Chapter 1
Claire
I wishedI was one of those people who wore anxiety well. Perhaps a coy blush of the cheeks or a cool indifference. Maybe nobody looked good when anxious. Definitely not this lady. My stomach gurgled, and a splotchy flush crept up my neck as I looked out the front curtain facing the street for the tenth time. Outside, the sun set lower in the wide, bright Colorado sky as the days crept toward fall. In the surrounding Rockies, the tallest peaks already had yellowing leaves splattering through the green pines.
“What is it, kiddo?” Dad asked from the laptop where he chatted a thousand miles away in a small suburb of Chicago.
Fear of forgetting to finish a task or missing crucial information kept me pacing from one side of the townhouse to the other.The driveway had been empty. “I don’t know. It’s like that feeling like I left the stove on,” I said.
I pressed a hand to my chatty stomach.
“You always get that way when you come out of a research fugue state,” Dad said. “Your mother was like that.” We shared a quick, soft smile. “I’m sure everything is okay. Maybe still check the stove, though.”
“Once a fireman, always a fireman.”
I’d been so invested in my work for the past few weeks that returning to the world around me felt like returning to an alternate reality where everything looked the same, but the colors were slightly off, or the dresser was not in the same place.
I went to the kitchen and checked the stove. Again. Still off. All the burners too.
“Is it Kevin?” he asked when I wandered back into the room.
“Maybe,” I said. Kevin had been distant lately. Or maybe I had been distant. I was so lost in this article and my research that I wasn’t as available. But he knew this about me already. Our relationship had always worked because we were both so career-minded, and moving in together had meant to bring us closer. Six weeks in, and we were as distant as ever. We could work through it, though. As soon as this article was out, I could breathe and take some time to be more present. “I’m just eager to hear how things went today,” I finished, instead of sharing my relationship woes with my father.
“What time is it there?” he asked, making the “th” of there more like a “d” and the whole word sounding more like “deer.”
There was this old SNL skit where a bunch of Bill Swerski’s Super Fans sit around talking about “Da Bears.” When Dad and his retired firefighter friends were all together, it was like walking into the skit in real time. In this case, the stereotype was completely accurate. Maybe with slightly better cholesterol. I was always struck sentimental when I heard even the smallest hint of a Midwest accent out here.
I shook my head. “Dad. I’ve lived in Colorado Springs for five years?—”
“Five stupid years.”
“I’m always one hour behind you. Take your time. Subtract one. Always.”
“I know. I know. But the time change always messes me up.”
“That’s months away,” I mumbled to myself. It was his way of making me feel smart and like he needed me. It was our thing, and I wouldn’t complain. “It’s September, and it’s six o’clock.”
“Hey. Don’t talk to me in that tone. I taught you how to pull the pin from your first fire extinguisher.”
“I’m just saying.”
“And I’m not nagging on ya. I was just asking if he was there yet because that was the fifth time you’ve checked the front window since you started talking to me,” he said with a pinch of salt.
I turned and propped my balled fists on my hips. “I don’t like the person you become when you win the daily Wordle first.”
“Not only did I win, but I beat you by a whole round,” he said.
“The power has gone to your head.” I took a deep breath in and out and looked around the small townhouse I had movedinto officially a little over a month ago. It still looked and felt like Kevin’s place, as I hadn’t had a chance to get most of my stuff out of storage. This growing sense of insecurity nagged incessantly. My palms itched to pull up my spreadsheets and look through the data I already knew to be true.
“He’s actually leaving that place?” Dad asked about Kevin, rapidly changing the subject.
Nerves curled tighter around my stomach, creating an audible gurgle.
See. Not attractive. Hot Girl Anxiety shouldn’t sound like the sudden need to use the restroom.
“Of course,” I said. “His finance job was always temporary. Why would he choose a soulless corporate job over one where he could help people?” I placed my hand on my stack of folders, overflowing with research, as if to remind myself of its safety.
“And he’s fine with the pay cut from the nonprofit?”
