Page 6 of Watching Her

Penelope

“Don’t forget, baby girl, that you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Oh, Daddy. Don’t leave me.”

With tears in his eyes, he managed to squeeze my hand. The once powerful man now appeared weak. He’d been my rock, my champion. My mother and father. He’d been the one to tend to my wounds after I fell off my bike. He’d read to me, including the same ridiculous story I’d loved so much any time I asked.

He’d schooled me on taking care of myself. How to balance a checkbook and how to add air to my tires. When I’d been older, he’d insisted I knew how to change a flat. And he’d schooled me on boys, never backing down that boys didn’t become men until in their thirties and that most men could never be trusted.

“Oh, my little shiny Penny, I would give anything to stay with you.” As he coughed, I squeezed his hand harder.

If only I could provide a tether between us that wouldn’t allow him to leave. “I love you.”

“Ah, honey.” His whisper was hoarse, soon to be inaudible. As he wiped a tear away, all the years we’d shared came crashing down. “Just remember, when one door closes, another will open. And I know you. You’ll push your way through. You’re just like your mother. And so beautiful.”

When one door closed, another opened.

It had been a motto I’d tried to live by. Even after eleven years, the pain could hit me at the strangest times, the despair almost overwhelming.

Why today was beyond me other than the reality of losing my job had finally begun to hit home.

“If you don’t help me, I will kill myself. I have a sharp knife ready to drive into my jugular vein. Plus, I’m ready to jump off the bridge. But in the meantime, the pills will soon kick in. I’ll face an agonizing death from asphyxiation, but the pain will be less traumatic than dealing with an angry mob.”

With my eyes closed, I reached for my coffee and realized the cup was empty. It was still early in Louisville so I couldn’t imagine what time it was in Anita’s part of the world. My brain was so foggy, I couldn’t remember where she’d moved to. Montana or Wyoming. Maybe Texas.

For whatever reason, the ugly memory had created a crater in my heart. Maybe because I’d finally decided to give up searching for another hospitality position, determined to concentrate on the little side job I’d created for myself, hoping to turn it into something more tangible.

And capable of paying at least some of the bills.

At this point, I couldn’t get a job cleaning rooms in a hotel. Whatever lies had been told about me had been successful. Just last night, I’d decided to turn my back on the industry forever. Now I was being asked to use my expertise to help a friend.

What would my father have told me?

Maybe another door was about to open.

“I’m no expert on suicide,” I told her as I trudged into the kitchen, the coffee monster calling my name.

Cof-fee. Cof-fee…

“But I think one method will likely be enough. Although my guess is you’ll chicken out before the tip of the blade is driven into your skin. Very messy and talk about painful.” I fought hard to keep from laughing. And people had told me I was dramatic.

“I’m serious!” Hearing her shrill cry, I pulled the phone away from my ear.

“Okay, what is going on?” Open cabinet, pull out flavored coffee. Yes, the timer on the Keurig machine had worked for a change. I’d been ready to pound it with a sledgehammer.

“You remember the huge and I do mean huge romance book conference I’m half in charge of?”

“Vaguely.” I was lucky I could remember my own name. Open lid on Keurig machine and pop a pod in. Hit go. There, my big accomplishment for the day.

“In San Diego at the incredibly gorgeous Tempest Grand I booked almost two years ago? We have somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty-five hundred people coming with a wait list of hundreds? And that’s happening in five days. Five. Days! There can’t be any hiccups. My reputation is on the line. What am I saying? Romance readers are ravenous beasts. They’ll hunt me down like a raw filet on a stick.”

Oh, yes. How could I forget? She’d peppered me with questions about the hotel while booking the event. While I was still gainfully employed. Visions of the redhead being chased by crazed women with spears would burn a hole in the back of my mind. “I remember, girl. What about it?”

“What about it?” Her screech was even louder. “Now, they’re saying they can’t accommodate all the events already planned or the number of guests. Are you fucking kidding me? It’s next week. I’m having a heart attack. Call 9-1-1.”

Anita Wray was a sweet girl, which was why she should never have tried to undertake a convention of this magnitude. She should have left the job to the experts. Namely, bitches in heels. I qualified, which was why she’d called me.

“First of all, calm the fuck down. Second, you do have a contract. Right? Please tell me that you do.”