Chapter 10 Becoming Herself Again
Monday morning Rowena calls me into her office.
I close the door behind me and sit in the chair across from her desk.
She has a folder open in front of her and she's looking at it with an expression that I recognize.
It's her "I have good news" expression. She gets it whenever the department budget is approved or a records preservation grant comes through.
"Brook," she says. "I'm going to be direct.
The city is creating a new position. Records Supervisor.
It's a step above your current role. You'd oversee the entire Records Department including any future staff additions.
You'd have final authority on all archival decisions and you'd be the department liaison to the County Archives. "
I sit very still.
"I'm telling you about it now because I think you should apply. The posting goes live next week but I wanted to give you a heads-up because you're the most qualified person in this building for the job."
"Thank you, Rowena. That means a lot coming from you."
"I'm not saying it to be nice. I'm saying it because it's true.
You've been doing the work of a supervisor for years without the title or the pay.
The preservation project alone would justify the promotion.
But your overall performance and your institutional knowledge of this department make you the obvious candidate. "
I thank her again and walk back downstairs feeling something I haven't felt in a long time. Ambition. Not the quiet background hum of wanting more that I've been ignoring for years. Actual ambition. The feeling that something is within reach and I'm capable of getting it.
Three years ago Rowena offered me a similar opportunity.
Not this exact position but something close.
A role that would have given me more responsibility and a higher salary.
I turned it down because Kirk said the schedule would make things difficult for us.
He said the extra hours would mean less time together and that he needed me to be available.
I accepted that reasoning because I loved him and because I thought our relationship was more important than my career advancement.
I gave up a promotion for a man who was spending our savings on hotel rooms with another woman. The absurdity of it hits me so hard that I have to sit down at my desk and take a few deep breaths.
Roger looks up from his filing. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. Rowena just told me about a new position."
"The Records Supervisor job? I heard rumors about that. You're going to apply right?"
"I'm going to apply."
Roger nods with satisfaction. "Good. You deserve it. This department would fall apart without you and we both know it."
"Thank you, Roger."
"I'm just being honest. You know how I feel about historical accuracy."
I spend the rest of the morning working and thinking about the application.
I'll need to update my resume. Write a cover letter.
Prepare for an interview. All things I haven't done in eight years because I've been comfortable in my current role.
Comfortable and stagnant. Those two things are closer together than I ever realized.
At lunch I text Ross about the position. He responds immediately.
That's incredible. You should absolutely apply. You'd be perfect for it.
Then a second text: When you get it we should celebrate. Notice I said when not if.
I smile at my phone and put it away. I don't need his validation to know I should apply. But it's nice to have someone who encourages me without conditions. Without caveats. Without the unspoken implication that my success might inconvenience them.
After work I drive home and change into old clothes.
The backyard has become my project space.
The garden bench sits on the patio looking gorgeous and solid.
The tomato plants along the fence are producing more fruit than I can eat alone.
The flower bed by the front steps is bright with petunias and marigolds.
But the patio itself still needs work. The concrete is cracked in two places.
The area around it is bare dirt that turns to mud when it rains.
I want to fix it. Not for anyone else. For me.
I spend the evening drawing rough plans for the patio renovation.
I want to extend the concrete pad by about four feet and add a border of flagstone.
I want to build a small raised bed for herbs near the back door.
Maybe string some lights overhead for evenings.
None of it is expensive or complicated. It's just a matter of doing the work.
Kirk never wanted to work on the house. Every time I mentioned a project he'd say "Why bother?
We're going to move eventually." Eventually.
That word carried so much weight in our relationship.
Eventually we'll buy a house. Eventually we'll get married.
Eventually we'll start the life we keep talking about.
Eventually turned out to mean never. It just took me nine years to figure that out.
I pull out my laptop and start working on my resume.
I haven't updated it since I applied for my current position eight years ago.
I go through it carefully and add everything I've done since then.
The records digitization project I completed three years ago.
The archive reorganization that reduced retrieval times by forty percent.
The community outreach program where I helped residents access historical property records.
The current preservation project with the County Archives. All of it documented. All of it real.
It feels good to see my accomplishments laid out on paper.
I've been so focused on what I lost with Kirk that I forgot to look at what I've built on my own.
Eight years of consistent professional work.
Thousands of records processed and preserved.
Relationships built with residents and attorneys and title companies who depend on my accuracy and reliability.
A reputation within City Hall for being thorough and competent and trustworthy.
Kirk didn't give me any of that. I earned it myself. Every bit of it.
My phone buzzes while I'm working on the resume. It's Fiona. I answer immediately because Fiona doesn't call unless it's important.
"Brook. Kirk's attorney responded to my letter today."
"Kirk has an attorney?"
"He retained one this week. A man named Dale Weston from a firm in Bridgeport.
The response is what I expected. He's contesting the amount of the withdrawals and claiming that the joint savings was used for shared expenses.
He's also claiming that some of the credit card charges were for items you both benefited from. "
"That's not true. I didn't benefit from hotel stays I didn't know about."
"I know. And we can prove that. His attorney also proposed a settlement. Kirk is offering to assume responsibility for sixty percent of the credit card debt and to reimburse you for five thousand dollars from the savings account."
"Five thousand? I put in over twenty-three thousand."
"I know. That's why I'm not recommending you accept.
His offer is inadequate. He withdrew nearly twenty-eight thousand dollars over eighteen months.
He spent money on personal expenses using cards with your name on them.
He created debt that you're legally responsible for.
Five thousand dollars and sixty percent of the card debt does not reflect the actual damage. "
"What do you recommend?"
"I'm going to counter with a demand for full reimbursement of your savings contributions minus the current balance.
That's approximately seventeen thousand dollars.
I'm also going to demand that he assume one hundred percent of the credit card debt that he personally incurred.
If he doesn't agree we'll proceed to formal mediation. "
"And if mediation doesn't work?"
"Then we consider litigation. But we're not there yet. Most people cooperate once they realize that a judge will see the same evidence I've seen and reach the same conclusions."
I thank Fiona and hang up. I sit at the kitchen table and look at my resume on the laptop screen.
On one side of my life I'm applying for a promotion I deserve.
On the other side I'm fighting to recover money that was stolen from me by someone I trusted.
The contrast between the two is sharp and clarifying.
I can't control what Kirk does with Fiona's counter-offer.
But I can control what I do with my career.
And right now my career needs my attention more than Kirk deserves it.
I spend the rest of the week polishing the application. Amanda proofreads my cover letter and suggests a few changes. Rowena offers to serve as a reference. Roger tells me twice that I'm going to get the job and the second time he says it with enough conviction that I almost believe him.
On Saturday Ross comes over and we work on the patio together. He arrives at nine with two coffees from Barlow's and a roll of graph paper from the archives supply closet.
"For the layout," he says, handing me the paper. "If you're going to plan it you should plan it right."
We spend the morning measuring the existing concrete pad and sketching the extension on graph paper.
Ross is precise about measurements. He uses a tape measure and a carpenter's level and he marks everything twice before writing it down.
I help him calculate how much flagstone I'll need for the border.
We figure out drainage angles and material quantities and I write everything in a notebook that I've started keeping specifically for house projects.
"This is the first time I've planned a home project on paper before starting it," I say. "Usually I just figure it out as I go."
"That works for small things. For something this size you'll save time and money with a plan."