Read on, dear friends, and enjoy.
Chapter 11
The holiday season following Grace's twenty-fifth birthday wasn't in any way cheerful. It snowed too much—and it was that nasty brown snow that gets your socks wet—the paper Grace worked at didn't give her the raise she was due and Grace only saw her dad once. She celebrated the New Year alone.
Two days into the New Year, Grace ate at her favorite Chinese restaurant. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that looked like the food could kill you, but was actually delicious.
As always, Grace ordered it to go. While she was waiting for the food to be ready, Grace took a fortune cookie from the tray by the register. Hungry, Grace took the wrapper off and made to eat the cookie. A very unwelcomed voice stopped her.
If you eat it now, your fortune won't come true, Joan's voice said.
Where the hell did that come from? Grace asked herself. Annoyed, Grace broke the cookie in half.
Don't read the fortune! Joan's voice shrieked in Grace's mind. You have to eat the cookie first.
Grace was starting to wonder if she was drunk. The only time she had pointless conversations with non-existent people was when she was under the influence. But Grace hadn't had a drop of alcohol all day. In fact, Grace realized, she hadn't had any since New Year's Eve.
The realization that she wasn't drunk, however, did little to improve Grace's mood. After all, that meant she was arguing with Joan's voice while in control of her wits.
Now thoroughly annoyed, Grace yanked the fortune out of the cookie.
"It's always darkest before dawn," the slip of paper read.
Grace ate the cookie and threw the fortune away. Her food was ready shortly after that, and Grace gave the fortune no more thought.
xxxxx
The alarm woke Grace up at 6:35 in the morning. She got up with a sigh and went to take a shower.
Twenty minutes later, Grace was searching frantically through her clothes. She had no pants on. Cursing to herself, Grace realized she hadn't picked up the dry cleaning the day before. She searched through the pile of dirty clothes by her bed. Finding a pair of pants that were only slightly wrinkled, Grace pulled them on.
Grace finished getting ready quickly, and went into the kitchen to make coffee. She flipped on the television.
"Thanks for the report, Kim," the blonde anchorman said to his brunette counterpart. "And now let's go to Michael Grant with the weather."
Michael Grant, oddly tan for mid-January, appeared on the television. Grace half-listened to the report as she bustled around the kitchen.
"Good Morning, New York," he said cheerfully, "Good to know you're up and about, even if the sun isn't. That's right, folks, it's going to be another cloudy day. It shouldn't snow until Tuesday, though, so don't wear your heaviest coats to work today!"
Grace looked over at the television, disgusted that someone could be this excited about the weather this early in the morning. She snapped the television off before it could make her headache any worse.
Grace hated the mornings after she drank.
xxxxx
As had been planned the day before, Grace met with her editor at ten-thirty. She walked out of the editor's office at ten-fifty and went to sit at her desk. She turned off her computer. She opened her desk drawers and put her belongings into her purse. Vaguely, Grace marveled at how few personal belongings she had brought to work.
Grace sighed just as the editor's secretary walked by.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Landing said kindly, "I'm so sorry about everything."
Had any other person in the office said this to her, Grace would have lashed out. But Mrs. Landing had such a calm, comfortable demeanor that Grace had never been able to help liking her.
Grace smiled sadly at the woman.
"You're such a good writer, dear," Mrs. Landing said. "You'll get another job."
"How do you know?" Grace asked.
"Well, didn't you know?" Mrs. Landing asked in her kind voice, "I'm omniscient."
"Are you?" Grace asked tiredly.
"I am."
"Then you knew I was going to be fired?"
"I did."
"Thanks for the warning," Grace muttered.
"It's not my place to directly intervene," Mrs. Landing explained. "I'm a big fan of free will."
"I'm a big fan of having a job," Grace snapped, finally loosing her cool.
"This is a new opportunity for you, Grace," Mrs. Landing said. "You should—"
"I swear to God," Grace interrupted, "if you give me any of that 'when God closes a door, He opens a window' bullshit, I will have to hurt you. Even if you are old and nice."
"Things will work out in the end, Grace Polanski, if you're willing to make connections," Mrs. Landing said serenely.
"How do you know my old last name?" Grace breathed.
"I told you, Ms. Polanski, I know everything."
Mrs. Landing walked away. Just as she was about to turn the corner, she gave an odd backward wave. Grace sat at her desk for a few moments before pulling herself together and walking out of the building with her head held high.
xxxxx
A week later, Grace was still jobless. She had put in job applications at a few companies—even had one job interview—but nothing seemed right.
Grace was getting desperate. She only had enough money to pay rent for January. If she didn't get a job soon, she would be homeless in February.
Grace heated up some pizza and sat down at the kitchen table. It was time to do some thinking.
The way Grace saw it, she had three options. She could get the first job she was offered and keep living as she had been. She could borrow money from her dad, and float until she found a good job. Or, she could move out, sell her furniture to earn some money and start over somewhere new.
Grace didn't like her current life enough to choose Option One, and Option Two was unacceptable—Grace Polk did not borrow money. That only left her with Option Three.
Well, Grace thought as she finished a slice, I guess I'm starting over.
The next hurdle was deciding where she would start over. Anywhere in New York was out of the question; Grace needed a real change. She liked city life, though, so she started naming all the cities she could think of.
Boston? Too historical.
Miami? Too many clubs.
Los Angeles? Too many cars.
San Francisco? Too many hippies.
Chicago? Too windy.
Atlanta? Too Southern.
Phoenix? Too boring.
Houston? Too much country music.
New Jersey? Actually, New Jersey didn't sound so bad. Didn't sound all that great, either, but it would do.
Having decided to move to New Jersey, Grace started searching the apartment for stuff she could sell. She needed to scrounge up enough money for at least one month's rent.
Grace went to a second-hand store the next day and bargained for forty-five minutes with an older gentleman who desperately needed a bath. They finally agreed on a price, and he promised to send some guys over the next day to get her furniture. Next, Grace went the Rent-A-Car station and put a hold on the cheapest car she could find. Satisfied that she was making the right decision, but noticeably unexcited about the big move, Grace walked back to her apartment.
A package was waiting for her. Grace nearly fainted when she saw the return address. What could Joan possibly want to send her?
Grace ripped the brown paper off the box. An envelope was taped to the top. Oddly nervous, Grace opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter.
Hi, Grace
How are you? It's been ages since we saw each other. I hope you're well.
I moved back to Arcadia a few months ago. My company (I work for a publishing house) opened an office here, and I figured I might as well transfer here. Who says you can't go home again? Besides, I didn't like Florida very much. The great thing about moving because of your job is that they pack up all your junk for you, then ship it to the new place. I had to unpack, though, and that's been a drag. I only just finished last week.
I found a bunch of old high school stuff in one of the boxes. I honestly had no idea I still had some of that crap. A fair amount of it wasn't even mine, too, so I figured I should return it. If you think your box is big, you should see Adam's.
Do you keep in touch with Adam? I do, sort of. He seems happy. I hope you are.
I'm pretty happy. I like my job, and I'm pretty sure the guy at the coffee house that I have a crush on is going to ask me out. Mom and Dad are good. Dad's retiring soon, so they might move to California. Yeah, I was shocked, too. Kevin married Beth and they have twin girls. They only live a few blocks from me, so I baby-sit a lot. I'm thinking about stopping now that the girls can walk, though. It's amazing how quickly they get away from you. I nearly had a heart attack last week when Jenna disappeared. Don't worry, though, she was just in the laundry room. Luke's almost finished at Caltech. I'm not sure what he's going to do next. I don't think he knows either.
Well, enjoy looking at our crap. I hope you don't mind, but I returned your yearbook. Remember when you gave it to me, and said you'd pay twice as much as it cost to forget half the people in there? I'm sorry I didn't burn it like you asked me to. I'm also sorry I never read your copy of Locke's Second Treatise on… something. Why can't you read anything with normal titles? Okay, and I have noidea I how ended up with a pair of those horrible boots you used to wear. Please, tell me you no longer wear that kind of stuff. The leather jacket I can deal with; the boots are just too much.
Enjoy the trip down memory lane.
-Joan
Grace read the letter twice through, then opened the box. On the top was a shirt she used to sleep in. She must have left it at the Girardi house during one of the sleepovers Joan used to force her into. Folded into the shirt were some pictures. Grace set them aside and dug deeper into the box. She pulled out her boots, and was pleased to see they still fit. Next out of the box was a bright red scarf. Grace couldn't remember the story behind that one. She pulled out some smaller objects next: a weird rock, a purple pen and a keychain that read "Shut Up!" Grace decided right then and there that high school had been stranger than she remembered. She tossed those things to the side and looked into the box. All that was left was Locke's Second Treatise on Government and her yearbook. Grace didn't even bother taking those out. She had meant it when she told Joan to burn her yearbook, and she just couldn't bring herself to get as worked up over politics as she used to.
Grace considered looking through the pictures, but decided that was a bad idea. She'd run out of liquor the night before, and wasn't feeling up to looking at those pictures without a stiff drink.
As Grace shoved the stuff back into the box, a phrase from Joan's letter kept playing through her mind. Who says you can't go home again?
Could she go home again? Nothing was stopping her. Grace could live in a crappy apartment in Arcadia just as well as she could in New Jersey. And it would make her dad happy if she was closer. Joan would probably like it, too.
It would be harder to hide her habit in Arcadia, though. In fact, Grace suspected it would be impossible. Joan was very nosy.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad, Grace thought as she pushed the box under her table. I never meant for this to be a life-long habit.
As Grace got ready for bed that night, she grew more and more excited about moving to Arcadia. It would be hard—she'd have to give up drinking completely—but it would be nice to be back with people who knew her and liked her.
xxxxx
xxxxx
Thanks for reading. Next chapter will be up shortly.