Sadie
A Beguiling Book
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I know I’m on leave, but it’s temporary, supposedly.
And with the program I lead expanding from featuring just one kid last year to multiple this year—I can’t afford to let inquiries pile up or emails go unanswered.
Most bosses would champion this kind of dedication, or at the very least, not deliberately lock you out.
Giving up, I sit my laptop on the hardwood floor and tuck my feet underneath me as I lean back in my mother’s rose velvet wingback chair. Grabbing my coffee from the end table beside me, I sip it gingerly, letting the warmth soothe my nerves.
I get why he did it, but also I don’t. Over the past few days, my mind hasn’t quit analyzing what happened. I had a meltdown, a panic-induced moment that I created entirely on my own through a series of complicated choices. Yet, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
Six years ago, I was fresh out of college and searching for any position that would allow me to use my human services degree, while also not stepping foot in a counseling center.
When the position opened to work with youth in sports, connecting them with opportunities they wouldn’t have otherwise, I knew it would be a great fit.
I wasn’t qualified in the slightest—my only previous athletic experience being the one time I tried track in high school—I lasted less than a week.
Yet, something about it spoke to me—to my need to always be moving, and to have a chance at a life I wouldn’t otherwise afford on my own.
So, I hustled—like I always do—and made sure that the staff conducting my interview knew that they wouldn’t find another candidate who would work harder.
I came to my interview prepared with detailed plans for the programs that would make the biggest difference, research to back up my claims, and the hope that they’d take a chance.
Over the years, I’ve not only grown the program to something revered in professional sports, but I’ve also made it fun.
I’ve connected with families and truly impacted lives.
Hell, what I didn’t tell my family last night is that I’ve neglected any semblance of a social life because a night out could never be as important as making a difference for these kids.
But all of that has led to a near-debilitating pressure that is so heavy it’s almost crushing me under its weight. Keyword, almost.
My phone buzzes against my leg from deep inside the pocket of my robe. I pull it out only to find a message from the one man I wasn’t expecting to hear from.
Levi
Sadie, are you kidding?
Why is he texting me at 6:30 in the morning?
Huh? Going to need a few more details, Coach Montgomery.
Levi
I’ve told you no less than a hundred times to call me Levi.
Text bubbles appear again before I can respond and remind him I’ll never be able to do that. He’s my boss, and as much as he wants me to… my sense of respect won’t allow it.
Levi
Stop trying to get into your work email. It’s called a leave of absence for a reason. Alex reset the password, and she won’t tell me what it is.
Alex knows her future hubby is a softy, even if everyone else doesn’t. I could probably beg or bother him enough to get it out of him if he knew it.
Fine. But can I make you a list? Because there’s a lot going on, and three weeks is too long for an email to go unanswered.
I close my eyes tightly, willing him to give in.
I need this. I need to be able to do this one thing right.
My job is all I have, and while my family thinks this is all a good lesson for me, I’ve worked too hard to let it all slip away in exchange for a Mai Tai on a beach somewhere or completing the puzzle book that’s all but finished.
Levi
Sadie, we never agreed on a timeline, and there’s more to life than working. I had to learn that the hard way. But if a list will help you feel better, call me Monday at 9 to walk me through it.
I choose to ignore the timeframe comment and instead send back a quick thank you, paired with a thumbs up emoji. It’s not the same as doing the job myself, but at least I won’t return to a horde of angry pee-wee coaches and players. That is assuming he lets me come back.
Trudging down the hall, my mind makes a list of all the things I need to do today: a shower, food, planning.
My stomach bellows, practically begging for pancakes from 1793—Beth’s diner.
I need to plan for what I can accomplish while I’m on leave, and what Levi can do in the meantime, but I could do that over a stack with extra syrup.
I feel better already. What’s that saying? Failing to plan is like hoping in one hand, and—nope, that’s not it.
With one foot on the threshold of my room, I stop moving.
How?
The book I shoved in my dresser last night is laid out on my patchwork comforter, but I could swear I didn’t put it there.
"Mom, did you move the book Beth gave me?" I holler down the hall toward her bedroom.
"No, hunny."
How did it get there? Did I pull it out and not remember, or is this thing like my car keys that always seem to be somewhere different than I recall placing them? Could be either, honestly.
Reaching across my bed, I clutch the book, pull open the small drawer on my nightstand, and shove it inside. It takes some effort—there're all sorts of random stuff lingering from my teenage years—hoarder could be my middle name when it comes to anything with sentimental value.
Maybe I should add cleaning out my room and closet to the list.
I head into the bathroom, undress, turn the shower on as hot as it will go, and step into the spray. As the water skates down my body, thoughts of last night flood my mind.
Mom, Mal, and I spent the evening catching up.
Mom confessed to continuing her biweekly frozen food delivery from Schwann’s solely to stare at her delivery driver’s ass in his navy blue shorts.
I’m fairly confident she’s been harboring a secret crush on Bill for the better part of a decade.
Then Mal filled us in on the judgmental PTA moms at Lily’s school.
She apparently isn’t "good enough" because she has a full-time job and can’t volunteer daily, not to mention three other small children—they would hate to see me coming.
Finishing my shower, I turn off the water and step onto the plush green floor mat, grabbing my towel.
My stomach grumbles audibly, but I take my time drying off.
Massachusetts is humid in the summer—all but winter, actually—and while my long hair is pretty manageable, blow-drying it is the only way to ensure it stays frizz-free.
Breakfast, and the rest of my agenda, will need to wait despite my body’s protest.
Roughly an hour, and a full episode of the lady boss podcast I’ve been listening to pass by the time I’m making my way out of the bathroom.
Years of practice still haven’t made me more efficient at the effort it takes to look presentable.
I’m convinced curling irons were made specifically to torture women.
My delayed path to pancakes couldn’t have been stalled by the thirty minutes I sat on the floor punching notes into an app on my phone with ideas for new event marketing.
Or the time I spent looking at all the junk under the sink.
On cue, my phone buzzes with a reminder to take my medication.
I frown at the device while feeling both grateful and a bit like it’s trolling me after the very unnecessary exploration of body sprays I’ve had since seventh grade that I just completed.
Choosing to listen instead of being annoyed, I dig the prescription bottle out of my makeup bag, pop one in my mouth, and steal a sip of water from the sink.
Stepping into my room and tossing my towel on the foot of the bed, once again the book catches my eye. This time it’s lying open to the first clue, near my pillow as if I had been reading it.
"What in the actual hell?" I shout loud enough the neighbors probably heard me.
"Sadie, are you—" Mom rushes in, halting when she finds me in nothing but my birthday suit staring at my bed.
I snatch the towel and cover myself. It’s not like she hasn’t seen it all before, but I’m twenty-eight. I don’t really need my mother to be the first person in way too long to see me naked.
"I’m good. Just thought I saw a spider." The lie sounds as forced as it feels slipping out.
"Good Lord, Sadie." Dee Dee shakes her head at me. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." She shuffles out of my room, and I promptly lock the door behind her.
This is unacceptable. I mean I can’t be losing it enough to have misremembered stuffing it in the bedside table. And frankly, I don’t have time for whatever game this is becoming. Beth must think this is funny—toying with me—but all it’s doing is pissing me off.
Dropping to the floor, I inspect under my bed—nothing but dust bunnies.
I move to the closet with quiet steps, although if someone is hiding, they would have heard my freak-out.
Whipping it open, it’s empty too. Giving up on the notion that she’s physically here, I slip into a pair of panties and a sundress.
The entire time I’m getting dressed, my eyes remain trained on the book.
I grab my crossbody, checking to make sure my wallet and anything else I might need is inside.
There’s a moment where I contemplate bringing my laptop, but the book seems to wobble in its place like the creepy game in that movie with Robin Williams where all the animals appear.
I half expect it to beat with the sounds of an elephant stampede.
I leap toward the bed and grab the book. The leather is buttery yet rough on my fingertips, and a weird sensation travels down my spine. It has to be fear. I’m making this whole thing up in my head, catastrophizing for no reason. Shaking myself, I shove the book into my bag.