it. Your sister works, but she has a respectable profession. She is not a maid or a barista or a seamstress. She is married to a family who is our equal. But you—”
“Thank you for your concern, Mother.” I end the call and close my eyes.
Irene Hawthorne.
Going back to Cherrywood where my mother can once again control my life in whichever way she likes is not an option. With a renewed determination I grab my notebook.
Three weeks! If I have to summon that inspiration through some exorcism ritual, I’ll do that before these three weeks are over.
My day drags with no success. At five I decide to go home. Maybe I’ll find some inspiration on the way in the cab as I look out the car window.
But nothing happens.
I reach the main gate, and as every day of this week, my hands hover over the gate latch.
My mind goes back to the early morning when Keith opened the rusting latch for me. I glance toward the evergreen bush where he pulled me into his strong arms. My heart thumping the same way as it did in those moments.
Along with my attraction for Keith multiplying like crazy, that night also led to a shift in his behavior toward me.
Now in the morning, when I wave to him before leaving for work, he gives me a nod. When I make coffee in their house with the light turned on—I still haven’t managed to buy myself a coffee machine—he doesn’t make an appearance with a gun, bare-chested.
Though, I wouldn’t mind that too much.
He is not the same grumpy person I met the first day. Somewhere, there’s a funny soul hidden, and I like it whenever he shows me a glimpse of that.
I know I’m lusting over my landlord, but at this moment, that’s the only interesting thing happening in my life.