AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I can’t drive anymore. I need to rest my stinging eyes.
I stumble into my hotel bed, and thankfully, my pooch’s bladder calms down enough that she only has to get up once in the night for me to take her potty.
It’s barely even light outside when I start out again.
Things weren’t supposed to be this way. I crank up Destiny’s Child—the band, not the dog—and manage to get through most of the album before the calls start coming through.
“Yes, Angelica, I’m coming back,” I say before she has time to even open her mouth.
The scream on the other end pierces my ear drum. “If we can find a place to put the play on, you’re going to die over the sets,” she says. “They’re so, new-age-meets-1920s.”
“Dori is brilliant. I’m sure they’ll work.”
We talk about sets, actors, and the director for the next half hour until Destiny’s Child is whimpering again. “I gotta stop for the dog. We’ll chat later?”
“I’m so happy you’re coming back,” Angelica says. “But I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and for whatever it is that has you feeling sad, I’m sorry.”
Man, she knows me so well.
I finally embrace the inevitable and call my mother.
“Mom?” I say, willing myself to stay strong.
“Elianna, I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I texted you that I was fine last night.”
“You did, but what’s going on? What happened with the job?”
I gaze out over the sagebrush and red rock landscape. “I couldn’t cut it. It didn’t work out.”
“Sebastian didn’t fire you, did he?”
“No. But he probably should have.”
A sigh, long and deep. “What did you do, Elianna?”
“A couple of mistakes. I ordered the wrong T-shirts and had a scheduling mishap. I don’t know. I just . . . I’m not cut out to be an assistant. Besides, the Capistrano Players are having a crisis of their own.”
“Have you talked to Ethan about this?”
“No.” For some reason, besides Sebastian, he’s the person I dread talking to the most. “And don’t worry, I didn’t leave them in the lurch. My position had become superfluous. They brought in someone else with more experience. I wasn’t really even needed any more.”
“Let us know if we can help with anything,” my mom tells me. I appreciate the sentiment, but any response of substance is forgotten when I see that Ethan is calling.
I get off the phone with Mom.
“Have you talked to Sebastian?” I screw my face up tight, not wanting to hear his answer.
“He called. He’s worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m okay. I gave him a letter.”
“He’s not worried about you quitting, he’s worried aboutyou.”
What kind of level is he worried? Like a person who worries about their neighbor who had their appendix removed? Or like a person he . . . loves?
Because I love him. But I don’t know if he’s ready for that.
