Coldhearted Boss(89)
Oh ha-ha-ha, your life is falling apart before your very eyes. Stop, stop—you’re killing me!
“Is this a prank? If so, it’s a very expensive, overseas-phone-call prank. Did Andrew put you up to this?”
“Last call for passengers for flight 365, service to San Antonio. Final boarding at gate 12.”
She must have heard the announcement, because her next words were delivered in a much more serious tone. “Oh my god, you’re really at the airport, aren’t you?”
I was flying down the terminal, knocking down any and all children and elderly people in my path, trying to get to my gate before they closed the doors without me. They even said my name over the loudspeaker. I always wondered what kind of dummy has to have their name announced like that. Me. I’m the dummy.
“Yes. Helen, I’m coming to Texas and I need your help.” I was out of breath from running as I pleaded with her. “Please. I can’t explain, but I just need to cash in whatever love you might have for me.”
She sighed, exasperated. She was always exasperated with me about one thing or another, which was one of the reasons I hadn’t bothered visiting in the past.
“Fine. Call me when you land.”
Turns out I didn’t need to call her. She apparently guessed the gist of my situation while I was sitting in a metal tube 30,000 feet in the air and came to her own conclusions. By the time I landed, I had a dozen text messages from her, each one berating me for my impulsiveness and apparent irrationality.
Helen: Is this all a game, or are you actually leaving Andrew? I’m not going to start calling in favors for you if you’re just going to quit and fly back to California in a week.
Seems cold, right? Well, here’s the thing: Helen and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. We never have. We’re ten years apart in age, and our father left her mother for mine. In her eyes, I had the glorious, perfect childhood that was taken from her…and okay, sure, those first few years were pretty good. I got to go on family vacations and every year I had one big Christmas instead of two small ones, but then just like he’d done before, our dad got bored and moved on to the next woman. We should have bonded over our soap opera-worthy father figure, but she graduated and moved out the second she had the chance. Ever since, we’ve both basically been pretending the other sister doesn’t exist.
When I made it outside the airport in Texas, I tried to call her. I dialed…scooted forward in the taxi line…dialed again. I wanted to explain the situation as quickly as possible, and I couldn’t do that over text. It was a lot to explain, and well, my fingers were still shaking from what I’d done. Also, the sordid truth is best explained sans emojis.
When she didn’t answer, I was forced to text her and keep it brief.
Meredith: I left Andrew for good. I need a job and a place to stay. If you can help, that would be wonderful. If you can’t, that would be less wonderful.
Helen: Fine. I’ll ask Jack if he needs a temp. I’ll send you instructions for how to get to Blue Stone Ranch.
Meredith: You are wonderful.
Helen: Don’t make me regret this.
So anyway, that’s why I’m here, spending what little money I have on a road trip across Central Texas.
Blue Stone Ranch is where my sister has worked for the last six years. I can’t begin to imagine what she does as the executive assistant to the owner. Shine his spurs? Shear his sheep? Bale his hay? It’s all a little out of my realm, but I’ll do it all and more—gladly.
My stomach growls again so loudly that I know the cashier manning the gas station counter can hear it. Thankfully, she seems too distracted with problems of her own.
I peek out the front window just as the taxi driver finishes up at the pump. No one knows the truth about my life except him. He’s heard it all. In the few hours since he picked me up from the airport, he’s acted as my chauffeur and silent therapist. Even better, there’s no way he’ll be repeating any of the details I dumped on him because I’m pretty sure he’s had headphones in the entire time. All morning, he’s responded with resigned grunts and sighs—the universal language of annoyance. I’m pretty sure he’s tempted to get back into the taxi and leave me to fend for myself in the Texas badlands.
I need to get a move on.
Driven by a primal urge, I yank the can of peanuts off the shelf and carry them to the counter.
This feeling in the pit of my stomach is new, and I’m pretty sure it’s not hunger-related. This is like nothing I’ve ever done before. I’ve never stood on my own two feet—I’ve never had to. I married Andrew right out of college. He was seven years older, already well on his way up the ladder at a big production company. I moved out of my college apartment straight into his multimillion-dollar house in Beverly Hills.
It’s funny how much I used to fear what is now happening to me. I assumed it was a fate worse than death to end up alone, poor, and directionless. If Andrew taught me anything, it’s that I was wrong.
I plunk the nuts on the checkout counter and the attendant meets my eye. She offers a weak smile, and I can see the strain of life etched in the crow’s feet around her eyes.
“How are you this morning?” I ask with a small, empathetic smile.
For a second, her mouth starts to form a generic answer, but she must see something she recognizes in my expression because she laughs quietly and shakes her head.