Chapter Three
The ringing in my ears had finally subsided.
The only sound left was the thump, thump, thump, of my tennis shoes hitting the pavement, followed by the predictable rhythm of my breathing.
I looked out across the lake as I ran past, the golden rising sun hitting the water so still it looked like glass.
I smiled to myself. Despite the effort it took to get up so early every morning, the views, the way it made me feel, and the time it gave me to think, it was all incredibly worth it.
I knew I shouldn’t have thrown everything off my counter.
I knew the perfume bottle was going to shatter, and maybe that’s why I did it.
But, whether or not it was on purpose, I knew that wasn’t how I should’ve handled my anger.
The person with control, the control I so often bragged about, would’ve handled her stress with a yoga session, or perhaps a nice evening walk.
She would not have thrown a tantrum that cost two hundred dollars and seeped my bathroom with the smell of lavender regret.
I turned my final corner and stopped at the street in front of my apartment building, sleek and gorgeous as it was.
Martha was standing at the entrance holding two cups and a brown paper bag. She smiled and waved one of the cups erratically when she saw me.
“You’re up early!” I called as I crossed the street.
She shrugged. “I couldn’t let you leave without making sure you were properly packed.”
I smiled, but the last thing I wanted was to chat with Martha and pretend this was going to be the trip of a lifetime. “And you brought breakfast?” The green smoothie I had waiting in my fridge would have to be lunch.
She wiggled the bag. “Bagels! You’re going to need your strength.”
My mother would throw a fit over the saliva that filled my mouth at the thought of a bagel. I laughed uncomfortably. “You’re just too sweet.”
“Shall we?” She said, holding open the door to my apartment building.
I couldn’t help but admire Martha. Though I will admit we did not immediately hit it off.
My first day at the office, Mr. Sterling showed me to my office, which I would share with my team.
The perfect empty desk I was itching to sanitize and organize was across from a tornado.
Martha’s desk had sticky notes and loose sheets of paper covering every unoccupied inch.
She had three almost empty coffee cups, two styrofoam take-out containers, and an endless array of sugar packet wrappers.
Her desk plant had been dead for more than a few months, by the look of it, begging for someone to put it out of its misery as its crispy leaves shed on the carpet.
I was practically growling inside at the thought of sitting across from that mess.
Martha was leaning back in her chair, talking too loudly on the phone. Mr. Sterling introduced me as her new partner. She hung up the phone, without explaining to the person on the other end of the line why, and jumped up. Her hand was sticky as it shook mine.
She apologized for the mess and kept as much as she could on her own side of the desk. I kept to myself most of the day, giving a half-hearted chuckle at her bad jokes, or a polite “no thank you” to her offers of gum, sugar packets, or whatever else she was currently eating.
Lunch time came, and she watched in horror as I pulled a salad from my lunch cooler. She shook her head with a grandmotherly smile and stood, saying she was going out and would be back in an hour.
Seconds after she left, a short man with a big gut pulled up a chair beside me.
It took him all of three seconds before he had his hand on my thigh, slowly moving higher.
Before I could slap him and storm out, Martha was there between us.
She shoved him back and yelled until she was blue in the face.
The man was horrified, though we didn’t stay long.
She picked me up by the elbow and dragged me to Mr. Sterling’s office, where she told him everything that had happened. Mr. Sterling assured us he would take care of the man, and Martha dragged me out of the office.
She paid for my lunch, a salad and a water, despite her interjections about how amazing this restaurant’s hamburgers were, and gave me a big hug before we went back to the office.
Martha never knew that as soon as we got back to the office, I cried in the bathroom for ten minutes and wondered if that’s what it felt like to have a mother.
From that moment on, I stayed late to help her with projects, and we went to lunch two or three times a week. She was the only person I could call a friend.
She practically led the way to my apartment, having been there enough times to earn her own key, and I unlocked the door.
“I hope I don’t smell too bad,” I said, cringing as the words left my mouth. “I’m a little sweaty.”
Martha was taking off her shoes by the door. “Oh, child, I raised teenagers. Nothing can smell as bad as two fourteen-year-old boys sharing a bedroom.”
Martha always had a way of making me feel better about myself or the stupid things I said. “So, what are you going to do without me around the office?” I teased as we made our way to the bedroom, where my suitcase was open and waiting for us.
“This isn’t your first work trip! I survived when you went to Georgia and worked on the peach farm for two weeks.” She was going through my closet, taking out clothes and inspecting them.
“True, but I’ll be gone for a long time.”
“It’s a rodeo tour! They’ll be around the area, and if not, I’m sure they only do the show on the weekends. And you can travel home if you get too lonely.”
“Why aren’t you in charge of this project?” I asked, feeling guilty. “You’ve been at the company way longer than I have and have way more experience with big assignments like this.”
“Experience? Are you calling me old?” She teased, tossing a hanger at me. “Well, if you must know, Craig asked who I would recommend.”
It took me half a second to realize she meant Mr. Sterling. “And you suggested me? Why?”
She frowned at my clothes. “Because of this.”
“I beg your pardon?” I gave her a weird look, shoving my underwear in one of the suitcase pockets. “Because of my clothes?”
She threw her arms out, gesturing to the whole room. “Because Agri-Corp wants someone to get embedded in the tour, to know them, to get down and dirty.”
There was that phrase again, the one that made my stomach flip-flop.
“Allegra, when was the last time you went dancing?”
I laughed. “Dancing? Probably on my dad’s toes when I was two. How about you?”
“Last week!” She launched herself on the bed while I packed socks and shoes. “Jeff,” her husband, “made me a wonderful dinner, picked out some heels, and we went country swing dancing for three hours!” She was practically yelling.
“You two are cute.”
Martha practically growled, her gray curls cascading over my pillows.
“Sweetheart, you are in your twenties, you are supposed to be breaking the rules, staying out all night, dancing in the rain, whatever! You act like you’re in your eighties.
I suggested you for this because you need to break out of your rhythms. Nail this project like I know you will, and you will make the best marketing director the company has ever seen. ”
I tried not to be irritated. “What if I truly enjoy my life?”
“When was the last time you laughed so hard you snorted?” She retorted, watching me fold a ninety-dollar blouse.
I shrugged, no longer in the mood to smile.
“Exactly. You’re not truly enjoying your life until the joy is so big it completely crowds out the worry.”
Her words made me drown in melancholy. I did my best not to glance at the dusty box in my closet. “Poetic. Is that on a throw pillow in your house?”
She hesitated. “Possibly, but that only makes it more true.” Her hand was on mine, rubbing my knuckles with her thumb.
“Allegra, I hope I’m not overstepping here; my kids always accuse me of that, but it’s because I love them and you.
I want you to view this trip as an opportunity to find what makes you happy. ”
I gave her a grateful grin, knowing her big heart was in the right place. “You’re not overstepping,” I lied. “I appreciate the way you look out for me, Martha.”
“Then can I offer you one piece of advice?”
I shrugged, knowing she was going to give it to me whether I wanted it or not.
“Kiss a few cowboys out there. Mhm, there’s nothing like the lips of a rugged, dirty country man.”
My jaw dropped open. “I beg your pardon, Martha! It sounds like you’re speaking from experience. And, may I remind you, I am practically an engaged woman.”
She picked up a black lace bra off my bed and threw it at me. “I beg your pardon! Practically engaged with that wet blanket? Just think about it and trust your Martha.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
~~~
“Can I get you anything to drink, ma’am?”
I looked up from my laptop sitting on the flimsy tray table. “Sparkling water, thank you.”
The flight attendant nodded and handed me a blue bottle before moving on to the next row.
The bubbles from the water shook me from my cloudy state and brought me back to the screen in front of me. Mr. Sterling had emailed me everything I could need to know about Agri-Corp.
He was right, they needed our help.
They were the main sponsor for this rodeo tour, and yet their social media engagement was pitiful.
Their posts were probably made by one of the CEO’s daughters in her free time.
They were way too colorful, used stock images, and were slightly blurry.
The last post, which was put up two days before, had four likes.
Their statistics on the average customer age-group were incredibly high. I understood that these men were loyal farmers in the small towns where rodeos thrived, but marketing was about the rising generation.