24. Charlie
24
Charlie
Years ago, I learned about glacial erratic boulders. These rocks would embed into glaciers that would carry them away from their source. Then the glaciers would melt and deposit the rocks in weird locations.
Sometimes, the melt would get caught by an ice dam, and the water would build up, piling debris until the dam broke, launching a cataclysmic flood across the lands and sending the rocks even further at up to eighty miles per hour.
That’s what I feel like right now. The dam has broken and I’ve been swept up and somehow deposited on the highway headed toward the city at nearly the same speed.
I should be thinking about the call with Arlo—who said, “I strongly recommend we back out of this agreement and hire a legal team”—and the article he had sent me—“. . . grossly misusing customer data for no less than spying on their customers...”
Instead, I see Bea.
I don’t want to think about that look on her face. I don’t want to hear the anger in her dad’s voice or see the way Lance grabbed her hand in a comforting touch.
But now that I’m in the flow of traffic and the panic is receding into mind-numbing automation—turn signal on, check mirrors, change lanes—I can’t stop picturing it.
What have I done?
I can fix this. One thing at a time. I’ll get to the city and I’ll—I’ll...
What, exactly?
Arlo said he was going to call me back after he spoke to a lawyer. He suggested I call my marketing manager, Tasha, who’s probably down in San Diego with her family right now. I need to touch base with my staff—probably my entire company. If they haven’t seen the article by now, they will soon.
But none of that is going to solve the problem.
A car honks and I realize I’ve slowed down on the highway. I push the gas pedal to keep up with traffic and then, on a better impulse, throw on my blinker and pull onto the shoulder.
The car, Bea’s rental, slows to a stop. I put it in park and rest my forehead on the steering wheel.
I sit like that for a few minutes, the car swaying every time traffic passes.
This is not dissimilar to my breakdown last year. A few frantic, panicked decisions and then I freeze up and question everything. This time is more abrupt, but the tightness in my chest and the flutter of my heartbeat scream at me to DO SOMETHING BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT.
I grapple with the phone and press at the screen until I call Arlo.
“Hey, Charlie.” His voice is even and businesslike, and I close my eyes knowing that he’s been working to clean up this mess the best he can.
“Charlie?” He’s worried now.
“I’m here. I don’t know what to do,” I croak out.
“Where are you?”
I don’t bother lifting my head. “On the highway somewhere north of the city.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll be right there.”
Arlo’s with his own fucking family and here he is on Christmas Eve, offering to come find me. I belatedly realize that if I were in his shoes, I would be really fucking worried about me, especially since I’m on the side of the highway. He’s been through this with me once before, and I can’t believe I’m dragging him through it again.
I sit up and shake my head. Not that Arlo can see it. “Wait, don’t.”
Arlo is quiet while I take deep breaths, move the car seat back to give myself more room, and stare at the odometer.
13,729. 13,729. 13,729.
There’re small things my therapist taught me, but they help.
Eventually, I calm down. Arlo has probably heard my heavy, measured breathing throughout this entire ordeal, and he’s been waiting patiently.
“I’m here. I’m better,” I say.
“Good. Talk to me more. You said you don’t know what you’re doing? Tell me what you’re literally doing right now and how you got there.”
Another coping mechanism.
I explain how after his call I left my family. I borrowed Bea’s car and left her—and everyone else—extremely pissed at me. I drove halfway to the city before my brain caught up.
“What were you going to do when you got to the city?”
“Go to the office and...I don’t know. Try to fix things.”
Arlo goes quiet for a moment. “Fix things? How?”
“I don’t know! Talk to someone at ImmUniverse, I guess. Talk to a lawyer. Call Tasha.”
“None of that requires your office. You could have done those things with your family around you, supporting you. And I highly advise you not to talk to anyone at ImmUniverse. And why would you want to?”
I’m silent for a beat too long.
“Charlie,” Arlo says carefully. “The deal is over. Not formally, but you don’t want to do this deal. I know you. This is not what you want anymore.”
My chest gets tight again and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m back where I started last year and in an even worse spot. My exit strategy has failed and I’m trapped again, my business an albatross of stress pulling me down. Any dreams I have of caring for my family, taking care of Bea...they’re all gone. Or at least delayed an indeterminate amount of time.
When I can finally speak, my voice is hoarse and choked. “I wanted it so badly.”
“I know you did. But don’t sacrifice everything else for this, okay?”
I nod. He’s right, of course. I feel dumb for not seeing it myself.
“Okay?” he repeats, and this time I say it out loud.
“Okay.”
“Would it be helpful to review some of your other exit strategy options now, or do you need to get off the highway?”
I give a shaky laugh. “Can we do both?”
“Of course.”
I run my hands down my face and square my shoulders. I press the gas pedal and speed up, merging back into traffic as Arlo and I talk through some options while I take the next exit.