Walk Through Fire (Page 91)

I’d been able to chat a bit with Dottie the day before about the things she’d helped out with while I was away.

Now I needed to phone Justine.

So I did that, put the receiver to my ear, then took it away when she answered with, “Oh my God! I cannot believe it! Logan’s back!”

My cell might be sitting in my purse in my SUV, hopefully still working after the Denver deep freeze since I’d left it there after my mad dash to Chaos that changed the course of my life.

But Dottie’s obviously still was with her and she’d been using it.

I put the receiver back to my ear and replied, “Yeah, babe.”

“I cannot believe it!” she shrieked again.

I grinned again, this time for different reasons.

Kellie and Justine, like Dottie and my parents, had loved Logan.

Kellie and Justine, unlike Dottie, did not know why I’d done what I’d done. That was for me and the only one I trusted it with, the only one I could handle sharing it with… my sister.

So they’d never gotten it.

What they’d done, like any true friend should do, was buried their concern and disagreement with my actions and stood beside me.

“Are you totally, insanely, madly happy?” she asked.

I was terrified.

But I was also totally, insanely, and madly happy.

“Yes,” I told her.

“I wanna hear it all, every second, but I’m at the Hubbles, so we’re so totally getting together for lunch, soon. I have Veronica checking her calendar. Dot’s in. Kellie’s so in. I just gotta call Claire.”

I wanted to have lunch with them, share the goodness.

No, actually, I wanted to have cocktails with them, have a chance to wear my LBD and share the goodness.

But something she said caught my attention.

Justine had a part-time job so they didn’t have to leave their son at a day care for too long and instead he was home with one of his moms. Therefore, with Rafferty in tow, she’d taken care of things for me that Claire or Dot couldn’t handle, and things she liked most doing, these being recon on holiday houses and offices for design. I had thirteen emails from her with a variety of pictures for that purpose.

But she knew I was coming back. She knew she was off-duty.

And the Hubbles were my Christmas clients.

“Uh, Jus, what are you doing at the Hubbles?” I asked.

“They had a crisis. The wreaths you want to put on their windows, they likey. Like, a lot. But they don’t have an outlet outside to plug them in. No way are they doing battery lights. And they’re worried about the cords having to come in through the windows. So there’s an electrician here today and they wanted one of us here to help decide where the outside outlets were going to go for the extravaganza you planned for them. Dot told me you were probably going to be out of touch so, since I’ve been working with them, Claire decided I should be here.”

There was a lot to go over with that, so I started with the least surprising considering the Hubbles were Christmas fiends, they’d been my clients for six years, and they’d demanded their décor, inside and out, get more elaborate with each passing year.

“The Hubbles are actually having outlets installed for their decorations?” I asked.

“Totally,” she answered. “And I told them the outlet should go between the door and the first window. We can string together the three window wreaths and come the other way from the door wreath and use that outlet. The balcony swags and lights are good, there’s an outlet up there. But I think another one under the eaves at the back side of the house—”

I interrupted her. “Justine.”

“Right here.”

“Babe,” I started softly. “It means a lot you kicked in. Like I explained, I’m going to pay you and I have this magnificent present for you from Paris. But, girl, I’m back. Things got extreme with Logan but in the end in a good way. That’s… I’ll explain later… but it’s good. Take care of Raff. Get back to your life. You don’t have to take my back anymore.”

“But I dig this.”

I stared at my desk.

“And the Hubbles are a hoot. The Mays are plum loco and totally hilarious. It’s not even Thanksgiving and it feels like Christmas, which is awesome. And that Barbie woman who we’re doing the sweet sixteen party for her daughter is super nice. She loves all my ideas. I don’t get to be creative working as a part-time PA for an accountant. Hell, I don’t even get to be creative with Raff since he can barely talk; he certainly can’t use a crayon.”

I heard her words.

But I kept staring at my desk.

I worked a lot because I didn’t have a life.

I also worked a lot because I liked my work.

Further, I worked a lot because I wanted to succeed. I’d been a driven person since I was a little kid. I won the spelling bee (three times). I’d been the freshman class secretary, the sophomore class vice president, and class president my junior and senior years.

There was more.

I did it quiet but I did it because it was something I did. It was just who I was.

Last, I worked because I liked to make money. It was only me (before a few days ago) who would enjoy my beautiful home, my beautiful clothes, but they were both things that gave me some of the little happiness I had.

And I had this happiness because I’d worked for it. I’d earned it. Me. Only me. All me.

Not to mention, in the times that were low, which were a fair few, I had visions (and thus started making plans years ago) of having a retirement where I did all the things I didn’t do along the way. Have fabulous parties. Travel. Take art classes or whatever struck my fancy to spend my time relaxing, looking after me, having fun.