The Storm (Fairhope) Page 16

  Gavin called the police station after her phone died that day, and his fellow officers—his friends—found me half lucid on the floor. Vaguely, I remember their anguished tears as they processed the suicide of the love of one of their own. Gavin’s partner walked beside my stretcher, and I told him my story, broken, as he wailed with me. They kept the press away.

  Andrew held my hand tightly as the preacher began to speak, his words describing Grace’s unique character and spirited life as much as the spoken word could. I stared at the crumpled leaves on the ground. Frozen with despair I couldn’t communicate, my spirit haunted with the girl who knew me better than I knew myself.

  My best friend was gone forever, stolen from me like a thief in the night.

  I would never be the same.

  “Grace was beautiful inside out, with a dynamic flair that made her stand out,” the preacher exclaimed passionately. “She would do anything for anyone. Although she rests in heaven, we will miss her dearly.” He cleared his throat, and I forced myself to look through the crowd.

  Andrew cringed at the broken-hearted wails of Grace’s family and friends, and I squeezed his hand. Her mother, frail and shattered, could barely stand as she shook with overwhelming grief. Grace’s father steadied her, the death of their daughter bonding them in their immeasurable pain. He stared at the sky with lifeless eyes, lips furled in anger. I imagined he was questioning how God could let this happen to his only daughter.

  Gavin was irrevocably devastated, his face buried in his trembling hands. The fog surrounding me thickened, and I pinched myself to make sure this was real. Grace’s journal had center stage in the story book of my mind, and I couldn’t make the first line disappear. It interrupted my line of sight, running blood red across the faces of her loved ones. Who was the woman Grace was talking about? Staring at Gavin, our friend, unrecognizable in his pain, I could not believe he betrayed Grace. His trademark loyalty, his brave pledge of love to her at The Gulf that night, the beautiful daughter they created together … No. It had to be Grace’s delusion.

  Why hadn’t she just taken her medicine? The tears streamed silently down my face.

  I needed to talk to Gavin. I needed to find out what he wanted to tell me about Grace on the day she died.

  I shivered as Grace’s uncle led everyone in a traditional gospel hymn. The speed of the wind was rapidly increasing. I buried my chilled hands in my pockets, my fingers clasping the friendship bracelet she’d given me in second grade.

  “Hi, I’m Grace. Will you be my best friend?” Knees dirty and missing several teeth, she was still beautiful then. I wanted to know this girl who looked like Skipper with her long blond hair and bronze skin.

  She, the queen bee of the neighborhood kids’ clan, chose me!

  I accepted the blue and yellow bracelet. “I would love to be your best friend. I’m Jana. Do you want to go to the park with me?”

  She grabbed my hand and we skipped away.

  I fell to the ground, sobbing. Why didn’t you just come to the park with me, Grace? Come to the park, and tell me what hurt you. Tell me why you wanted to die. Then I could tell you that I needed you, that Gavin and Emma needed you, and that you had everything you ever needed. I could have fought your fears for you.

  Behind my eyelids, pulsating with pain from the thunderous force of my tears, I could see her in my house, the last time I would ever see her, breathtaking in that yellow sundress, happier than I’d ever seen her, surrounded by her backseat bakery and plans for the future. How could she go from that place to six feet in the ground in a week’s time?

  Just like that, her funeral was over, and we said our final goodbye to Grace. Andrew quickly bent down to comfort me as the last red rose fell gently over her coffin. Gently placing his thick black coat over my shivering shoulders, he whispered, “I love you.”

  “I don’t understand.” Hysteria took over as he practically carried me to our car. “She was so happy last week. How could she leave Emma?” Something like anger mixed with my grief.

  “Something may have triggered her,” Andrew said quietly. “A major life event can trigger a suicide attempt for people with bipolar disorder.”

  “I could have helped … fix … things.” I couldn’t understand my own words trapped under my brokenhearted sobbing. Strangers were starting at me. Strangers who wouldn’t miss her like I did, people who would be able to shake their memories of her when I would never try.

  “Sometimes you can’t fix people like Grace, Jana. She had a chronic illness. There may have been things we don’t know.”

  I thought I knew everything about Grace. Why, God, why?

  She’s with me now, the whisper returned.

  I slammed the car door shut and closed my eyes. A strange feeling overcame me, urging me to open my eyes and lift them carefully.

  “I—”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure dressed in head-to-toe black in the distance, partially hidden behind a tree. Ice spread through my veins like wildfire, stopping me mid-sentence.

  “Stop,” I told Andrew, who looked at me with questions in his eyes. Without a word, I jumped out of the car.

  The woman’s blond hair, her porcelain face … was I seeing things?

  I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Maybe this was all a wretched nightmare, and my friend was waiting to apologize for missing our date in the park. I stretched my arms out across the distance toward the angelic apparition, but my legs refused to move. Grace!

  I blinked and she was gone.

  I DON’T REMEMBER the weekend after her death. By Monday, I was relieved to be rid of the sympathetic visitors and their casseroles. Andrew’s parents camped out the whole time, and thankfully, my politically minded father-in-law did most of the talking for me while my mother-in-law tended to Calla.

  The Lunesta I swallowed the night before, my last one for the month, was barely beginning its descent from my bloodstream when the doorbell rang. My semi-addiction to sleeping pills resurfaced immediately after Grace’s death, my brutal insomnia returning with reckless abandon. The little blue pill that saved my nights left my days in a fog.

  I stumbled around my bedroom haphazardly, clumsily tossing on the first wrinkled t-shirt I found. Andrew was still sleeping soundly, and I did not want to wake him. He bravely endured a nightmarish night with a stuffy-nosed Calla while I slept.

  The FedEx man, young and chipper in his crisp uniform, grinned. “I’m sorry to wake you so early, ma’am,” he said cheerfully, promptly handing me a package. “But you were early on my route, and I need a signature for this one. Job offer?”

  Covington Company’s red logo pierced the white cover. “Not hardly,” I mumbled. “It is a reminder that my severance agreement is due.”

  Calla started to cry, and the FedEx man’s face fell, his eyes wandering toward her wailing. “Oh, I am terribly sorry, ma’am. This economy is awful.”

  You have no idea.

  I was oblivious to Andrew’s heavy footsteps as I sat with my knees hugged to my chest, staring at the final reminder that my career as a medical device rep was over. “Don’t even think about it. We made our decision.” He was gentle yet firm.

  I rose carefully off the floor. “I know. It’s—just so real now.”

  He aided me to my feet, cupped his hand under my chin, and tilted my head so that we were eye to eye. “I know you are scared. But you agreed to trust me to take care of you. You know in your heart you cannot let this go.”

  “I know. Giving up the money is tough. And—now that I’ve lost Grace … none of this matters right now…”

  The pain of losing her sliced through me all over again.

  “I know, Jana. I can’t believe she’s gone, either.” He swallowed back his tears, trying to be strong for me.

  I couldn’t speak.

  “You can’t put a price on standing up for your rights. Jana, you are strong, and just the person to give those assholes a dose of what they deserve.” He paused. “I
called several agents yesterday. I’m getting quotes on individual health insurance policies.”

  He was on top of things, as usual. “Thank you, baby.”

  “This may sound cliché, but you have the opportunity to make history. I know you would not have chosen this, but maybe this is part of your calling. Don’t second guess your decision not to sign that piece of paper.”

  I leaned against him, giving into the need to feel protected, and let him hold me.

  “I can’t take away your heartbreak over Grace’s death. But when you think you can’t go on, I will wipe away your tears and replace them with a smile.” He kissed the top of my forehead.

  With his encouragement, something powerful stirred inside of me, a renewed vigor. A strength that came from somewhere deep revived the determination I once had. Grace would have wanted me to do it. She would have been my biggest cheerleader. I lost her, but I refused to lose the battle against Covington. I was certainly no feminist. But, I refused to let them off the hook for flushing my career down the toilet, undeserved. I would destroy the assumption that a pink slip was a ticket to domestic bliss for little mommies who would happily accept their fate with an apron and a mop.

  I never asked for this, but I would play the cards I was dealt and pray my hand was the grand prize winner.

  Jack Singleton’s office was dark and unorthodox. The long drive was exhausting, but I arrived forty-five minutes early, too much time for my wheels not to turn. His office was tucked neatly in an almost unidentifiable downtown crevice. I never would have guessed he was such a hotshot. As I nervously waited in the cold lobby, I clutched all of my documentation while beads of sweat threatened to blur the ink on my papers. It was probably eighty degrees inside.

  Playing private detective, Andrew and I thoroughly researched Jack Singleton. His reputation was flawless, and his references were spectacular, one stating that his integrity and skill were unmatched among fellow attorneys. My father-in-law grilled everyone he knew, offering his seal of approval for Jack and his co-counsel.

  “Jack will be with you shortly,” the sweet receptionist assured me, noticing my anxiety with a concerned lift of her painted-on eyebrows. She smiled softly, patting her silver bun. “You are from Fairhope, right? That’s quite a long drive.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, my eyes scanning the walls. “I used to live here.” I looked over my favorite tan suit that I rescued from rotting in my closet, scanning it for McDonald’s hamburger crumbs. None. Thankfully, they missed me and joined the stray Doritos trashing the cup holders.

  The walls in Jack’s office were covered with multi-colored murals, splashes of mahogany, hunter green and deep blues. The artist in me sat gaping at their uniqueness, thinking they were weird but somehow enticing. “This art work is … interesting.”

  “Don’t let the eerie paintings fool you,” the receptionist chuckled in response. “Jack is the nicest man you will ever meet. He simply has a fondness for oddness.”

  “I want to be an artist when I grow up.” I winked, stealing some of my other half’s flirty charisma. Wow, an attempt at humor felt good.

  “Go for it!”

  I smiled thoughtfully, my eyes lifting to the brilliant yellow-orange sun etched on the ceiling. “You know, life is short. I think I will.”

  Mr. Singleton—Jack, he would soon be to me—opened the door to his office, motioning me in.

  Oh, please, take my case!

  I bit my lip to prevent my mouth from falling open in surprise. Jack was tall and slender, but other than that, not what I pictured. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and had thick brown hair laced with silver. Distinguished, he wore a sharp black suit, maybe Armani, completed with a neatly pressed blue silk tie that contrasted his catlike green eyes that were identical to Sadie’s.

  “Jana Cook, I presume?” he inquired in a deep voice, offering a firm, confident handshake.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” he assured me, waving me toward his office. “Sadie thinks a lot of you, and she’s not an easy person to win over. I’ve been looking forward to learning more about your situation.”

  We sat down in his comfortable brown La-Z-Boy recliners, separated by an antique glass table. Tentatively, I placed my files on the beautiful table, feeling a bit scared I might break something in this eclectic room.

  He whisked the file into his calloused hands. “Jana, tell me your story,” he instructed, peering over his glasses at my severance agreement. “And call me Jack.”

  From top to bottom, I hashed it out. Jack listened attentively, staring me directly in the eyes as I spoke. I sensed he was analyzing me.

  After I spoke my last word, he nodded slowly.

  “Sadly, this tale is not uncommon, although it’s extremely rare that anyone does anything about it. This must be very difficult for you.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, gulping. “I loved my career and never thought this would happen to me.”

  And I never thought my best friend would commit suicide at the same time.

  A comfortable silence settled over the room as he dove into the emails, performance reviews, and other pieces of documentation I had salvaged. I already liked this Jack.

  “You contacted human resources about this, and nothing was done?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes and no. Kevin Matthews, the representative, never called me back with a report.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that. In reference to those who kept their positions, how did your performance rank against theirs? Sales, performance reviews … if you have knowledge of that information.”

  “As far as sales, me and the territory manager who I worked under in Birmingham won President’s Circle the past two years. I doubt that’s beatable.”

  “How many women on your team—remaining—have children?”

  “None.” A light bulb went off in my head. “In fact, no women were left on my team at all.”

  “Was your position eliminated?”

  “No. They gave it to a man who lives outside the geography, and he’s never won a thing.”

  Jack’s line of questioning continued, and his interest peaked with my responses. His rhetoric defined my case; he spun my nightmare like a Grammy-nominated script. I hung on every word, captivated by his speech; he romanticized my victimization in a way that surely could not fail to grip a judge or jury’s emotions.

  A judge or jury? Suddenly, the reality of what I was thinking about doing hit me like a ton of bricks. I could see Jeff’s scowl, hear Brooke dripping her lies … no way. No way!

  “Now, don’t expect a courtroom full of jurors. In these types of cases, it typically becomes apparent that the plaintiff cannot win or they settle.”

  Oxygen returned to my brain again, the fear of facing my Covington opponents draining out of me as I processed his words. “Thank God.”

  He held up his hand, as if to say wait. “You will most likely want to be present during depositions. That is when witnesses on either side are questioned.”

  I clenched my fingers. You can do this. You can do this…

  One hour later, after lengthy conversation, he made up his mind.

  “I have not seen a potential case this solid in years. Despite your performance, you were replaced by an individual not in a protected class. The criteria used for selection was undeniably subjective and easily manipulated.” He leaned back in his chair. “However, you absolutely cannot sign this severance agreement. Most of them will hold up in court, despite how unfair that seems. I can’t take your case if you sign it.”

  I could feel Grace beside me, urging me to commit. “I won’t sign it.”

  We continued to discuss the steps of the process, starting with filing with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission of Alabama, and Jack’s contingency fee, which was shocking to me at a steep forty-five percent. We would seek damages worth four to five times my annual estimated pay as a territory
manager, which would still make it worth my while to sue verses giving in and signing the severance agreement.

  That is … if I won.

  I left reeling in a shocked daze. Jack Singleton, one of the most well renowned employment discrimination attorneys in the South, wanted to take my case. I still wished it were anyone but me facing this future … but now I felt a glimmer of hope, welcomingly familiar from a past filled full of it.

  Even though I spent tearful hours organizing pictures of Grace and me, I dreamt without my Lunesta that night, sleeping in the whisper’s peace. I asked for a sign, and God gave it to me, through both Sadie and Ashton. Jack Singleton was the answer to my prayer.

  I felt Grace’s spirit tug at my heart, hugging me and blowing a kiss over her shoulder. If only she were here tonight to see that I was strong enough. I hoped that somehow she knew.

  The ceremonious burning of my severance agreement took place on my birthday, the first Saturday night in June. A cool breeze decided to take a rare vacation in Southern Alabama, allowing pleasant weather for a small outdoor gathering. Daddy picked up Calla for bonding time, and after enjoying steaks at Tamara’s downtown, Andrew and I headed home to start the last year of my twenties with nothing less than a serious bang.

  The streetlights faded as we cruised out of downtown, the breeze flowing through my window as I reminisced over my childhood. Addicted to iced coffee from Page and Palette, I spent my teenage Saturday mornings sipping down my dose of rich caffeine while I flipped through the books in the shop. I wandered through the local art shops in pure amazement like a kid in a candy store. On a first name basis with the owners, my wide-eyed appreciation was obvious and flattering.