Good for You: A Novel (45)

“I should be,” said Aly, smiling tightly. “They promoted me to editorial director. That’s a big position.”

“Judging by the look on your face, you’re not excited about that.”

“I mean . . . I thought they were going to fire me, so this is an improvement. And I am itching to get back to New York and get to work.” Even she could tell that her voice lacked conviction. “It’s just that I was hoping I’d be going back to my regular job.”

“You thought they’d fire you? That’s hard to picture. What happened?” asked Mari.

“You sure you want to know?” said Aly.

“Only if you want to tell me.”

Aly knew Mari wouldn’t judge her, so she told her about the Incident. When she finished, Mari pretended to be horrified. “Oh no—sounds like you acted like a human in public. I’m so sorry that you let down anyone who mistook you for a robot.”

“That’s funny, but I guess you’re right,” said Aly, who did feel a little better. “The fact is, though, it had to be really bad for them to remove me from my job when I was doing it so well. For all I know, I said something extremely offensive.”

“No,” said Mari bluntly. “If it had been anything like that, they would have just fired you. And they sure as heck wouldn’t have waited almost two weeks to do it. I may not know about your industry, but I know how the world works.”

“Maybe,” allowed Aly. She trusted Mari’s instincts—if only because during high school, she’d innately understood that Aly’s home situation left something to be desired and that she needed her help.

Mari took a sip of her coffee, then regarded Aly. “So if you don’t really want the job, have you thought anymore about what you do want to do?”

“What else is there?” said Aly honestly. “If I really don’t like the gig, I’ll put feelers out for another editor in chief position.” Another magazine would never matter to her as much as All Good. But if the past year had taught her anything, it was that life was filled with disappointments. Best if she at least tried to get used to that.

They’d reached a small, grassy park that ran along the river. “What about writing?” asked Mari as they sat down at a bench in front of the water. “That was always a strength of yours.”

Aly chewed on her lip, considering this. The days when a writer could make a decent living contributing to magazines were long gone. Anyway, she wasn’t sure that would be the best use of her time. “I like writing,” she said, “but I’m better at helping other people improve their writing. You know, coming up with ideas and editing and whatnot.”

“I bet there’s a good market for that sort of thing. Maybe you could start your own company.”

“Probably, yeah,” said Aly. It wasn’t a bad idea, but she was hardly jazzed about the idea of going corporate or becoming a consultant. And yet her lack of enthusiasm annoyed her. What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t just accept that so-so was far better than bad? “Thanks for brainstorming for me.”

“Of course. And if you’re looking for something to do over the next few weeks,” said Mari with a sly smile, “the kids in the area always need help with reading and writing. I’m sure you remember that from high school.”

Aly nodded—she did. She’d breezed through her assignments and often spent the extra time helping other high schoolers craft their papers or get a handle on their homework. She’d never really fit in, let alone been popular, but the other students had accepted her more when they realized she had something to offer them.

“Yeah, things haven’t really gotten much better. They’re worse, if I’m honest. Teachers are stretched thin, and there aren’t a lot of outside resources to help. I’ll never understand why this country doesn’t want to spend more money on education,” said Mari, a shadow falling across her face.

“I wish I could help, but I’m not really good with kids,” said Aly. Carefree children—the ones who ran around and laughed and misbehaved, knowing their parents would perhaps scold them but that would be the end of it—made her anxious, and kind of sad, too. The production manager, Helena, had brought her seven-year-old, Octavia, to All Good in April for Take Your Child to Work Day. Octavia was polite, if not eerily well-spoken, and Helena had proudly trotted her over to Aly’s office. But Octavia had taken one look at Aly, who was going over page proofs, and announced, “I’d like to see the break room, please.” To be honest, Aly felt more relieved than insulted when the girl left.

Perhaps Harry would help her learn how to be normal with Beckett, but as this had yet to be seen, she was in no position to mingle with children. High schoolers? Maybe. But certainly not those young enough to still be learning to read.

“I understand, but you might also be surprised,” said Mari. “If you’re up for volunteering, I know of an amazing children’s center right in Saugatuck. You can lend a hand for a day or become a long-term volunteer. It just requires a quick background check and a willingness to show up.”

“Okay,” said Aly, knowing full well she wasn’t going to take Mari up on this offer. With just two weeks left in town, it wouldn’t really be worth it to volunteer.

“So, want to tell me more about the gentleman you were eating with?” said Mari.