Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

With Dane.

I’m so far from him, so disconnected from reality. Nothing about being here is right. It’s like being dropped into a story you should know like the back of your hand, but you forgot to read the ending.

I imagine years of coming into this building. The things I can accomplish. The little plaques that will line my walls someday, just like they line Frank’s. Awards. Recognitions of achievement. Industry accolades.

But what would they replace? Pictures of a husband? Of children? Macaroni art from elementary-school craft days? Memories outside these four walls?

The question my mom asked me suddenly makes sense. What do you have to give up to get what you want?

The answer is everything.

Maybe I didn’t get it before when I lived and breathed this place. But now that I’ve had a taste of more, of early-morning kisses and cherry-flavored kids’ drinks, I realize what I didn’t then: I can hope for more for me. I can need more for me. I can expect more. And as I listen to Frank, I know I want more. Not just for me but for Dane and Mia too. For us.

My chest constricts as I try to rationalize with myself. Think of all the things you can do from this position. Think of all the good you can do.

Maybe.

The one place I know I can make a difference is in a little blue-gray-sided house on the edge of town. They need me, and even more, I need them.

I matter there. My heart is there. And if I leave here soon enough, maybe I can convince them to take me back.

“Frank,” I say, interrupting him. “I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry.” I grab my briefcase and calculate how long it will take me to get to the airport. “I can’t take this job.”

“What?”

“I can’t take this job.” The words come out freely, releasing the monkey on my back. “It’s just not for me.”

He leans forward, his tie hanging askew. He removes his glasses and looks at me. “May I ask what changed your mind?”

Tears dot my eyes as I look at his tired face. “A man I owe a new Dodgers cap. A little girl who needs me to take her for a manicure.” I hiccup a sob.

“This is disappointing. I thought you wanted this?”

“I thought I did too. I thought this was the key to everything. I realized while sitting here this morning that everything I ever wanted is in a little town in Tennessee.”

“I hate to hear that.” He moves in his seat, the cracked leather creaking under his weight.

“I hate to hear it too. I’m just . . . I’m not the person I was a few weeks ago.”

He looks unconvinced as he sits back in his chair. “Care to explain? I’m having a hard time accepting this, Neely.”

I lug in a breath of stale, fast-food-scented air. “I feel as passionately as I ever have about empowering girls and giving women a voice in a field where they oftentimes go unnoticed. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then what has? Neely, quite frankly, you’re turning down something most people work their whole lives for. You’ve done that—worked for this. And now you’re giving it up? I don’t understand.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to let you down. I’ve always felt there was more out there for me, that if I kept pushing, I would wake up one morning and find it. But really, I think what I was looking for was inside me all along.”

Aerial’s speech comes swirling back, bringing with it another round of tears.

Dabbing at my eyes, I shrug. “I don’t need a worldwide platform to make a difference. I don’t need a title to validate who I am or what I believe.” I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows and beyond the skyscrapers filling the sky. “And I don’t need a big old city to shield me from my fears.”

I think he’s going to be angry. I straighten my shoulders and wait for him to tell me not to use him for a reference when I come to my senses. I prepare for him to tell me I’m wasting the biggest chance of my life.

Instead, he smiles. “You know, sometimes the best changes happen at the grassroots level.”

I pass a hot swallow down my throat. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

He grabs a tissue from the box on his desk and dabs it on the back of his neck. “If you want this job, Neely, I want you to have it. But I’ll say I’m almost relieved you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Look at me,” he scoffs. “My wife left me twenty years ago and took our son with her. I see him when he’s in town on work, maybe twice a year. I missed being with my parents when they were on their last legs. I don’t even know what fresh air smells like anymore.”