Chapter 24 Amy
AMY
Maybe it’s her sister senses, but Kirstin calls me right as I start my drive back down to Denver. It’s an hour long, and Nathan offered for us to drive together, but I told him to go ahead.
I waited out in front of the bakery until I started to drift off, hoping I’d catch Evan coming into the lodge.
To what? To tell him… what? Even now, I’m not sure I can say anything that he wants to hear. Not sure I can get the words through my lips that would have convinced him I had no idea about this, as much as Nathan made it seem like I did.
When I ignore her first call, Kirstin calls again. So she doesn’t think I’m dead, I ignore the call and send a text instead.
Amy: Driving. What’s up?
Kirstin: Want to get coffee tomorrow morning?
Amy: Not sure, probably have work. I’ll let you know.
The rest of the drive back to Denver passes in silence, my grief and despair wound up so tightly inside me that I’m afraid to even glance at it, or it might expand like one of those mattresses you get in the mail, unfurling and pinning me under its weight.
I have no idea how things went so wrong so quickly.
One second, I was in Evan’s truck with him, laughing and looking forward to the moment we got home, and the next, I was watching him completely close himself up to me.
And even worse than that is the fact that I had a chance to fix things.
All I had to do was be open with him about our relationship and where I saw it going.
And I couldn’t do it.
My problems don’t even stop right there with Evan.
Nathan’s comment about Don makes me think he knows I’ve been in Granite Peaks.
That I haven’t been working as much, in order to spend time up there—does that mean a termination letter is coming?
It’s not like I lied, exactly, but I’ve also been working with Evan to help him keep his place, which is in direct opposition to the company’s interests.
I worry over it for the rest of the weekend, back in my depressingly empty apartment. I wonder about Evan—if I should text him, if he’s going to forgive me. And on Monday morning, not knowing what else to do, I make the walk to the office, heart pumping.
“Good morning,” Don says when I respond to the summons on my desk and come to his office. I take a seat in the chair, wondering why I even bothered coming into work if I knew I was going to be fired.
“Morning,” I return because I can’t get myself to add good to it.
“Well, I suppose we should talk about the Thatcher property,” Don says, his face flat, and I brace myself for the next part—for the lecture about being fired, perhaps even a lawsuit against me for some hidden clause I’ve violated.
Instead, Don leans forward, slapping his palm on the desk and laughing loudly, the grin that spreads over his face alarming enough to me that I jump in my seat.
“It’s great!” he says, shaking his head and sitting back in his seat. “I know you’ve been putting in a lot of work, taking trips up there to try and get us a new angle. Nathan happened to get to it first, with the state angle, but you should know that I see the determination there, Amy.”
My mouth goes dry. A month ago, I would have been rejoicing over this moment. Praise from Don. Even if it’s completely misplaced and he doesn’t really understand why I’ve been going to Granite Peaks every weekend.
“Even though you weren’t the one to get us the in on that property,” Don goes on, kicking his feet up on the desk in the way that infuriates me but that I can’t say a word about. “We’re putting you up for the promotion to case manager.”
“I—” My distaste for his shoes-on-the-desk thing dies away.
They’re putting me up for the promotion.
I wait for it to feel as good as I always thought it might.
Maybe it’s the fact that I know I haven’t been putting in nearly as much effort and don’t really deserve it, or maybe it’s how I’ve become disillusioned with this entire place.
The process of land acquisition, the way we’ve been going about it, is slimy and untenable.
Something I don’t want to be involved in.
But even as I’m having those thoughts, I’m standing up, shaking Don’s hand, thanking him for the opportunity. Walking back to my desk and sitting down, I feel numb.
I should walk out of here right now, start looking for a new job. Something that doesn’t make me feel soulless. But I can’t stop thinking about the look on Evan’s face when he realized what was happening. When he automatically assumed I was a part of it.
Maybe I was stupid in thinking I could be a part of Granite Peaks. That they would accept me—that Evan could so seamlessly fold me into his life. I forgot what I was doing up there in the first place and all the cases I’ve helped with before that.
Even if I’d helped him avoid having his land taken from him, it’s not like that would have absolved me of all the harm I caused while working here, blissfully unaware of just how bad it was.
Slowly, I reach to the other side of my desk, opening up the file with new leads. I open it, glancing at the different properties, settling back into my role and trying to forget pizza croissants, Blue, and the smell of cedar wood from the restoration site.
It’s not like it was ever going to be real, anyway.
“Amy Callaghan! If you don’t come to the door right now, I’m calling the police to do a wellness check!”
Kirstin shouts through the door, and I realize, with a start, that it’s been days since I last responded to one of her text messages. Rising up from the couch—where I’m looking over some spreadsheets for work—I walk to the door and throw it open, staring at her.
She stands in the hallway, her hand raised like she was planning to keep on knocking.
“Oh,” she says, the air whooshing out of her at the sight of me. “What’s wrong, Amy?”
“Nothing,” I deadpan, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “Just trying to get some work done.”
Kirstin’s brow furrows. “It’s Friday. What are you doing home?”
I realize she must have seen my location still here in Denver, rather than making my way up to Granite Peaks.
“Work,” I repeat, clearing my throat and shifting from foot to foot. “Which I should get back to, unless you need something?”
She’s stunned for only a second. “Yes, I need something! I need you to be serious. I need you to not ignore my fucking text messages!”
I should ask her to come inside, to keep from doing this in the hallway, but I’m just so exhausted. And the last thing I need is for Kirstin to see the depression pit I’ve been living in.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I know it doesn’t sound genuine. “I—”
“You missed their recital,” Kirstin hisses, her concern for me melting into fury. Guilt drops into the pit of my stomach—Jordan and Rae’s dance recital. I’d completely forgotten about it. “Do you know how heartbreaking it was to watch them wait for you, only for you never to show up?”
“I—” I open my mouth, not sure what to say, tipping on some precarious ledge between staying numb and plunging, headfirst, into the hurt. And I can’t let myself do that. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot of work to get done.”
Kirstin blinks, baffled, and says, “And how does Evan feel about that? Is he coming here?”
“There’s no Evan and me. There never was.”
Her face softens slightly, but she’s still angry about the recital. Rightly. “I’m sorry, Amy. I know how much you liked him. But you can’t bury yourself in work and pull away from everyone who loves you when you’re upset.”
“Well, I’m sorry we can’t all be like you!” I snap, crossing my arms. “You may have this cozy, perfect life where you don’t have to worry about your career, but I don’t have that luxury, Kirstin.”
She jerks her head back like I’ve slapped her. We stare at each other for a second, and I struggle to keep the feelings at bay, instead focusing on the anger, the numbness.
“Fine,” she whispers, taking a step back, shaking her head. “Just—just call me when you’re not going to bite my fucking head off. Asshole.”
With that, she turns on her heel and walks down the hallway, giving me plenty of time to call her back. To apologize.
But I don’t. Instead, I close myself off, shutting the door, locking it, and walking to the couch, where I sit and wait for tears that never come.