Chapter 3
I peel out of the parking garage of my office building and onto Randolph Street, taking my anger out on the accelerator as my nails dig into the steering wheel. I always thought they might suspend me, but part of me believed they’d have the guts to stand up for me. What a bunch of cowards.
I fly onto Lake Shore Drive and zoom past the tired commuters meandering down the road.
The late-afternoon sun beats on my left cheek—guaranteed sunburn—while Lake Michigan glistens to my right, big enough to be an ocean.
I steal a glimpse of beachgoers soaking in the sun and playing volleyball.
Nothing beats Chicago in the summer; it’s short, but the impermanence makes it easier to savor.
As I drive, my mind replays my conversation with Tim, hunting for the spot where I went wrong.
What could I have said differently? Did I talk too much, or not enough?
What did Vivek tell them? How could I have played that better?
The questions bubble up like a boiling pot of water, steam pressing against the lid.
I hit the phone button on my car’s console and call my only release valve. My mom will know what to do—she always does.
“Hi, Mom,” I say as she answers.
“Hi, sweetheart. Happy Friday. How’d it go?” Her polished Boston accent is a melody to my ears.
“Ugh.”
“That well, huh?”
“They suspended me.”
A gasp on the other end. “They didn’t.”
“They did. Won’t even let me do my pro bono work.”
“Unbelievable. What was their rationale?”
“Tim said he needed time ‘to investigate’ the issue.” I hit the gas and cut into the left lane.
“What’s there to investigate? You told them what happened, didn’t you?”
“I know, but they’re just covering their ass.” I slap my fingers on the steering wheel, picturing Tim Colby’s smug face.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Bob Bernfeld will be at the conference this week. I’m going to buttonhole him and straighten this whole thing out. I’m pretty sure he’ll listen to the CEO of one of his biggest banking clients.”
“Mom, do not buttonhole the managing partner of Winthrop. The last thing I need is the perception I went crying to Mommy. And who even uses the term buttonhole?”
She laughs. “Old people, that’s who.”
“Where are you seeing Bob Bernfeld?”
“He’s presenting at the Business Roundtable this week.”
“Then definitely don’t talk to him about my situation.”
“All right, I’ll hold tight for now, but if I see him, I can’t be held responsible for what I might say.”
“Fine. Enough about my problems. What are you up to?”
“It’s funny you should ask. Your little leave of absence—”
“Suspension.”
“Tomato, tomahto. Whatever you want to call it, it may have been a blessing in disguise. The Parkers hosted me for a lovely dinner last night.”
My foot eases off the accelerator as fractured memories of Olivia flick through my brain like a projector tripping on film: her shrill scream knifing through the air, the dead thud as her body struck the ground, the paramedics inserting the IV.
But the film is grainy, fragmented, too worn by time to trust.
“Oh,” I say. “How are they?”
“They’re doing quite well. We had a delightful meal at their new house on Lake Minnetonka.”
“In Minnesota?”
“Yes, the Roundtable meeting is at Target headquarters. Anyway, Laelynn and Eric have eight-year-old twins now, and they were just telling me they’re looking for a little extra help when Laelynn heads out to her retreat in the Boundary Waters in a couple of days.
They asked me to extend you an invitation. ”
“They have eight-year-old twins now? Aren’t they a little old?”
“Well, they were so young when they had Olivia, and they got tired of the empty nest. Laelynn was only forty-two, so they gave it a shot, and voilà—two for the price of one.”
I exit onto Fullerton Parkway and glide into my neighborhood.
Lincoln Park’s sidewalks are bursting with yuppies knee-deep in happy hour; it looks like a blast, but you need to have free time and friends to enjoy a happy hour, a perk my job doesn’t offer.
Maybe traveling to Minnesota isn’t such a bad idea.
I certainly wouldn’t be leaving much behind.
“I don’t know, Mom. I haven’t seen them since the State Fair, and I’m not sure they’re going to want to see me.”
“Sweetheart, that was eighteen years ago. And it wasn’t your fault Olivia fell.”
I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of me.
“I know. I just… I could have done more.”
“Charlotte, you know how you told me to tell you when you’re dwelling too much?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re dwelling too much.”
“Message received.”
“Come up to Minnesota. It will be good for you,” she says, her voice casting like a fishing line.
“You and I can eat dinner tomorrow and then boat to the Parkers’ for cocktails.
The house is gorgeous, and it will give you time to escape the work chaos and recharge your batteries.
Plus, their twin girls are absolutely adorable. ”
I pull into the overpriced, undersized parking spot outside my building and kill the engine.
“Let me think about it. And I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Take that as a maybe.”
“All right, sweetheart, I’ve got to run. Have a wonderful evening. Kisses.” She hangs up.
Summer at the Parkers’? I weigh the pros and cons in my head.
Pro: I would love to see Olivia again.
Con: I’m pretty sure Olivia’s mom, Laelynn, hates me.
Pro: Ending my summer at a gorgeous lake house.
Con: Since I’m hopeless with little kids, any babysitting gig quickly turns treacherous.
Pro: Eric Parker was easy on the eyes. I’d be lying if I said he hadn’t crossed my mind—I wonder how he’s aged.
Con: I prefer running away from my past, not revisiting it.
After five minutes of weighing the pros and cons, one thing becomes abundantly clear: I need a drink.