Page 23 of Working for Him

"I won't. I just need a few hours."

The next morning, still turning the decision over, I end up at Kincaid's, which doesn't make sense given that it's the last place I want to be seen falling apart, but my truck seems to have driven itself there out of habit and I don't have the energy to argue with it.

The diner's quiet at this hour, just a couple of regulars in the back booth and Marlene behind the counter, already pouring a mug before I've fully sat down.

"You look like a woman who got some bad news," she says, setting it in front of me without being asked.

"That obvious?"

"Honey, I've been reading faces across this counter for thirty years. Yours is an open book today." She leans against the register, arms crossed. "Heard the council's cutting your contract."

"Small town."

"Very small town. You want to talk about it, or you want to sit here and let your coffee get cold while you stare at the wall?"

I laugh despite myself, the sound cracking a little at the edges. "I don't know which one I want."

"Fair enough. I'll give you both options." She refills a regular's mug without looking, a skill I'm starting to think everyone in Forge Creek has, then comes back to lean on the counter across from me. "For what it's worth, I've watched a lot of people blow through this town. Consultants, inspectors, engineers, all of them here for a season and gone before the leaves turn. You're the first one who ever noticed my hands shake in the mornings and asked if I was okay instead of just ordering your coffee and moving on."

"I didn't think anyone noticed me noticing."

"I notice everything. It’s an occupational hazard." She studies me for a long moment. "You're thinking about running. I can see it on you the same way I could see it on Caleb's mother twenty years back, right before she left and took half his childhood with her."

The comparison lands like a slap, gentle but precise. "I'm not his mother."

"No, but you're standing at the same fork she stood at, and I'd hate to watch you take the same road just because it's the one you know how to walk." She pours herself a small cup, more out of habit than thirst. "That boy's been guarded since the day she left. I’ve watched him build walls for years. Then you walked in here that first morning, ordered your coffee strong enough to strip paint, and I thought, well, there's someone who might actually get past them."

"I'm scared, Marlene."

"Good, it means it matters." She reaches across the counter and pats my hand, brief and businesslike, and the closest thing to a hug I think she's capable of giving in public. "Scared's not the same as wrong. You go ahead and be scared, just don't let it drive the truck."

I sit there a while longer after she moves off to handle the regulars, turning her words over, and by the time I finish my coffee, some of the weight in my chest has shifted, just slightly, into something I can actually carry.

I end up at Black River Overlook, the place where this started to become real. The morning is cool and gray. Do I stay or go? Risk or safety?

Going is familiar. Clean, simple. It keeps me from having to face the vulnerable reality of committing to something permanent. Staying means trusting this is solid enough to be worth it.

My phone buzzes. Lila.

Lila:

Heard about your contract. I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I fought against it. You deserved better.

The unfairness burns in my chest. I saved this project from catastrophic failure multiple times, and my reward is being dismissed for refusing to rubber-stamp bad decisions.

Another text, from Caleb.

Caleb:

Whatever you decide, I'm here. Not going anywhere.

The simple declaration makes my throat tight. He's offering exactly what I've spent years telling myself I don't need.

I sit there for a long time, watching the river, thinking about currents and resistance, and about the difference between going with the flow and actually choosing a direction. By the time I drive back to his place, I still don't have a decision, but I have something closer to clarity about what the actual question is.

It's not whether I'm capable of staying. It's whether I'm brave enough to try.

CHAPTER 15