Midlife Do Over

“Graze will be just fine.”

“Eventually. This town has a long memory, especially when powerful men gang up on a woman just protecting herself from physical abuse.” This town, I learned the hard way, also had a low tolerance for tattletales, which apparently I was. Twelve interviews in two months had resulted in nine different versions of, “don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Three at least had the guts to tell me they didn’t want the publicity of hiring the infamous Leg of Lamb Lady.

It was all vague promises that meant nothing, which meant I was done in Chicago.

Josh smiled smugly. “I’ve had a few calls for references.”

“Yeah and you told them nothing but lies. Thanks for that.” I held my hand out in a gimme motion. “I’ll have my checks now, though.”

That wiped the stupid smug smile on his face. “Hope this money is worth the damage you caused.”

“You made your choice first, Josh. Remember that. When this place starts to circle the drain, think about the fact that you were happy to keep a man with a history of physically abusing his employees, his coworkers and his girlfriends, over a loyal employee. I hope that thought keeps you warm at night.”

Josh let out a long, exhausted sigh that told me I’d hit the mark. “Severance,” he said and pushed the check across the table. “And settlement check.”

“Thanks. And I won’t hold it against you that you tried to make me homeless by withholding my severance pay for two months. But I will wish upon the first shootin’ star I see that you get exactly what you have coming to ya. Later.” I pushed away from the table and turned on my heels, stoic attorney at my side, and walked away with my head held high.

“You did great.”

The attorney speaks! I looked up at him with a wide grin and held out my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Griffith. You made this entire process less scary than I imagined.”

There was a flash of a smile on his lips before it disappeared. “You didn’t need my help, but this case put me on the radar of the partners, so thank you.”

“Good luck.”

“Same to you.” Inside the parking garage, we went our separate ways and I ignored the shakiness of my legs and let out a long sigh as I looked over the railing and out to the city, gray and drizzling. Even horrible weather couldn’t stop Chicago from moving forward. It was one of the things I loved about this place. It’s why I’d made it my second home. Fifteen years, three fine dining establishments and one chain restaurant job under my belt, but now I was leaving this place behind.

It didn’t feel right to leave under these conditions, but thanks to Paul Renault, the whole city knew the truth, that I wasn’t some emotionally abusive basket case. A hot head, he’d called me, which was just as bad for a front of house manager, so it was still the kiss of death. Temporarily, anyway. So, instead of working my way back up in this city, I decided to leave. To pack up my bags, my apartment, my whole life and head back home, to Carson Creek.

Tennessee here I come!

I hadn’t been home in more than five years. It was too risky. My heart still too fragile. More than twenty years had passed since the love of my life had told me he was leaving town, without me, and still it was too raw. It didn’t help that memories of him were all over the town. Wild child made good was a great redemption story in a town that craved a happy ending.

Now, avoidance was, well unavoidable. I could only hope that luck was on my side and he was on some stage on the other side of the world. Of course, he would be back—eventually—and I would deal with that, with him when the time came.

But on top of my priority list was finding a job. A place to live and a paycheck. At forty, I was right back where I started. No, I was worse off than when I was a brokenhearted eighteen year old, because at least then I was running towards a new future, a new life. A new, unknown adventure.

Now I just felt as if I was moving in reverse. Going back home with no job, no prospects for a job, divorced after a short-lived marriage, and my tail between my legs. It felt like failure.

A big fat freakin’ failure.

Ten hours and only two bathroom breaks later, I rolled past the Welcome to Carson Creek sign and felt the knot in my belly grow tighter with each passing block. Each southern red oak tugged my smile a little brighter, and my belly a bit more anxiety-filled. This was my home and I missed it terribly.