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My anger was heavily laced with regret. I hated that I felt so undeserving of everything I had, and that because of it I’d sabotaged the things that meant the most to me. But I had no idea how to change what I felt. Right or wrong, the emotions were real.
“I stare at that one every morning when I get in.” Nelson, the shelter manager, slapped me on the back as he came to stand next to me. “How you been, Chase?”
“Hanging in there.” By a thread. “You?”
“Not too bad. Not too bad. I’m so sorry, man. Some crazy shit, cops finding out after all this time that it was Eddie, huh?”
I tensed but somehow managed to nod.
“Unfortunately, a lot of our patrons have mental health issues.” He pointed his chin toward the family finishing off their breakfast. “Families down on their luck because someone lost a job are a small part of our service these days. Every day we see more and more people who should be getting mental health treatment. But even when they do, they get spit out after a few days of observation because insurance won’t pay for more or they don’t have insurance in the first place.”
“How’s anyone supposed to feel safe in here?”
“In here is where it is safe. It’s when they walk outside these walls that they can’t manage the things going on in their head. We lose a dozen knives and a half-dozen forks every week. Makes me wonder what they’re doing with them on the street.”
I stared at him. He couldn’t possibly know the knife Eddie used had come from me. Detective Balsamo came to me after she’d interviewed the shelter workers. Plus, if there was one thing I knew about her, she didn’t give out anything that wasn’t necessary for people to know.
“Nelson!” a man called from the kitchen.
“Gotta finish up breakfast. Good to see you, Chase. Don’t be a stranger.”
He slapped me on the back and began to walk away. Turning back, he called to me. “Have a framed picture of Peyton in the back. Think I’m going to hang it there next to her quote.”
He lifted his chin in the direction of the framed poster in front of me. Peyton’s was the last in the line of inspirational quotes, the only one I hadn’t read.
Don’t focus on the what ifs. Focus on what is.
***
That afternoon, I felt like a stranger showing up at my own office—like I should’ve called ahead to let people know I was coming, even though I own the company and have no one but myself to answer to. At first, people were hesitant to approach me, which worked to my benefit since I really had no desire to make idle small talk.
The pile of messages and emails I found would take a week to return. I specifically left the blinds drawn to attract as little attention as possible while I worked, but, of course, that didn’t stop Sam. The woman was a bloodhound with my scent in her nose.
“You look like shit.”
She should have seen me before I showered and shaved a little while ago.
“Nice to see you, Sam.”
“Are you back for good?”
“I’m working on something at night. I’m not sure how much I’ll be in.”
“Oh? A new product?”
Years of dating had taught me the art of avoidance when being pinned down. “Have you found someone for the vacant IT director position yet?”
“I have a few candidates. But I’ve been busy…trying to fill an open marketing position.”
She could open the door all she wanted. I wasn’t walking in. Not today.
“Good. Glad to hear it. Not paying you to sit on your ass all day.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I like obnoxious, sober Chase better than drunk, nice Chase.”
We talked for another ten minutes. Sam filled me in on some personnel stuff and rates she was negotiating with a new insurance carrier. When my phone buzzed on my desk, I caught the time. I was going to be late to Reese’s if I didn’t get moving. Surprising me, Sam took the hint when I started to shut down my computer and pack up some files. I’d assumed she was going to take another run at my personal life.
“Well, I’ll let you go.”
“Thanks, Sam. I’m kind of in a rush to get out of here.”
She took a few steps toward the door and then turned back. “Oh. One other thing.”
Here it comes. “What’s that?”
“Pink Cosmetics wants a reference on a former employee. They asked to speak to you personally. John Boothe from Canning and Canning is the VP now. Remember him?”
“I do. Good guy. Sure, I’ll give him a call.”
“I’ll text you the number.”
“Thanks. They’re in Chicago, right?”
“Yes. Downtown.”
“Who left New York and relocated to Chicago?”
“No one…yet.”
We locked eyes. Mine asked the question, even though I already knew the answer.
