Good for You: A Novel (40)

“Aly, this is how it needs to be for now. We’ve already spoken to Meagan, and we’d like to have the two of you speak soon and work things out before you come back to the office.”

“Okay,” she said, and maybe it would be. “I can be back in the office first thing next week.” She’d have to cancel on Harry, but he’d understand. After all, this wasn’t just her career; it was her life.

James coughed. “Aly, it’ll be good for you to take the whole month off as planned. Get some rest, clear your head. You’ll probably never have an opportunity like this again.”

No, and she never wanted to. She knew James was trying to be kind. But he had no idea what was good for her! Well, she’d show him. She was going to work on the magazine—with or without his help.

“I need my laptop,” she said. “Is there any way you can mail it to me?”

“We can send a courier,” said Linda.

“Um . . . I’m in Michigan right now, dealing with a family issue,” said Aly.

“All the more reason to come back next month,” said James.

“We can definitely FedEx it to you,” said Linda.

“Thank you,” said Aly. “I need my email turned back on, too.”

“We’ll have it reactivated,” said Leticia. “It’s my understanding that every message sent to you during your leave of absence will still be there for you to read.”

Aly wasn’t sure that a zillion unread emails was a victory, but it was better than the alternative.

“I’ll put your new contract in the FedEx package with your laptop,” said Linda. “You’ll have it in twenty-four hours. I’ll need you to sign the contract and send it back prior to your return to the office.”

“Looking forward to having you back on board, Aly,” said James. “I’ve got a one-thirty, but let’s get a meeting on the books to discuss your ideas.”

“Thank you. Thanks, all of you. I . . . I’m grateful that I’ll be returning.”

“We are, too,” said James. “And this new position will be even better for you. You’ll see.”

Would it, though? Aly numbly clicked the “End Call” button. Then she slid out of the chair and onto the floor.

As she’d told Wyatt, All Good was the only thing that had gotten her out of bed after Luke had died. It was all she’d had.

And she still had it! Her job had changed, but this was a promotion—not a demotion. Once she stopped training Meagan, though, it wouldn’t feel that way. Editorial directors had a hands-off role; although All Good had never had one, she knew that the position mostly served as a liaison between Editorial and Advertising. She wouldn’t be editing pages anymore or holding meetings with her team. Correction: the team.

But she would still be at All Good. And she might even be able to ask for a raise.

So why wasn’t she happy?

She was still lying on the ground when she heard Wyatt come in.

“You okay?” he said, walking over to her.

Aly looked up at him. “Yes.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t know.”

“Want to tell me what happened?”

She shook her head. “Alcohol,” she said. “I need alcohol.”

“You’re a teetotaler,” he said, not unkindly. He’d laughed when she’d had three whole sips of her margarita at the Mermaid before pushing it aside, and he told her that next time, he’d order her lemonade. (She’d agreed that was probably the right call.)

“Not anymore,” she said, pressing her lids together as James’ voice echoed in her thoughts. Meagan is the interim editor in chief. You’ll be her direct supervisor. “Please bring me something strong.”

“It’s going to be alright, Aly,” he said. She wondered how he knew that her angst had nothing to do with him, but then it occurred to her that she wouldn’t have asked him to bring her a drink if it had. So maybe he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal.

He put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t care if he’d regret touching her later or would soon tell her he hadn’t meant to. A human hand, albeit one the size of a bear’s paw, was nearly as soothing as a sedative, or so she assumed. (Meagan had offered Aly a Xanax that time she’d found her crying in the bathroom stall, but Aly had declined.) She wondered if she could ask him to lie beside her, to keep his hand on her until tomorrow, maybe even wrap his whole giant body around her until she lost consciousness.

“Booze,” she commanded.

“You sure?” he said, peering at her.

She nodded, even though she knew he’d have to move his mitt to fetch her something.

“Okay. Wine?” he suggested. “Beer?”

“Stronger.”

He grimaced. “As you wish. But I’m going to keep an eye on you.”

She closed her eyes and listened to him tinkering at the bar cart on the other side of the living room. Their unfortunate collision at the Dunes already felt like it had happened years earlier. Maybe they could forget all that, and he could simply . . . take care of her.

Just for today.

“Try this,” he said, sitting down beside her. The amber liquid inside the tumbler he handed her practically radiated fumes, but it was his scent that she inhaled. He smelled a little different—clean, like he had the other day, but woody, too. And he had sawdust on his shoulders. Had he been chopping down trees? Rolling around in a lumber mill? She was tempted to make a crack about him being a long way from Chicago’s Gold Coast, but she couldn’t find the energy.