Chapter 26 Clara
T HE ABILITY OF STICKY NOTES to not do the one thing they’re supposed to do needs to be studied.
Arthur peeled Maggie off my leggings this morning when I passed him on my way to Bliss for my morning indulgence. Okay, morning is a stretch. More like afternoon, because every time I tried to get up, I was pinned to the bed.
There apparently wasn’t anything discreet about how Jack left out of my private door. Maggie called my name as I passed reception and asked me to remind Jack about his nativity fitting.
I stumbled over my words while she looked at me, unbothered. I was still reeling when Jack and I just happened to bump into each other in front of the gazebo and share a friendly, neighborly conversation on our walk to the same place that was a total coincidence.
I don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Arthur noticed the neon yellow nuisance near my ass before Jack did. Thanks for not objectifying me, I guess? But also, Arthur, I’m keeping my eye on you.
It’s amazing how it can cling to flexible material on a moving human woman but it can’t cling to the wall I stuck it to.
Jack and I talk in hushed volumes while we eat our lunch.
I lean in close and his foot wedges between mine under the table, and I’m certain that we’re in no way acting out of character or attracting attention.
People who live here are known for minding their own business, right?
That’s what they say about close communities?
I play with the escapee note in my pocket on my way back to Maggie’s. I tell Jack I have a very busy day of scheming ahead of the Santa run and he says okay. Seriously, no questions. Which makes me think the idea of me scheming is not a surprise to him.
The first thing I do when I get back, after putting my bedding in the washing machine, is return Maggie to its rightful home.
Sure enough, three neon-pink squares flutter to the floor like fall leaves. I scoop them up, trying not to scream at their insistence on testing my patience, and squint at the familiar scrawl of my own handwriting.
R AISE P ROFILE
I NCREASE V ISITORS
S PEND M ONEY
Not to sing my own praises too loud, but I feel like I’m on track. If anything I should probably add some more things to the wall, or just directly to my clothes and cut out the middleman.
I restick everything to the wall and close the door before I see them all fall back down and start an online hate campaign against the entire adhesive note industry.
Everything else in this place hits the right side of the algorithm; there’s no reason I can’t have my own viral moment for something I’m passionate about.
I catch my reflection in the mirror next to the closet and I instantly decide, based on the slightly terrifying look in my eyes that I don’t think I’ve seen before, I need to let it go. I think I might be getting too much unpolluted air.
I grab my laptop from the floor and rest it on my thighs, opening up my email inbox.
There’s a handful of toy drive responses that I forward to Dove, emails I’m cc’d on related to the Matilda Brown book event, three “we miss you” emails from food places I haven’t been to recently, and the email chain I have with a regional news station trying to convince them to cover the Santa run.
To say they’re vague and noncommittal is an understatement. It took asking multiple friends of friends and a shameless deep dive on LinkedIn to get this far.
Several stations just gave me a flat-out no. Others said they’re only interested in talking about Davenport. But this one made the mistake of showing a slight bit of interest and asking for a better hook and now I play the role of relentless nightmare in their inbox.
I look at their last reply. A simple “Thanks, Clara. We’ll get back to you.”
Liars. I click reply, again, and quickly draft a polite but firm reminder that tomorrow is the only opportunity to cover the run as well as the toy drive. I press send and close my laptop, placing it on the duvet beside me.
My eyes wander toward my closet. Note frustrations aside, I should really do a thorough recap of my plan.
I slide off the bed onto the floor, open the doors, and practice deep breathing.
My first real action-setting progress here was something I realized because of Jack: people needed to like me to trust me.
Thanks to careful networking and my point-blank refusal to say no to anything that’s come my way, I’m now on a first-name basis with the following key town figures:
Flo. Terrifying in a way that’s inspirational. Could not want her approval more if I tried, and I will be attempting to emulate her fierce energy in every meeting going forward.
Maggie. Saintly but also extremely nosy. Seems to be everyone’s aunt. Impossible to hide things from.
Dove. Sensational source of gossip. Strong supporter of women’s wrongs. Opposite of an almond mom.
Winnie. Lawful good.
Mel. Chaotic neutral.
Tommy. Chaotic good.
Jack. Chaotic evil. Source: seduced me on multiple occasions.
I’m confident that these people like me and I’m hopefully moving into the trust category.
If all goes well with my mom and the flowers, I think I can cross Mel and Winnie off my list. Wilhelmina’s nutcracker is another cross.
Miss Celia is in progress, as is Dove’s toy drive.
The stamp books felt like a step toward crossing Flo off, but I know I still have a long way to go.
If the news coverage happens tomorrow, I’ll be even closer.
Jack is still a question mark because I don’t think sex makes the cut.
Mind-blowing, toe-curling sex, yes, but not enough to get him off the wall. I’ll come back to him.
I stare at it for a bit longer, regretting my decision not to buy string, and dig the pad out of my bedside table with a Sharpie. I write Tommy, Luke , and Arthur on three separate sticky notes and add them to the bottom left.
Arthur needs someone to teach him how to use the newsletter website. Luke is a question mark of where to start because his website is one page but I don’t really know the ins and outs of Christmas tree farming to take on the task myself.
I’ve been thinking about Tommy and his patio aspirations since the first town meeting, making notes here and there when inspiration hit. I have time today to start a presentation that will hopefully elevate his pitch in the eyes of his neighbors.
I know the goal is to have the videos taken down and get my promotion, but when I sit here and stare at my chaos closet, it doesn’t feel like the important thing anymore. The people here do, and the skills and time I can offer to help them feel worth it.
Dare I say I feel appreciated?
I can be determined about two things at once: helping the town and getting my promotion. The problem is, one by default keeps me here, and the other takes me home.
It’s obvious based on the unread work emails stacking up in my inbox and my delayed rescheduling of the check-in I missed when the power went out where my attention is.
Sure, I’ve skimmed certain briefings and responded to a colleague or two asking for advice, but it’s a stopgap until I can return to what’s exciting me.
It’s a balancing act to prevent my desire for one from outweighing the other.
A balancing act I’m not very good at, because right now, helping the town is the only thing I can focus on.