room. I wanted them not to miss out on all the things people their age did. Scarlett missed so much.” Her longing is clear. “Her days were filled with doctors’ appointments and tests when they should have been filled with fresh air and fun. I can’t bring her back, but I can make her memory live on through people like you and everyone who walks through these doors.” She smiles nostalgically.
When I think I can speak without bawling like a baby, I state, “Strawberry Fields is a beautiful tribute to your daughter. I think she would have loved it here.”
“Thank you, Lola.” She wipes away a stray tear, embarrassed. “Anyhow”—she clears her throat— “believe it or not, that’s not why I asked you in here.” I’m thankful for the change of pace until I hear the topic. “I wanted to discuss your fainting episode.”
My back straightens, and all sentiment flies out the window. “I’m so sorry. I completely understand if you want me to leave.”
“Leave? Good god, no. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Can I do anything for you? We have some doctors who could…”
But I wave her off. “Thank you so much for the offer, but I’ve had enough of doctors.” Especially one in particular. “That’s not why I came here.”
“Of course. But please know how much I appreciate you being here. What you said last night…” She pulls in her lips in an effort not to cry. “It showed everyone just how strong you are. You belong here, and I’m so thankful that you are.”
Her admission means so much to me. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I know I’m not the ideal candidate for the job.”
“You’re perfect,” she interrupts. “Dr. Archibald also agrees.”
“Really?” I raise a brow, intrigued.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sure Dr. Archibald was pleased someone agreed with him for a change.” I chew the inside of my cheek, afraid I’ve shared too much.
But she reads my body language. “Go easy on him. His practices may be…unconventional,” she settles on, searching for the right word. “But he means well. He has everyone’s best interests at heart.”
When she sees me mulling over what she just revealed, she shocks me even further by reaching for her coffee. She takes a composing sip and says, “He wants to save the world. That’s his problem, Lola.”
She doesn’t explain what that means, leaving me with more questions than answers. I want to ask her so many things, but I don’t because I’m afraid I won’t like her reply. Her pink lips form a small frown as she turns her chair and sips her coffee while looking out the window. It’s my cue to leave.
“Thanks, June. For everything.” She simply nods in response.
I wonder if she has any other children, but the missing happy snaps of another child or even a husband reveals that it’s only her—how incredibly sad. That must be the reason she throws herself into work. She has no family, just us, and even then, we leave, some more tragically than others.
June erected this place to pay homage to her daughter. She really loved her. All I can picture is my mother throwing a celebratory party in my honor.
Unable to think about this without getting heartburn, I venture to the happiest place on earth that doesn’t involve mouse ears—a library. Two levels with floor-to-ceiling bookcases bursting with books are what I’m faced with.
A few people are tucked away in their own private nooks, entranced in the pages of whatever world they want to get lost in. My fingers itch, excited to uncover a new adventure and lose myself before my volleyball lesson starts in thirty minutes.
I make my way over to the spiral staircase but stop when a computer workstation catches my eye.
“Because he wants to save the world. That’s his problem.”
What does that mean? Why do I feel there is a hidden message behind her words?
“Only one way to find out,” subconscious Georgia says.
Biting my lip, I glimpse at the staircase, then over at the computers. Repeat. I need to keep walking up those stairs and not stalk Roman…said no one ever.
I’m over at the computer and pulling out a chair before I can berate myself for making an impulse decision sure to end badly. No one is around me, so I have all the privacy I need, which is a dangerous, dangerous thing.
Peering over my shoulder to ensure no one is looking, I click on the web browser, the flashing cursor taunting me