Page 6 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

M y car’s check engine light just blinked on, I was fired an hour ago, and the only living creature awaiting my homecoming is the sullen cat I’ve recently adopted.

Happy Birthday to ME!

At least I’ll be eating cupcakes for dinner. This isn’t much of a consolation but when you’re grasping at straws, you’ll take what you can get.

Tomorrow’s chore is to figure out how to stretch my meager savings and dive into job hunting. Tonight my plan is to binge on buttercream frosting and cry over the Keira Knightly film version of Pride and Prejudice .

“You weren’t fired.” Alice, often an excessive optimist, points this out via speaker phone while I inch through freeway traffic. “There’s no shame in being laid off.”

“A technicality. Still jobless.” A pickup truck comes to a hard stop in front of me and I slam on the brake pedal.

“I’m really sorry, sweetie. But it’s not like they singled you out. Didn’t you say half the office staff was laid off?” She uses a tone of gentle patience that’s likely effective on her students. If only I was a fifth grader.

“Closer to two thirds,” I admit, feeling a pang for my former colleagues, many of whom have more dependents than a cranky cat.

“The cost of labor and raw materials rose too fast and eviscerated the budgets. Every project for the past eighteen months ended up deep in the red. I bet they won’t be able to make payroll by the end of the summer. ”

“I don’t speak spreadsheet,” Alice says. “But that sounds terrible. I know this feels like a setback right now but there’s got to be a silver lining in there somewhere.”

My best friend could find a bright side in salmonella poisoning.

But she might be on the right track. That job sucked.

The pay was nothing and the building was in a bad neighborhood.

After three years of loyal service in the accounting department, I was passed over for a promotion and the company owner thought my name was Belinda.

What I need is a new life plan. I’ve been stagnant for too long.

Before I start tinkering with my resumé I’ll spend some quality time with my bullet journal and manifest a new strategy.

There’s a lot to be said for scratching your thoughts onto paper with neat, careful lettering.

Tapping on a keyboard will never be as satisfying.

“You know what?” Alice says. “The second I finish grading these papers I’m changing out of my yoga pants and coming to your rescue.”

“Don’t do that. You’re all the way out in Buckeye now. And we already made plans this weekend.”

“Saving you from today’s birthday fiasco feels more dire. We’ll go to that western bar in Scottsdale and follow fake cowboys around. You need an uninhibited night out.”

Okay, optimism is one thing but now she’s just having a fantasy.

‘Uninhibited’ and me are two things that mesh as well as ketchup and waffles. My firm two drink limit means I’ve never even been truly drunk. During an argument, a former boyfriend accused me of following an itinerary for everything, sex included, which is absurd.

All I did was create a prospective intimacy timeline. Is it a crime to be prepared? The modern era is awfully busy. But NOOOO. I’m the monster for setting sensible goals and trying to follow through with them.

“Save the fake cowboys for some other time,” I tell Alice. “One of us still has a job and this is a school night for you.”

“I can power through with no sleep,” she insists.

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“It’s nothing an extra cup of coffee in the morning can’t handle.”

I clamp my lips together. If I don’t, I’ll laugh.

Alice Dreyfus was my college roommate and she’s an adorable sweetheart nearly a hundred percent of the time. But her slightly depraved side tends to surface when she doesn’t get her beauty sleep.

Our second year at Arizona State we lived next door to a pair of rowdy soccer players.

The first time they blasted party music all night and kept Alice awake until dawn, she covered their door with thick duct tape.

The second time, she enlisted my help in wrapping their pickup trucks with tinfoil.

The third time, irate that they were failing to get the message, she broke into their room while they were in class and sprayed whipped cream all over their beds.

After that, they relocated to a different wing of the building to escape from Alice’s wrath.

While I’d love her company, I can’t handle the responsibility of inflicting a sleep-deprived Alice on a classroom filled with innocent ten year olds.

“Count me in for a raincheck,” I tell her. “Getting fired is exhausting. All I have the energy to do is eat sugar and cuddle my cat.”

“When did the cat become cuddly?”

“Hoping for a birthday miracle.” Traffic starts moving and I coast forward. “I’m fine. I swear.”

“All right,” she says with reluctance. “Let me know if you change your mind.” A long pause follows. “Um, have you heard from your family today?”

My stomach curdles at the question.

I’ve been going by the name Cecilia Leone since I left for college seven years ago. Sharing my real name is risky. Alice can be trusted with my secrets but no one else. Even my short-lived romantic relationships always started with deception. Maybe that’s one reason they never lasted.

After all, when you can’t admit who you really are, what chance is there for a future?

“I’ll call Gabe when I get home,” I say, ignoring the stab of hurt. So far today, my twin brother has failed to answer any of my texts.

I won’t bother expecting to hear from anyone else. Given the nature of my surviving family members, that’s for the best. The fewer reminders they have of my existence, the more likely they are to let me keep my freedom.

Alice won’t allow the call to end until she belts out a highly enthusiastic and extremely off key version of Happy Birthday.

“Sending you invisible birthday hugs,” she says after the last note. “Welcome to the quarter of a century club. Hard to believe we’ve lived this long, isn’t it?”

Alice is a saint for trying to cheer me up so I’m glad she can’t see when I flinch.

The sudden dread threatening to swallow me is nothing new.

Each time I hit a new milestone, the feeling repeats and I’m consumed with fresh grief over the loss of my parents.

I wonder where I’d be if that day of carnage hadn’t happened.

Probably not jobless and forlorn in a city far from any family with only one real friend.

Birthdays were always a big deal when I was a child. There were rooms filled with colorful helium balloons and chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast and enormous family dinners. For me and Gabe, there were always two customized birthday cakes so we could both feel special.

“Make a wish, Cici. Blow out your candles and all your dreams will come true.”

Twelve years have gone by since I last heard my parents’ voices and I’m still caught off guard when it hits me that I’ll never hear them again.

“Cecilia?” Alice’s concern bleeds through the connection when I’m quiet for too long.

I had closed my eyes for a moment and now I open them to see the freeway traffic loosening up. “I’m here. I think I found the silver lining. No need to battle the Phoenix rush hour until I find a job.”

“That’s the spirit. Call me later if you want to talk. Love you and Happy Birthday.”

“Love you too.”

A dull ache won’t leave my chest as I steer the rest of the way on autopilot.

At the red light on the freeway exit ramp, I catch myself absently rubbing the scratchy rayon skirt fabric covering a knot of faded scar tissue below my left knee.

The habit is so old that I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time.

Those long ago days in the hospital felt endless. Even after the worst had passed and the doctors thought they could save my leg, Gabriel wouldn’t leave me. The hospital staff took pity and brought an extra cot into the room.

I was told that Gabe frantically ran out of the school’s computer lab before anyone had even told him about my accident.

I’m sure he felt the same sudden inexplicable panic that struck me two years earlier when he nearly drowned in a riptide while attempting to surf.

Like a slice of my soul was threatening to disconnect.

My twin and I haven’t been close like that in a very long time. With our parents gone, we were sent to separate boarding schools. And when we turned eighteen, our choices diverged permanently.

Perhaps I should be grateful that in the secretive, violent world of the Mafia, daughters aren’t as highly prized. Otherwise, I would not have been allowed to leave.

As the light flicks to green, I conduct a quick phone check.

No new calls or messages. Despite a wave of disappointment, I’m sure Gabe won’t forget to call.

There are two cupcakes in the ribboned bakery box on the seat beside me.

I’ll stick a candle in each for our birthday.

When you’ve entered the world as part of a matched set, it’s second nature to think in terms of pairs.

My apartment is located too close to ASU to be peaceful. With my lease up this summer, I’ve been researching condos. No home has felt meaningful since my parents were killed. Maybe a place of my very own, that I could paint and decorate as I please, would feel different.

Too bad this whole plan has just gone up in smoke. Nobody gives a mortgage to an applicant receiving unemployment checks.

As a final cherry on top of this shitty day, a rented black Porsche is sitting in my assigned parking place. I’m forced to circle around the complex until finally finding an open spot by the pool.