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Falling Apart, Falling for You

By Chris Posti

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CHAPTER 1
Suzanne
A change?” Perspiration prickled Suzanne Fleming’s skin as she struggled to grasp her boss’s message. “You need to make a change?” A sudden heat radiated from within. She spread her elbows onto the arms of the conference room chair. Shouldn’t have worn the new silk blouse.
Every April for the past nineteen years, the airline’s training director, Noreen Vale, had conducted a perfunctory meeting like this with Suzanne. In less time than it took to board a 737, she’d thank Suzanne for being a dependable trainer, assign her a fresh topic, and hand her a new annual contract with a three percent increase.
Today, though, Noreen wasn’t following the script.
Suzanne curled her manicured fingers and toes as she clung to a sliver of hope the “change” Noreen referred to merely spelled a new training topic. She’d all but memorized her current program, “Sexual Harassment & Sensitivity.” Spending months on a dry subject like that bored most trainers, but she’d made a habit of injecting humorous anecdotes into her material, which energized her and kept her audience engaged. She’d gone above and beyond—they owed her something for that.
Looking at Noreen’s demeanor, though, Suzanne suspected the “change” portended something less benign than a new topic. She tucked a stray tendril of platinum
blonde hair into her wavy up-do while straining to read the documents spread out on the other side of the table.
Noreen fingered the papers while peering at Suzanne over top of black-rimmed reading glasses. “Yes, a change.” She cleared her throat. “You’ve been a reliable contract trainer for us, but we’ve learned when our employees see someone over and over, they tune the person out. So, we’ve decided to make some changes to the training staff and increase our online training too.”
“Is—is that so?”
“We’d like you to finish your remaining sessions here in Las Vegas and a few other cities, but unfortunately, we won’t be renewing your contract. We’ll pay you through the end of June, even though you’ll complete your sessions two weeks before that. Here’s a list of items you’ll need to return.” She slid a paper toward Suzanne.
“Is it because I’m too old?” Suzanne blurted. She’d heard stories of others around her age being let go, and the words tripped out of her mouth before her brain realized it. She did that sometimes now.
“Not at all.” Noreen deadpanned. After all, the woman was notorious for terminating longstanding employment contracts. Trainers were easily replaced in a glamorous industry like the airlines. Just another item in their spare parts inventory, like a wing or a window.
“So—are you saying this is it?” Now barely breathing, Suzanne clenched her entire body.
“Next year, we’ll move on to some new programs.” Noreen tapped her pen on the laminated tabletop, as if bored by a conversation she’d often repeated. “We can talk about it then, if you’re interested in being considered.” She lifted her papers and wiggled them until they stacked together. She slid a paper clip on the corner and inserted the documents into an expandable folder. Typed in a large font, the tab read: “Former Contract Trainers.”
Seriously? Even her ex-husband Mike, a pilot who’d attended many of her classes and relished pointing out
her perceived flaws, had always said that even at five- foot-three, she knew how to command a room. Now, at fifty-seven, she was far more experienced, confident, and capable than ever. My age has got to have something to do with the decision.
“All right, then. Do you have any questions?” Noreen placed her hands on the edge of the table, readying herself to stand.
“No questions.” Protestation would be pointless. Suzanne worked as a contractor, not an employee. No redress available for spare parts people.
Noreen stood and extended a rigid hand. “We wish you all the best, Suzanne.”
I’ll bet. She rose for a one-pump handshake, her sweaty palm a stark contrast to Noreen’s dry fingers. “Thank you,” Suzanne replied, with the warmth of an icicle. In Alaska. In winter.
She snapped up her purse from the chair beside her and stumbled into the empty hallway. A large vent on the wall blasted cold air on her as she passed by, causing a shiver to dance up her spine. She backed up, put her hands on her hips, and did a slow three-sixty in the hope that, at the very least, her silk blouse could be salvaged. She forced herself to breathe slowly. Deeply. Lord, it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I need you now. A wave of guilt washed over her for thinking about God only when a crisis arose.
And this was a crisis for sure.
Her jumbled thoughts darted to Adam. These past four months, they’d established a pleasant groove of texting throughout the week and spending weekends together. The ease of their relationship had taken her by surprise, even generating in her an unexpected tug to return to the altar. Men had always been her undoing, and since her divorce, she’d trained herself to avoid anything more than casual dating—easy to do when your job bounces you from city to city.
Adam, though, offered potential as the perfect mate. But could their budding relationship withstand a jarring development like this? What’ll he think? That I’m a loser, incompetent at my job? That I’m looking to him as my retirement plan? She was this close to hitting her retirement target—but if she stayed jobless for long, her IRA would take a hit.
Blouse still damp, she kept rotating. Would this situation become another point of contention with her daughter? Ever since Jill and Drew had gotten married, Suzanne could no longer do anything right in her daughter’s eyes. It had to be Drew’s influence. He never said anything directly to Suzanne, but his body language spoke loud and clear, even pursing his lips dismissively, just like her ex used to do. The first time she met Drew, when she asked him what he did for a living, he raised his chin an inch before responding. “Finance.” Whatever that meant. She never broached the subject again.
Finally, with her blouse dry and emotions under control, she marched to her assigned meeting room. Suzanne was nothing if not self-disciplined. Poker face in place, she delivered the training to thirty ticket agents—even got them to laugh at some of her stories—then caught a flight home to Pittsburgh.
As the plane was full, Suzanne thanked God for the aisle seat. She crossed her legs, allowing her skirt’s short slit to expose a triangle of well-toned thigh. Will my muscles turn to blubber now that I won’t be using hotel gyms every night?
A beefy, handsome, forty-something man, dressed in expensive business casual and wedged in the middle seat, struck up a conversation. At first, she assumed he’d ask to switch seats, but he surprised her with his knowledge of travel, international politics, and natural health. Their lively conversation rejuvenated her, even made her wonder if he had an interest in her. But when he needed to pass her to use the restroom, he said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Suzanne stood in the aisle to let him out. That settles it. I guess I am old. She sank back into her seat, wondering if her gray roots, laugh lines, or something even worse had given her away.
***
Suzanne clunked her cinnamon bagels and a pint of strawberries onto the grocery’s checkout counter. “Happy Saturday, Dorothy.” She smiled at the wizened old woman, a comforting staple of her weekends home in Pittsburgh.
“Home for a couple days?” Dorothy glanced at Suzanne while ringing up the items on an ancient cash register.
Suzanne nodded. “I had to come back—I couldn’t take all that sunshine in Vegas.” Pittsburgh, with its many rivers and lush rolling hills, ranked behind only Buffalo and Seattle as most overcast city in America.
The woman winced as she placed the items in a plastic bag.
“Arthritis acting up?” Suzanne tipped her head in sympathy. Dorothy’s gnarled hands reminded Suzanne of her mother’s. Some days, the poor woman could barely open a jar.
“Yeah.” Dorothy rubbed a knuckle. “Must be the damp weather.”
Suzanne clucked her tongue. “Spring in Pittsburgh—if it’s not raining now, it’s gonna.” She scooped up her bag of groceries. “My mom swears by some cream she uses. When I visit her today, I’ll find out the name, and I’ll bring you a jar to try.”
Hiking back to her condo, she stopped at one of the sidewalk observation decks overlooking downtown. Even through murky skies, she easily picked out Adam’s penthouse among the glass towers. No wonder. The architecture of his building stood out from the crowd—just like Adam did.
She set her bag on the damp cement and rested her elbows on the metal railing. Ever since her days as a flight attendant, heights had helped her figure out anything on her mind. She scanned the budding trees on the steep hillside below, then watched a flock of swallows zooming overhead, seeming to have no goal other than flying like dive-bombers. Waiting for inspiration, she followed their antics. But this morning, her mind remained as foggy as the sky.
When the dampness increased to rain, she flicked her umbrella open and made her way back home. After a quick breakfast, she headed to her mom’s. Only forty minutes south of Pittsburgh, entering sleepy little Port Mariette comforted her like a warm hug.
Her mother pushed the screen door open, her eyes registering concern. “Everything okay?” Her brow furrowed as she examined her daughter. Normally, Suzanne visited on Sunday afternoons—never Saturday mornings.
She broke the bad news as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
“Aw, what a shame, Suzie.” Her mother circled her arms around Suzanne and patted her on the back.
Suzanne couldn’t help herself—she sobbed like a child.
They plopped onto the worn sofa. “Have you told Jill yet?”
“I called her last night.” Suzanne sniffed. Jill worked grueling hours as a pastry chef in an upscale New Jersey hotel, which apparently made her too busy to produce a grandchild, or even be available for regular conversations with the woman who brought her into this world. “She thought it was crazy they’d let me go. She agrees it could be age-related.”
“You’re not old.” Suzanne’s mom shook her head with vigor. “You barely look fifty.”
“Thanks for the boost, Mom. But Jill did remind me I still use paper handouts. These days, no other trainer does that.” She rolled her eyes. “I do despise technology.”
“No sin in that.” Her mother chuckled as she inclined her head toward the beige cordless phone perched on the end table.
Suzanne had to admit she’d been slipping mentally too. Last month, while loading suitcases into her rental vehicle, she’d put her cellphone on the roof of the car, then driven off. A driver approaching from the opposite direction beeped, jabbing his finger at the top of the car until it dawned on her to rescue the phone.
“Jill said losing my job might turn out to be a good thing.” Suzanne shrugged. “Like she said, I’ll have more time for Adam, at least until I land something.” Thank goodness her call with Jill had ended on such a positive note. Not all their conversations went that well.
“By the way, at the hairdresser’s yesterday, I overheard two women talking.” Her mother raised a finger as she recalled the details. “They said something about your class having a fortieth reunion. That oughta be fun.”
Just what she needed, an occasion to tell her former classmates she was divorced, out of work, and didn’t have one single grandchild. She hadn’t seen any of these people since graduation—why now? Still, she’d love to know how her classmates had turned out. Rachel, her friend since kindergarten, had stayed in Port Mariette, but her other close friend, Marla, had moved back to New York.
“How ’bout Adam—have you told him yet?” Her mother asked in a tentative voice.
“Not yet. We’re going to Carmen tonight. I’ll tell him then.”
“An opera?” Her mom scrunched her face. “I never knew you enjoyed that kind of stuff.”
“I don’t, really.” Suzanne lifted a shoulder. “The sets and costumes fascinate me, though.”
“You always did like anything artistic.”
“And Adam needs to be there for his bank. They’re a big sponsor of cultural events.”
“Sounds like things are getting serious with you two. You’ve been dating him longer than most.” Her mother raised a thin eyebrow. “Since around Christmas, right?”
The ends of Suzanne’s mouth curled into a smile. “Uh- huh.” Exactly four months today, in fact. “But with my schedule, we aren’t able to see one another all that much, so it’s hard to say.” A couple weeks previously, she’d tossed out a trial balloon, saying she’d consider not renewing her training contract if she had a reason to stick around in Pittsburgh. He’d acted intrigued, but their conversation went nowhere. What would he say now, when he learned she’d been let go?
“Such a shame about your job.” Her mother shook her head in slow motion. “You really seemed to enjoy that kind of work and all the travel. But maybe God has something better in store for you.” She looked up, eyes bright. “Like, remember when your dad and I sent you to visit your cousin in London right after graduation? After that, all you could talk about was getting a job with an airline.”
There she goes again, acting as if Dad participated in our lives.
“You bet I remember.” Suzanne recalled the terror she felt leaving tiny Port Mariette all by herself. She’d always dreamed of leaving town, but when it finally happened, the reality threatened to overwhelm her. Changing planes in New York, she’d misread the ticket and gone to the wrong terminal in JFK, nearly missing her connection to Heathrow. Once she made it to London, though, traveling took root in her soul, crowding out all other interests.
“Anyway, Suzie, maybe there’s something else you’re passionate about you’ve neglected all these years of flying all over the place. Maybe—maybe it’s time to settle down.”
Suzanne couldn’t have put it better herself.
According to Adam, who was quite knowledgeable about all matters cultural, Carmen had a reputation as the sexiest opera of all. Oh, goodie. Nothing sexier than telling your current beau you’ve just lost your job.
She pulled from her closet a dazzling red dress she’d picked up in Chicago last month. The dress, sleeveless with a filmy and flowing short skirt, yet cinching her waist to emphasize her figure, would turn heads.
A few hours later, just as she zipped up, Adam arrived at her door looking dashing as ever but flushed. As a senior bank executive, his schedule could be taxing.
“Sorry I’m late, mon petit chou.” Adam had also taken French in high school, so they sometimes dropped a phrase of français into their conversations. He’d chosen “my little cabbage”—loosely translated as “my darling”—as his term of endearment for Suzanne. She took it as a sign of his growing affection.
“I got caught up on a call.” He leaned over and pecked her cheek, avoiding her dewy red lipstick. “Sorry.”
The call, he said, was an urgent one, and ironically, dealt with a sexual harassment charge against someone reporting to him. “Pretty confidential. I shouldn’t talk about it.”
At dinner, though, as they sat side by side in a plush leather booth sipping cocktails, he raised the subject again. From only a few details, Suzanne gleaned the gravity
of the situation.
“Tom’s my top performer—he’ll be impossible to
replace.” Adam took a gulp of Scotch as he ran his hands through his short sandy hair.
“I remember meeting him at some event you took me to.” Suzanne tilted her head. “I think it was a hockey game. Seemed like a nice guy.” She shrugged. “But I guess I was wrong.”
***
Adam nodded. “I hired him myself. We’ve worked together for years. This is going to do his career in. He’s
never going to recover financially. He’ll have to move to another city where the scandal’s not common knowledge.” “I can’t believe he was dumb enough to have an affair with a subordinate.” She paused. “It could cost him his marriage.” She loved dropping that word into their
conversations just to gauge his reaction.
Adam’s eyes bored into his drink. “And then he wants to
get her fired because she wasn’t doing a good job?” Adam blew out a breath. “His testosterone must have affected his brain. Anyway, this is the part of my job I absolutely hate.” He took another gulp of Scotch. A big one.
Adam drank, but never heavy like this. To shift the mood, she poked his ribs and said with levity, “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, banker boy!”
“You are so heartless, Suzanne,” Adam chuckled. Turning serious, he planted his hand on hers. “Thanks for bringing me back to reality. I needed that.”
She did feel bad about Adam having to deal with the situation. Yet she didn’t want Tom’s bad behavior to ruin the night with Adam. She decided to delay talking about her own career crisis until they got to her place at the end of the evening.
The opera? Oh, yeah. Sexy indeed. Those richly colored flamenco skirts and castanets created a sultry mood, and when she and Adam returned to her condo, she felt closer to him than ever. Adam, ever the gentleman, always respected her boundaries. She was no saint, but she did have a few lines in the sand. He knew her beliefs prevented her from having a sexual relationship outside of marriage, and Suzanne loved him for not pressing her on it.
But tonight, she had a need for some serious hugging. As soon as they reached her condo, Suzanne let out a groan. “Oh, I can barely breathe in this dress!” The cinched waist had been boring into her tummy for hours. She disappeared into the bedroom and changed into soft, figure-hugging loungewear.
When she returned to the living room, Adam’s eyes widened. He patted the cushion on the sofa. “C’mere.”
As he raised a muscled arm to embrace her, she nestled in next to him.
And then his cellphone rang.
The caller spoke in a loud, urgent voice.
Adam’s brow furrowed. “Yes, Mark. I see.” Mark Lawton
was the bank’s president.
“I’ll get right over there.” Adam put his phone in his
pocket as he stood. “I’m sorry, Suzanne. I have to get to the hospital.” He blinked a few times, as if trying to get his bearings. “Tom tried to commit suicide. They don’t know—” Adam choked up. “—if he’ll make it.”

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