Chapter 7 Clara
W HEN I FIRST STARTED WORKING at headquarters, taking the elevator up to my dad’s office made me giddy.
Now it makes me nauseous. Dad wants me to act like any employee, but he wants to talk to me like I’m his daughter. It’s hard to navigate and even harder to tolerate after working here for ten years.
The metal doors open onto a bright white hallway.
Despite the bitter chill outside, the sky is a cloudless blue.
The sun streams onto the white marble floor, making it shine.
Dad’s assistant isn’t at her desk so I take myself to the door, knocking lightly, pressing the cold metal handle down and nudging the door with my hip to push it open when he instructs me to enter.
“Clara,” he says, his voice impassive. “How was your trip?”
I take a seat on the other side of his desk and smooth down my dress.
Looking at Dad has always been like looking into a mirror.
My red hair comes from his mother and skipped a generation with him, but we share the same face.
Narrow nose, high cheekbones, green eyes, and a snatched jawline I’ve always been thankful for.
Dad’s more suntanned than my pale, borderline-allergic-to-the-sun skin, and his previously dark hair is more salt and pepper these days. There are lines etched into his forehead from frowning and a faint line across his top lip from the cigarettes he thinks nobody knows about.
My brother looks like my mother’s side, with brown hair and blue eyes. Max has a square face to my heart shaped, but we were both hit with the same tall and lean Davenport gene shared by my father and grandfather. Mom frequently complains about being five foot four and surrounded by “giants.”
We’re a small family with both my parents being only children, and I can’t help but think that it’s a good thing there aren’t more versions of my father roaming the streets.
“Successful. Three businesses couldn’t make time to see me until after New Year’s. I was scheduled to see one, but they rearranged last-minute. The three I saw are very happy with how our partnership is going.”
“A half-successful trip then.”
I try to match his smile but it makes my face feel tight.
“I took some feedback about comms, which I’ll distribute to the team, but overall no issues,” I add.
“The family business in Rockford is doing some interesting stuff, I’d love to tell you more about it.
There’s definitely an opportunity for a good news story there. They’re—”
“I don’t want to know about Rockford, I want to know about Fraser Falls. I assume you have no successes to share given the video is still live.”
I swallow. There’s a tiny alarm in my head telling me to run. “Fraser Falls didn’t go as we hoped it would. I wasn’t able to secure an agreement on how to settle the matter. They don’t trust us, Dad. Their doll was bringing much-needed attention to their town and with one move we wiped it away.”
He looks uninterested. The irritation bubbles in my chest, threatening to grow into something more explosive. “I don’t think I need to remind you that Daryl is retiring next month, Clara.”
It’s like being zapped with lightning. Every nerve feels frazzled. “I know that,” I say carefully.
“Your name has been mentioned more than once when talking about his replacement. It’s no secret your goal is to move into the design sector.
” My lungs might have actually stopped working.
“I’m just not sure how anyone can advocate for you to step up into that role if you can’t resolve something as simple as a small business dispute. ”
“Your other candidates are welcome to try.” My shoulders sag as my chest deflates.
Max’s skinny ass would never make it past Jack in guard-dog mode.
“My objective for the trip was to establish Ms. Girard’s mindset, which I did.
It was also to establish if she feels there’s something we can do to fix it; she doesn’t.
I don’t believe this is the kind of thing that is going to be resolved in one conversation. ”
“Then why did you give up after one conversation and come home?” My mouth opens and closes like a goldfish’s. “If you can resolve this mess in Fraser Falls, the promotion is yours, Clara. I thought that was obvious.”
There is nothing about my dad that is or has ever been obvious.
“I expect you to have a plan by Monday.”
I know it’s my cue to leave but I have so many questions I know won’t get answered. Suddenly, the morale-raising karaoke invite sitting unread in my inbox feels a hell of a lot more appealing.
T HERE’S SOMETHING INCREDIBLY HUMBLING ABOUT spending a Friday night drinking with colleagues who have a median age of twenty-four.
I in no way believe that women peak at a certain age—and if we do, it’s certainly not south of ninety—but there does come a point where I do just want to be in bed. Or at least in a pair of comfortable shoes.
When I’ve overheard people in the staff kitchen talking about a new club opening or some bar, I’ve always thought, I’m young… that should be me … but now that it is me, I’m happy to admit I was wrong and want to go home.
Sahara texted while I was in Maine asking what she could do to reinvigorate the spirit of her tired and demotivated team. I suggested an exorcism. You can’t expense that though, so singing Whitney Houston loudly and off-key was the next best thing.
A bottle of wine and minimal food mixed with several nights of bad sleep is going down as one of my more ridiculous choices this year.
We haven’t even made it to the karaoke bar yet and I’m ready to be in bed.
I wrap my coat tightly around my waist, shielding myself from the wind while honking taxis serenade the city.
“Please, don’t go!” Sahara begs, but all I hear is Please don’t leave me with them . My brain is fumbling to come up with something motivational, but the wine is making it difficult to do anything other than wrap her in a bear hug.
“You can do this,” I mumble. Her out-of-work friends are meeting her at the karaoke bar, so I don’t feel bad about leaving her. Whitney will have to wait.
My car pulls up to the curb and I’ve never been so happy for a blasting heater. We crawl into slow-moving traffic and I fight to stay awake.
My fingers travel across my cell phone screen to my work inbox. Email after email scheduling meetings and looking for approval. Wine-brain me looks up “Harry’s store Fraser Falls” and navigates to the contact page. He doesn’t even have social media pages for his business.
There’s an email address though.
It isn’t a good idea to contact him out of the blue, but I click the link anyway and choose my personal email account over my work one.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
Subject: whun?
Are yup going to let my help yet???
My stomach immediately sinks as I hear the whooshing noise of my email sending. Why the hell did I do that? My clumsy fingers search for the option to recall but I can’t find it.
I might be sick.
A mail banner appears on my screen.
From: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
To: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
RE: whun?
Did you let AI write this the same way you let it write your kids’ books?
I switch to speech-to-text and concentrate hard to change the subject bar without accidentally pressing send.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
To: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
RE: WHEN?
Are YOU going to let me help yet?
Smart ass
From: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
To: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, smart ass?
Are you drunk emailing me, Clara?
Shit.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
To: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, smart ass?
Obviously not. I just want to know it’s the house on the left with the red door thank you why you’re being a broody bodyguard and not accepting my where are my keys help. It isn’t very nice of you send email
From: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
To: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, broody bodyguard?
Has anyone ever told you you’re a great communicator?
Helping people by taking over and throwing money at us isn’t the desirable thing you think it is. You don’t actually want to help us. You want this to go away.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
To: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, broody bodyguard?
I do want to help fraser falls!! And I don’t need to throw money to do that
And I know I can if you stop acting like a guard dog
From: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
To: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, guard dog?
Prove it then.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
To: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, guard dog?
Fine. I will
I have a lot of ideas and experience and connections
From: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
To: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, guard dog?
Good night, Clara.
From: Davenport, Clara ([email protected])
To: Kelly, Jack ([email protected])
RE: WHEN, guard dog?
See you tomorrow, neighbor