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Haley
* * *
“I still think I’m forgetting something, I swear.”
“Your toothbrush,” Jessica chirps through the video chat and my eyes widen. Jeez, how could I forget that? I groaned and face-palmed, running to the bathroom while she laughed at me. I’ll admit, I’m kind of forgetful sometimes which is all the more reason for me to be extra diligent now. After all, I can’t afford to mess up this opportunity.
“What would you do without me?” Jessica asked rhetorically with a triumphant smile.
“Ugh, yeah, yeah.” I quickly stuffed my toothbrush – which was now in its case – into the corner of my suitcase. “I’m on my way to my first real job and I’m already forgetting the essentials.”
“Hey, you deserve this, girlfriend!” Jess said, trying to lift my mood. “You’ve worked hard, and you have a college degree in Creative Writing too. It’s just the economy that’s shit. It’s not your fault you’ve been a dog walker for the last year or so.”
I grimace because even though I’m not the most ambitious person out there, still no one gets a college degree just to walk dogs after they graduate. Not that I hate my job. If anything, I love my canine friends and my heart warms whenever the puppies jump and yip as I open the door. But still, this isn’t what I envisioned when I strolled across the stage in my cap and gown.
But it is what it is. Since graduating from Oregon State a year ago, the job hunt has been hard. More than hard actually, it’s been absolutely brutal. Before I even realized it, multiple rejection letters were piling up in my dorm room. I was filling entire recycling bins by myself because it was that bad.
But even worse, the rejections overwhelmed my psyche, and were a devastating blow to my self-esteem. For a while, I started thinking I wasn’t good enough to be a writer, editor, or even a proofreader of any sort. Thankfully, I had great friends who pushed me to keep trying and moving forward, and now, it’s paid dividends because I’ve been hired by People Assist, an employment agency, to be the personal assistant to a famous author. They wouldn’t tell me who the author was, but assured me she’s world-renowned for her scintillating novels and storytelling prowess. Not just that, but her books have hit the New York Times and Washington Post bestseller lists multiple times. After hearing that, I was sold. I need a job, and this is my foot in the door, even if I don’t know who I’m working for yet.
“Haley!” My mind snapped back to reality, looking at Jessica and her stern expression. “Hello? Back to Earth, girlfriend.”
“Sorry…”
My buddy giggles.
“You did that thing where you go into your weird fantasy world again, leaving us mortals here on the corporeal plane,” she noted. “Besides, I know you don’t think it’s strange, but I think your employment agency is super weird. What kind of company doesn’t tell you the name of your boss? It’s sketchy, I tell you because People Assist is sending you to a cabin in the woods where anything, and I mean anything, girlfriend, can happen.”
I sigh.
“I hear you, but I don’t really have a choice,” I say ruefully. “Unless I want to keep hanging out with Puddle, Rover, and Josh the Newfoundland on Tuesdays for their walks.”
Jessica sighs too.
“No, you’re right. I’m just saying,” she muses. “You’re so talented, Hales! It’s bizarre that it’s come down to this.”
I merely shake my head.
“The agency just said that the author’s very private and hates the press. Plus, she’s working on a new book and needs peace and quiet to focus on it, and that’s why she’s at her cabin in Timberline. I can respect that. I also need solitude whenever I want to write, not that you ever gave me that when we were at school.” Suddenly, I check the time and realize I need to jet. “Hey, I have to go, Jess. I’ll call you when I get there?”
My friend nods, her brown curls bobbing.
“Sure thing. But if I don’t hear from you in three hours, I’m calling the cops.” I laugh, shaking my head and smiling at my crazy and overprotective friend.
After hanging up, I close my suitcase and get into my car, revving the engine of the little compact. “Do you think you can make it?” I ask the beat-up Civic. “It’s about a hundred miles, but I promise, you can take a break after we get there.”
After all, my Civic is trusty, but she’s old. Her paint is peeling off in places, and I had to seal the left rear-window closed with duct tape. But she’s my car, I’m fond of her, and we’ve been a lot of places together. With that, I begin the drive, humming merrily as we pull onto the road.
