been.
The houses on either side of it were small, too, but well tended. Nice trees offering shade. Thereâd been a young girl riding a bike along the sidewalk, and a teenage boy down the block, washing his car while music blasted.
She recalled the thrill of anticipation that had bubbled through her as sheâd jotted down the name and number of the realtor on the For Sale sign.
And thatâs where sheâd gone next. So she followed the same route now. The asking price had been too high, but that hadnât discouraged her. Sheâd known she probably looked like a mark, in her inexpensive shoes and clothes. She probably sounded like one, with that hint of rural West Virginia in her voice.
But she hadnât been a mark, Zoe thought with satisfaction.
She parked, as she had parked then, and got out to walk.
Sheâd made an appointment to see the houseâone she would, shortly, bargain fiercely forâand had walked along this downtown street and straight into the beauty salon to see if they were hiring.
The real estate office was closed for Sunday, as was the salon, but she walked to both, seeing herself as she had been. Full of nerves and excitement, but putting on a cool front, she remembered. Sheâd bagged the jobâmaybe quicker, maybe easier than she should have, she thought now. Another one of those things that were meant to be? Or had it just been a matter of taking the right path at the right time?
Better than three years sheâd put into that salon, Zoe mused as she stood outside the display window with her hands on her hips. Sheâd done good work there. Better work than the bitchy owner, Carly. Which had been part of the problem.
Too many of the customers had begun to request Zoe specifically, and her tips had been solid. Carly hadnât liked that, hadnât liked having one of her operators take the spotlight in her own place. So sheâd begun to make things difficultâcutting Zoeâs hours here, or loading them on there. Complaining that she talked to the customers too much, or didnât talk enough. Anything that would demoralize or scrape away at her pride.
Sheâd tolerated it, hadnât fought back. Should she have? she wondered. Sheâd needed the job, the steady clientele and the pay, the tips. If sheâd stood up for herself, sheâd have been fired all the sooner.
Still, it was demoralizing to realize how much crap sheâd put up with for a lousy pay stub.
No. She took a deep breath and pulled back the anger and the shame. No, she had put up with it for her home, her son, her life. It wasnât a battle she could have won. In the end sheâd been fired in any case. But it had been the time for her to be fired, to be at one of those crossroads.
And hadnât that anger, that shame, that sense of despair, even panic, when sheâd walked out of Carlyâs for the last time pushed her toward Indulgence? Would she have begun to build her own as long as sheâd been drawing a salary, as long as the bills were being paid and the house was secure?
No, she admitted. She would have dreamed it, but she wouldnât have done it. She wouldnât have found the courage. It had taken a kick in the ass for her to risk the next path.
She turned away, stared out at the town sheâd come to know as well as her own living room. That way to the grocery store, turn there toward the post office, head left and past the little park, hang a right toward Simonâs school.
Up the block to the Main Street Diner and the milk shakes Simon loved. Straight out of town and up the mountain road to Warriorâs Peak.
She could find her way from here, blindfolded, to Danaâs apartment, to the house where Flynn and Malory lived. To the library, the newspaper, the drugstore, the pizza parlor.
She could follow the river to Bradleyâs.
Different paths, she thought, walking back to her car. Different choices, different
The houses on either side of it were small, too, but well tended. Nice trees offering shade. Thereâd been a young girl riding a bike along the sidewalk, and a teenage boy down the block, washing his car while music blasted.
She recalled the thrill of anticipation that had bubbled through her as sheâd jotted down the name and number of the realtor on the For Sale sign.
And thatâs where sheâd gone next. So she followed the same route now. The asking price had been too high, but that hadnât discouraged her. Sheâd known she probably looked like a mark, in her inexpensive shoes and clothes. She probably sounded like one, with that hint of rural West Virginia in her voice.
But she hadnât been a mark, Zoe thought with satisfaction.
She parked, as she had parked then, and got out to walk.
Sheâd made an appointment to see the houseâone she would, shortly, bargain fiercely forâand had walked along this downtown street and straight into the beauty salon to see if they were hiring.
The real estate office was closed for Sunday, as was the salon, but she walked to both, seeing herself as she had been. Full of nerves and excitement, but putting on a cool front, she remembered. Sheâd bagged the jobâmaybe quicker, maybe easier than she should have, she thought now. Another one of those things that were meant to be? Or had it just been a matter of taking the right path at the right time?
Better than three years sheâd put into that salon, Zoe mused as she stood outside the display window with her hands on her hips. Sheâd done good work there. Better work than the bitchy owner, Carly. Which had been part of the problem.
Too many of the customers had begun to request Zoe specifically, and her tips had been solid. Carly hadnât liked that, hadnât liked having one of her operators take the spotlight in her own place. So sheâd begun to make things difficultâcutting Zoeâs hours here, or loading them on there. Complaining that she talked to the customers too much, or didnât talk enough. Anything that would demoralize or scrape away at her pride.
Sheâd tolerated it, hadnât fought back. Should she have? she wondered. Sheâd needed the job, the steady clientele and the pay, the tips. If sheâd stood up for herself, sheâd have been fired all the sooner.
Still, it was demoralizing to realize how much crap sheâd put up with for a lousy pay stub.
No. She took a deep breath and pulled back the anger and the shame. No, she had put up with it for her home, her son, her life. It wasnât a battle she could have won. In the end sheâd been fired in any case. But it had been the time for her to be fired, to be at one of those crossroads.
And hadnât that anger, that shame, that sense of despair, even panic, when sheâd walked out of Carlyâs for the last time pushed her toward Indulgence? Would she have begun to build her own as long as sheâd been drawing a salary, as long as the bills were being paid and the house was secure?
No, she admitted. She would have dreamed it, but she wouldnât have done it. She wouldnât have found the courage. It had taken a kick in the ass for her to risk the next path.
She turned away, stared out at the town sheâd come to know as well as her own living room. That way to the grocery store, turn there toward the post office, head left and past the little park, hang a right toward Simonâs school.
Up the block to the Main Street Diner and the milk shakes Simon loved. Straight out of town and up the mountain road to Warriorâs Peak.
She could find her way from here, blindfolded, to Danaâs apartment, to the house where Flynn and Malory lived. To the library, the newspaper, the drugstore, the pizza parlor.
She could follow the river to Bradleyâs.
Different paths, she thought, walking back to her car. Different choices, different
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