Chapter 30 #3
And then I remember, I have internet! And while I would have bet good money that a night back at home would have me walking around the neighborhood and taking in the city skyline, followed by Netflixing my little heart out, turns out I’m more in the mood to work on the lost and found.
Having expected a whirlwind of social engagements, I didn’t bring my binder, but there are plenty of messages and comments to catch up on.
I even get a hit—a family Bible claimed by someone so diligent as to link me to their Ancestry.com page to show me they’re legit.
The ones who save me from asking all the questions and trying to research it myself are my kinda people.
When a glance out the front window shows me Nancy and Bob climbing in the ’Vette out front, I take the opportunity to order a pizza. Now that’s something I’ve missed—pizza delivery. I even order two—one to take back to Lost and Found to be reheated.
As day slowly turns to night, I get a lot done—but I find myself easily distracted by every little noise outside. And irritated by seeing so many people out on the brick sidewalk that lines the riverbank, even though the historic neighborhood has always drawn a lot of visitors.
When fireworks explode over Great American Ball Park directly across the Ohio, indicating the Reds hit a home run, I flinch at the loud annoyance. I used to love that—it always seemed so festive—but now it’s suddenly more of a nuisance.
Ugh, how do I not love my home right now?
I’ve always loved my home.
This makes no sense.
Coming back here was supposed to make everything feel better, not worse.
And when I finally close my laptop, caught up on lost-and-found business and having eaten my fill of pizza, I have no choice but to quit distracting myself and deal with all the cold, hard truths smacking me in the face right now.
I open the door and step outside into brightly lit night.
Walking across the street, I sit on a wooden bench next to a statue also seated there, of James Bradley, an abolitionist who bought himself out of slavery and went on to study with Harriet Beecher Stowe’s father in Cincinnati.
The statue is life size, and I lean my head over on his shoulder as I gaze at the city lit up across the river from me.
Can I take the job being offered to me? And if I don’t, what else will I do? Try to get an anchor job in another city? If that sounded exciting to me, I’d think: yeah, maybe. But the truth is that, instead, it just sounds ... exhausting. And I’m tired enough already.
I weigh the pros and cons.
Here, I’m a public persona, a local celeb, and I enjoy some fanfare.
But I’m also truly passionate about the work—I enjoy delivering the news, connecting with the public, interacting with my coworkers.
I’ve always loved the exciting environment, and the fact that I’m quick on my feet, good at addressing problems as they arise.
And the truth is, even as awful as the hours are, Kevin’s right—the Cockadoodle Crew guys are very popular and get a similar level of fanfare—they just have awful hours and fall lower in the hierarchy.
Would I miss that fanfare? Would I miss being someone people see as accomplished? Would I miss the challenges?
And what if, ultimately, the answer to those questions is no? What if I decided that the easy pace, the kind people, the simpler fulfillment I’ve discovered as part of a quieter existence this summer are actually things I want more of? What then?
I sit with Mr. Bradley awhile. Part of me wants to just curl up in a ball someplace where the wind can’t whip me around anymore.
But a stronger part of me, a part that suddenly isn’t about armor so much as—to my surprise—about .
.. hope, considers what I know about James Bradley, how he took a situation over that he had no control of and found a way out of it.
How he then helped others figure out how to take control of their lives, too.
Sometimes in life we just need a push that points us in the right direction.
“Thanks, Mr. B.,” I whisper in his statue ear before I get up and walk calmly back across the street to my half mansion that, while just as grand as ever, doesn’t feel so idyllic to me anymore.
The next morning I wake up not from a cat walking on me, but in response to a randomly honking horn somewhere down the street. And with that awakening comes a fresh sense of clarity.
I reach for my phone and text Sydney. I’m so sorry—don’t kill me, but I have to cancel.
What’s going on?
I’ll call you later.
Are you okay?
I quickly reply, Yes. Better. Better than I thought I was.
What are you talking about? You’re worrying me.
I’m sorry—I promise to explain. But all is well. Like I said, better than I even knew. I’m starting to get some much-needed clarity about lots of things.
What things?
Myself. My life. What I want. Who I want to be.
So basically, nothing important.
I laugh at that one and promise again to call her in a couple of hours.
Then I get dressed—in my Walmart sundress—and drive back to WRTB. I don’t bother with the hat today. I think I’m tired of bothering with things when it comes to this TV station. I walk in, all business, and head straight into Kevin’s office.
His eyebrows shoot up, understandably, at yet another unannounced visit. It’s probably getting annoying, but I don’t let that deter me from my mission. “I’d like to buy your grandma’s cottage.”
His jaw goes slack. “You what ?”
“I’d like to buy it. I want to move to Lost and Found. Which is to say, I’m turning down the Cockadoodle Crew. I don’t want to go backward, Kev. And to my great surprise, Lost and Found suddenly feels like moving forward—just in unexpected ways.”
He looks utterly confused—by all this. But I watch him pull himself together, and rather than reply to everything I’ve just said, he instead announces, “I have good news. I was literally just about to call you. Tiffany resigned—she just accepted a job offer in Portland. They want you back at evening anchor.”