I wash my hands in the sink next to the exam table. I’m drying them off when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a peek into the lobby. It’s empty.
“Hello?” I say.
“Is this Dr. McKenzie?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Hello, Holden. This is Timothy Montgomery from Montgomery Farms.”
I close the door. My heartbeat quickens as I switch the phone to my other hand. My palms sweat, and I make a concerted effort not to drop the phone.
“Hi, Dr. Montgomery. How are you?”
“I’m good. Thank you. I’m calling because you’ve applied for the rehabilitation position at our facility in Orlando. Is that right?”
“It is.” My voice cracks more than it should, and I wince at the sound of it. “I’m honored to be considered.”
Papers shuffle in the background.
“Well, I’m honored to let you know that you’ve made it to the final two candidates,” he says.
My jaw pops open. I run a hand through my hair at the realization that it’s a possibility that this whole damn thing might just actually happen.
Holy shit.
“That’s . . . amazing,” I say. “I’m . . . Wow. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I founded this organization forty years ago, as you may already know. It’s incredibly personal to me. My passion project, if you will. Just a little backstory . . . I was working for a high-profile horse-racing farm fresh out of college. I was disenchanted with the way these glorious animals were treated once their moneymaking days were over. So I partnered with a few investors and created Montgomery Farms.”
I knew that. I’ve read everything there is about the company over the last fifteen years. My mother used to buy me animal magazines, and there were always articles about Montgomery Farms. I remember one in particular about finding your passion. A small segment was from Dr. Montgomery himself and how he’d found his working with retired racehorses. He wrote so passionately, so from the heart, so much like what I felt inside myself, that I knew I’d do anything to work for that company someday.
“It’s a world-renowned organization, sir.”
“Thank you. As I said, it’s very, very close to my heart. It’s a family to me and not just a business. It’s incredibly important that everyone on the payroll fit into the vision of a close-knit community, working together to support the animals we’re caring for, as well as each other. This is very much a team effort.”
I force a swallow. “That makes perfect sense.”
Papers move around again. The sound causes my anxiety to spike. I plead silently with myself not to say anything stupid.
“One thing I appreciate about you, Holden, besides your impressive answers to the essays on the application, is the fact that you’re a family man.”
My shoulders fall.
This is where my life bites me in the ass.
I clear my throat. “Of course I am.”
My brain starts stringing together potential sentences that aren’t off-putting. People separate all the time. Surely he understands things like that.
“My wife and I have been married for forty-five years this coming May. It’s that kind of commitment I’m looking for in an employee,” he says.
And maybe he doesn’t understand things like that.
Oh. Shit.
“Definitely,” I say. “I—”
“So many young people in today’s world don’t understand the concept of commitment. Seeing something out to the end. Standing behind your word and working things out, rolling with the punches. People nowadays quit as soon as things get hard.”
My throat closes. It’s probably a defense mechanism, but one I’m grateful for at the moment. At least it prevents me from burying myself deeper.
“I love that you’re starting a family. It says so much about you. I shouldn’t say this, but it gives you an edge,” he says. “Are you married yet? You filled this out a while ago.”
I close my eyes. “No. No, I’m not. Not yet.”
“My wife is wanting to redo our vows next year. I know what it’s like to have a bride wanting a perfect day.” He chuckles. “When is the big day, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Soon.”
As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I cringe. The day isn’t soon. It’s not happening. The answer is never. But I can’t say that, because if I do, I’ve lost my edge and I’ll end up back in Phoenix, working for someone else and listening to my father tell me how I’ve disappointed him yet again.
I can’t do that.
I won’t.
I’ll rent a boat and sail off into the Pacific first.
“That’s great,” he says. “That’s very good news. I’d like to see the final candidates at work. Get an idea of how you prepare for each day, solve problems, operate under pressure. Also, to see how well we collaborate. That sort of thing. Do you think that’s possible?”
I glance around the clinic and wish for the first time since coming here that I were back at my old job.
“Well, actually, I’m in Tennessee right now,” I say. “My grandfather needed a helping hand at his clinic for a while.”
“Oh. Point in your favor. I love the spirit of that.” His chair squeaks. “Could I come there? Would that be a problem? I think the second candidate is in Kentucky, so I could make a week out of it and have an answer sooner than I anticipated.”
“I think that would be fine.”
“I’ll get back to you with a day once I talk with my secretary and my wife. I’m going to shoot for midweek next week.” He sighs in satisfaction. “Thanks for taking my call, Dr. McKenzie. We’ll talk soon.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call and then bury my head in my hands.
Montgomery Farms wants me.
They want me.
The me, at least, from a month ago.
The bottom of my stomach falls to the floor.
I am so screwed.
CHAPTER SIX
SOPHIE
I am so screwed.
The moon lights up the kitchen in an eerie glow. Gramma always loved the moon. She said your problems always seem worst at night and the moon is your light, your reminder that the sun will come back up and things will be better.
I turn the bottle around in my hands and look at the label. The corner of the sticker describing the type of wine is starting to lift on its own. With nothing better to do—except for the things I’ve done all day with little or no success—I pick at it. I pry it off slowly, an inch at a time, and relish in the satisfaction of watching it release from the glass.
The motion is soothing. It gives me a channel to focus on something that isn’t overdue statements and impending taxes . . . and the sense of imminent failure if I don’t figure something out.
My thoughts trace back through the day—from calling the treasurer’s office to confirm that they’d denied my appeal to the hours I spent combing through the basement. I searched through nearly everything down there in the hope of finding something I could sell to help make ends meet. There was nothing worth anything substantial. The only good thing about today was the Ingrams’ sweet smiles as they checked out this morning.