Checked Read Free

week.”
    “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe it’ll be easier to get yourself into the office the second time.”
    “Maybe.” Although I can’t imagine it will be much easier to get out next time. Unless, perhaps, I take six tissues instead of three.
    “Okay, I have to make Abby some dinner before I go to yet another meeting. This case is killing my evenings.”
    “A phone meeting? Or do you have to drive the whole way back to the office?”
    “Back to the office. The firm likes us to be all professional and lawery for the big cases. At all times. We’ll probably be in Board Room I, the one with the enormous chairs.” She pauses.  “It is a forty minute drive, though, and that does mean I’ll have a total of eighty minutes in the car without hearing any crying or whining. I could use a little peace.”
    “All right. Please—”
    “Be careful. I know. I will be, Calista. Give Mandy a hug for me.”
    “I will. Thanks for checking on me, Mel. Bye.”
    2:59 p.m. Not much time before I have to leave again. As I take the dishrag to the hall laundry closet and put it in the washer, I think about this week’s to-do list. Work tonight. Groceries tomorrow morning. I pull out the knob to start the washer and grab the Lysol spray on the laundry shelf. Hmm…class tomorrow at 6:00 p.m. Professional Writing Lab I. Our second night of my professor’s Publishing Series. Some published writer will be speaking for the entire three hours. Trying to be inspirational. Really just feeding his or her ego.
    Going back down the hallway, I disinfect my black pumps. Six seconds of spray per shoe.
    Lysol can back on shelf. Hands washed in kitchen sink.
    Let’s see. TA class on Friday afternoon. College Writing 101. I still haven’t done much more than sit and observe. I can hardly be called a teaching assistant. The freshmen yawning through class probably think I’m just a twenty-something-year-old creeper drooling over their teacher. Little do they know it’s the other way around.
    After Dr. Gabriel officially introduces me to the class in late October, perhaps I’ll feel more comfortable about being there. Comfortable, yeah—for about two weeks before I have to teach a couple of the classes in November. With him watching me. Ugh!
    Quick trip up to my bathroom. Last one until I get back home tonight around 8:00 p.m. As I dry my hands, I look in the mirror to make sure I look together. Makeup—faded, but not running. Hair—a little frizz, but nothing disastrous.
    I go back downstairs to the kitchen table to grab my notebook for Monday’s Literary Analysis II class. Maybe I’ll get some writing done tonight at work.
    “You’re a writer?” The memory of a deep, quiet voice questions me. Oh. That’s right. I have yet another writing assignment to complete this week. In the mail by Friday, he said. Before he sends me more “standard” questions. Fantastic.
    Maybe I’ll just write my response for him this evening and get it out of the way. I can put it in the mail tomorrow, and we can get this process moving. I’ll have all the paperwork done before I see Dr. Spencer next Wednesday.
    I smile, thinking of my conversation with Melanie. According to her, I’ll need just one short visit in Dr. Spencer’s office and my transformation to normal should be complete.
    3:05 p.m. Preparations to leave the house.
    3:48 p.m. Time to go. I grab my coat and notebook before taking my black leather purse from the closet. I transfer the items from my coat pockets to my new purse, step into my slightly damp heels, and I’m out. Door shut and locked. Handle twist. Handle twist. Handle twist. Locked.
    On to work.

 
     
     
     

    Chapter 2
    the assignment
     
     
     
     
    THE WRITING CENTER IS PRETTY empty. The usual. No one really comes until after dinner on weeknights. Most of them don’t even want help. They just want a quiet place to type.
    For now, I’ll take advantage of this quiet place to write myself. Earliest memories …I