“You were right. I made my own decisions. Things didn’t turn out the way I’d planned, but I’m very happy. And I hope you will be, too.” Troy’s heart felt lighter than it had in more than a decade. He hadn’t realized how much of a burden it had been to carry that much hatred and resentment.
Susan’s smile bloomed into a grin. Her eyes shone like dark marbles. “Thank you, Troy. You don’t know how much your words mean to me.”
He dropped his pen. “I think I do.”
The sensation of freedom stole his breath. All this time he’d been too stupid to realize he’d been chained to his past. Now he could move forward toward his own future. His blood chilled. But, dear God, was he too late?
“Did you get the job?”
Andrea’s key was still in her apartment door Friday afternoon when Faith appeared out of thin air demanding answers. Her roommate had changed out of her business clothes and into baggy green sweatpants and an oversized white jersey displaying a red exclamation point.
Andrea freed her key from the lock. She squeezed past her roommate into the apartment and secured the door. “They offered it to me.”
Faith’s brown features lit like a firecracker on Independence Day. “Congratulations! That’s wonderful!”
Andrea observed her friend. She should be the one jumping up and down and screaming. She’d just secured a dream job with The New York Times weeks before New York Sports closed for good. She should be babbling with excitement. Instead she was numb.
“Thank you.” Andrea dropped her keys into her purse. Why didn’t she feel anything?
Faith’s enthusiasm stuttered and died. “Did you take the job?”
She started toward the living room. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
Andrea winced at Faith’s shriek. “I don’t want to make a mistake.” She dropped onto the sofa, still wearing her blazer and clutching her purse.
Faith sat beside her. Her brown eyes were wide with incredulity. “How could accepting your dream job be a mistake?”
Andrea stared across the room. Through the window was the fire escape where she and Troy had started the uneasy alliance that had grown into the greatest love affair of her life. “I don’t know whether I’m qualified for what they want me to write.”
Faith folded her arms and crossed her legs. “This is The New York Times, not a student newspaper. They wouldn’t hire you if they didn’t think you were qualified.”
Andrea started to feel again. Her fingers drilled into her purse while panic battered her like tsunami waves. “They want me to write human interest features.”
“They don’t want you to write sports?” Faith sounded confused.
“I’ll cover some sports, but my focus will be the personality pieces.” She pulled her fingers through her hair. “They want me to ‘get into the mind of high-profile people in the community.’ Their words.”
Faith frowned. “You mean like the stories you wrote about Barron and Gerry?”
“That’s right.”
“You’ve done it before. So what’s the problem?” Faith’s voice was as dry as dust.
Andrea bent forward. She steadied her elbows on her lap and pressed her forehead against her fists. She was swamped with emotions—edgy, restless feelings that made it difficult to think. “Suppose those stories are the only personality pieces I have? Those stories came to me.”
“No, they didn’t. You found them because you dug deeper than other people were willing to look.” Faith stood. “When that anonymous source called you with a tip about the Monarchs’ head coach, you went to the coach to check it out.”
Andrea raised her head. “So?”
Faith threw her arms up. “And when other people dismissed Barron’s drinking and careless behavior as just the same old, same old from Mr. Bling, you nagged him until he faced his fears.”
She hadn’t nagged Barron. “That’s because I’d been where he was going.”
“That’s why you’re able to write these stories.” Faith sat again. “You’re sensitive to the subject matter and willing to take the time to dig a little deeper. You went through a bad situation after that Jackie Jones article, but it’s made you an even better reporter.”
Andrea pulled her handbag off her shoulder. “I don’t know about that.”