Hanna Martine - Long Shot

“Points for honesty. One thing you’ve never lacked.”

“Neither have you.”

Down at the triangular pub, a fight broke out on the sidewalk between groups of guys dressed in different colors meant to represent sports teams she didn’t recognize. “Mom, the other reason I’m calling is to tell you that I won’t be able to send money for a while. I’m going to be a little short on cash, and I don’t know for how long.”

What came out of her mother’s mouth shocked the hell out of her. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, not in trouble.”

“I don’t need it anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have a job. It’s just cleaning offices, but it’s a job. I’ve been saving what you’ve been sending for a surprise trip to see Aimee and the little girl I’ve never met.”

Through the phone, Jen heard the metallic strike of a lighter, the gentle hiss of a newly lit cigarette, and her mom’s deep inhale. “Why are you gonna be short on cash? Thought you just told me you got this big promotion?”

“I did get the promotion.” Jen placed her palm on the glass. “I just didn’t accept it.”

Leith had been right. About so much.

Tim had called from New York that morning to offer Jen the position of running the London office. On one hand she’d been expecting it; on the other she’d been in complete denial. She kept waiting for the relief and triumph to sweep through her, but it never came. After telling Tim she’d think about it and would get back to him, she went for a walk along the Thames. She stood on the Millennium Bridge for a long time, over one of the world’s great rivers, in one of the world’s most majestic cities, and all she could think about was the little creek running through Gleann.

That shouldn’t have made any sense. But it did.

She had thought that making it to this point in her career would heal her, that it would take a needle and thread and stitch up what had been shredded during her childhood.

But it didn’t actually mean anything to her, not inside at least. Not where it mattered most. This promotion was a title and something to tell people, but it was only window dressing.

That true healing she had to find elsewhere. And she already knew where to start looking.

She called Tim back right then and there, plugging one ear with a finger to drown out the sounds of everything she was turning down, and told him, “Thanks, but no.” And then gave him her resignation.

The rest of the afternoon she’d hunched over her computer crunching numbers, researching, formulating business plans, consolidating files . . . and trying not to call Leith.

He’d made it pretty clear that if and when she came back to him, she had a lot of proving to do. She understood; her track record with taking off and leaving him high and dry wasn’t so good. That’s exactly what she intended—to give him proof—but she needed to get a lot of things squared away before she contacted him.

Two weeks away from him felt like an eternity, but she would have to force herself to wait just a little bit longer.

After the sun had gone down, and her eyes burned with computer strain, and her brain hurt from thinking, she’d finally sat back and surveyed what she’d created.

It was her dream, her needle and thread, right there in pixels and paragraphs, and she’d never even realized it until this very moment. She’d been dying to call Leith right then and there, but there’d been two other people she needed to talk to first. That’s when she’d dialed her mom.

One more person to go.

As expected, voice mail picked up. Jen sighed. “Aimee, it’s me. I know you’ve been getting all my messages these past two weeks and I don’t blame you for ignoring them, but please call me back. I just talked to Mom and I want to tell you about it.”

An hour and a half later, at nearly midnight London time with still no sleep in sight, the phone rang. And then Jen told Aimee every word she and their mom had shared, except the part about Mom wanting to visit. That little tidbit she’d let come out on its own; she’d let her mom have that.

“Your messages said you’re in London. How the hell did that happen?”

Jen considered that. “Misguidedly. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I’m coming home.”

“Does Leith know that?”

“We, uh, haven’t spoken since the day before I left. I told him I was going to England, he got angry, which made me angry, and then I left. It was stupid and I need to make it up to him. I want to get him back.”

A long, pregnant pause. “I’ll tell you what you should do. You should go surprise him at the Connecticut Highland Games this weekend.”

Her heart started to pound in her ears. “The . . . why?”

“I guess he’s throwing? Last I heard was that Duncan dragged him back into the circuit after how well he did in Gleann.”

Jen pressed a straight arm to the counter edge and leaned in heavily. “He threw ? After I left?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know?” Aimee sounded genuinely surprised.

“Oh God. No. He didn’t say anything.”

And why would he have, given how she’d blindsided him with news of her leaving for London? He hadn’t wanted to guilt her into staying, because he didn’t work like that. He’d just wanted to make his points about her goals and her upbringing and her mom, and to keep himself out of it.

Damn selfless man . . . whom she wanted so much it made her chest ache.

She wished she could have seen him throw.

“So you’re coming home?” Aimee cut in.

“I am. I quit my job and I’m going to start my own events company.”

It felt incredible to say, the first poke of the needle through torn flesh and muscle.

“I’d say I’m impressed, but very little of what you do doesn’t impress me.”

Jen smiled into the phone. “You’ll like this, then. I’m going to focus on smaller events put on by smaller clients like Gleann who maybe need overall help with organization. I’m a whiz with budgets and I really, really loved bringing the citizens together. You know, teaching them how to fish instead of casting the line out all by myself.”

Aimee gasped. “You were really good at that. Maybe Bobbie would hire you. Melissa’s underwriting the winter crafts convention, so there’s no lack of money. And they trust you.”

She couldn’t deny it. Going back to teeny tiny Gleann and working on those events gave her a sense of hope, an undeniable exhilaration. “When I get my materials put together, I’ll send them over.” At last she yawned, the crazy, full day suddenly smacking her upside the head.

“I get the hint,” Aimee said. “I’ll tell Ainsley you called. She’s over at Bryan’s now.”

“How is my Flirty McGee?”

“Ah, stop! Too young for flirting!”

Not if she kept hanging around T, she wouldn’t be, but Jen didn’t say that.

“So can I tell Sue what you’re doing with your job and all?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Sure. But don’t tell me what she says. I don’t want to know if she gives you those tight lips and looks at you over her glasses, and then maybe mentions how I didn’t pick up her dog poop that one day fifteen years ago.”

Aimee laughed. “Okay, but maybe she’ll hire you back for the games next year and, I don’t know, actually pay you.”

“Love you.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said that to Aimee. Maybe never.

“Love you, too, sis. I was mad at you for leaving during the games, but I’m not anymore. We all came together after you took off. It turned out great. Well, as great as it could be. Everyone talked about what a wonderful job you did. Despite the cow.”