Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(65)

She stared at me for a minute. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, it’s just—” It was just that I hadn’t expected that response, at least not right away. “Thank you.”

“Despite what you may think, I’m not a bad person, Libby. I know you put in a lot of good years for me. You shouldn’t have quit like you did, but I’m not going to let you rot of cancer.”

“Thanks . . . I think.”

“You’re welcome.” She uncrossed her arms and went back to her desk. “I’ll e-mail human resources now, before I forget.” She peered over her monitors. “Please wipe that worried look off your face. If anyone can beat cancer, it’s you.”

Normally this sentiment would have sent me into an internal rage, but I felt I should take it as Jackie had intended it. “I hope you’re right.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Repeat after me, Libby: ‘I plan to.’”

I didn’t like where this conversation was heading. “If you think I can will my way into beating cancer—”

“Let me finish, you deaf dairy queen. Do you think I, as a not particularly attractive woman in a male-dominated field, managed to make it to the top of a publicly traded company by hoping I was right?” She preempted my response. “No! No, I did not! I operated as though I would succeed; obstacles be damned. There’s always a reason why things might not work out. Millions of them. The more you focus on those reasons, the easier it will be to get in your own damn way. So do yourself a favor, mm-kay? Put your rose-colored glasses back on, and leave them on. Because while I applaud your newfound attitude, you’re going to need a lot more than that to get you through whatever’s coming your way next.”

I was almost too stunned to speak. “Thanks, Jackie.”

She waved me away. “Go on. I’ve got work to do, and from the sound of it, you’ve got stacks of paperwork to file.”

“Right. Well, thanks again,” I said, and turned to walk away.

“Door’s open if you ever want to come back to work for the best boss you’ll ever have,” she called after me.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. To my surprise, Jackie was smiling. I smiled back. “See you around, Jackie.”





THIRTY-THREE


Sleeping pills were no longer of interest to me. I needed some of Paul’s old uppers and an IV drip of coffee, as the only thing my body seemed capable of was rest. As such, I almost slept through the apartment closing.

“Didn’t you get my message?” Raj said as I dashed through the front door of the office where I had been instructed to meet him.

“Message? What message?” I wiped what was either saliva or melting snow from the corner of my mouth, then hiked up my pants, which were threatening to reveal the set of pancakes my butt had become.

He looked at me with concern. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now. Though I should probably tell you—”

“Tom’s here,” I said as the door in front of me swung open, offering a glimpse of my husband sitting at a long wooden table. A rush of emotion came over me, but it wasn’t exactly anger. Thankfully, it wasn’t affection, either. It was more like . . . disappointment. I would not be able to avoid seeing him again, after all.

“. . . Tom’s here,” Raj said. He clasped his hands together. “I trust this won’t change your intentions about today’s sale.”

I ignored Raj and charged into the conference room. “Jeebus, Tom,” I said, like God wouldn’t notice his only begotten son’s name if I fudged a few letters. “All that hollering and you show up anyway? I could have been sleeping right now.” I narrowed my eyes at him, as another distinct possibility surfaced in my mind. “Please don’t tell me you showed up so you could try to block the sale.”

Not waiting for his response, I turned and extended my hand to the petite woman sitting a few seats down from Tom, who was watching me with interest. “Hi, I’m Libby Ross Miller. Don’t worry; I still plan to sell my apartment to you, even if it requires hurting my soon-to-be ex-husband in order to do so.”

The woman laughed nervously and slowly offered me her hand. “Great.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Libby, I’m not here to block the sale.”

“So what then, Tom? You thought it would be fun to remind me you still exist?” I plopped into the chair that was directly across from where he was sitting. “I almost managed to forget, but it’s nothing a little electric shock therapy can’t fix.” Or chemo, I thought, recalling how at the end of her life, my mother had struggled to remember even major details, like how old Paul and I were.

“Libs, come on,” Tom said. “I thought we were doing better.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Doing better would have been you agreeing to come here, rather than pulling this surprise crap.”

Raj rapped his knuckles on the table. “Listen, you’re both here now, so let’s get this over with. I’m going to go grab the title agent and the other Realtor. I’ll be right back.”

As Raj rushed out the door, I stared at Tom, who stared at the table, while the woman—who now knew she was buying a home haunted by the ghosts of two people who may or may not have once loved each other—was furiously texting on her phone, probably asking her friends and family whether she should back out.