The Noel Letters (The Noel Collection #4) - Richard Paul Evans Page 0,10

it was just my life.

I don’t know why an early morning anxiety attack should have surprised me. I was in a strange bed, I had just gone through a divorce and a death, and I was getting kicked out of my apartment. I was basically checking my way down the official list of anxiety-provoking situations. All I needed now was to lose my job.

I was desperate to get back to New York, if for no other reason than to return to a little routine. And I needed to find an apartment. Put that on the list.

It was already past noon Eastern time when I checked my email. Again, there was nothing from work. There were two possibilities: either my employer was having a party without me, or the publishing house was respecting my privacy in a difficult time and I should regard their silence as a sign of respect. Why was I feeling so insecure?

I made myself a breakfast of oatmeal with craisins.* I thought of going out for a walk, but the kitchen windows were iced over, and I just didn’t have it in me that morning to endure anything that cold. I went back to the couch to finish the Vonnegut book. There were many places where my father had folded the corners or highlighted lines in marker. A few places he wrote HA, HA. My father had a slightly warped sense of humor, but I laughed at each of his notations.

I had been reading for about an hour when my phone rang. It was a 212 prefix, a New York area code, which pleased me. They haven’t forgotten about me after all, I thought. The number belonged to Natasha, my supervisor at the publishing house. I set down the book and lifted my phone. “Natasha, I’m so glad to hear from you.”

She hesitated. “Noel? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little confused. “I was told your father died.”

I understood her confusion. I lowered my voice. “He passed away Tuesday. Who told you?”

“Lori told me. I wanted to offer my condolences.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to call.”

There was another hesitation, and then she said, “Actually, that’s not the only reason I called.” Her voice tightened. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll just say it. We’re terminating your position.”

“Terminating my position? What’s wrong with my position?”

“By the HR book, I’m supposed to use that terminology, but you’re too smart for HR games. The truth is, we’re terminating you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re being let go.”

“No, that part I understand. I don’t understand why, out of nowhere, you’re firing me.”

“Actually, it’s not so out of nowhere. It’s been coming for some time now. HR has a collection of complaints. They have for a while.”

“Complaints? From whom? Christine? You know I don’t get along with her. Or with any of her sycophants.”

“It’s not just your colleagues, Noel. It’s your authors as well.”

For a moment I was speechless. “Who?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Then at least tell me what I did.”

Her voice took on an edge. “You want me to go down the list?”

“I think I’m owed that.”

“All right,” she said. “I jotted down a few of the complaints. ‘You’re not present.’ ‘You ignore suggestions and input.’ ‘You don’t pay attention.’ ‘Your personal life is negatively influencing your work—’ ”

“You think?” I blurted out. “I caught my husband cheating on me, my father was dying…”

“Shall I continue?” she said.

“If there’s more.”

“There’s more. ‘You’re unpleasant to work with.’ ‘You’re condescending.’ ‘You’re overly negative, you’re mean, and you snap when you’re contradicted or someone doesn’t agree with you on the slightest point.’ ”

“I can’t help it if I work with idiots.”

Natasha didn’t say anything. I guess my response proved her point. Finally, I said, “How long has everyone hated me?”

“No one hates you,” she said. “At least, I don’t. Look, I didn’t call to attack you.”

“… But you did.”

“I gave you what you asked for.”

“My books have done well.”

“For the most part.”

“What does that mean?”

“A few of your authors might disagree. One told me that she finally just surrendered her manuscript before she was done so she didn’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“Who said that?”

“Again, I’m not going to throw anyone under the bus.”

“Just me,” I said. “I gave you my best work.”

“No one is disputing your commitment or your talent. Just your manner. This is a people business, Noel. It’s like there are actors in Hollywood who can’t get parts because no