Page 6 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

"I should go," I said, stepping back. "My grandparents are expecting me for dinner.”

"Of course." Madame Belova's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "They are well?"

My throat closed. Grandmother’s mind was deteriorating more every day. When Serenity House moved her to the memory care unit, I’d cried myself to sleep. Grandpa could have chosen the independent living apartments, but he’d opted for the assisted living wing instead, simply because it was closer to his wife. I wanted that kind of love—when a couple hundred feet further apart felt like a thousand miles.

Grandpa had been losing weight since they’d moved to Serenity. Five pounds at first. Not much really. Then he’d lost another five. Five more. At twenty pounds lost, the doctors ordered tests. We were waiting on those results. Though the sheer stress of watching his soulmate succumb to Alzheimer’s was probably the root cause. He’d told me one evening that watching my grandmother lose herself was worse than any physical pain he’d ever experienced. He would trade places with her in a heartbeat or even lose a limb if it would buy her time.

So, it had to be anxiety. It had to be worry.

I couldn’t think that it was anything else. I refused to entertain the worst-case scenarios.

“They’re doing okay,” I lied yet again.

“I’m glad.” Her voice was tinned now, as if she were canning up her feelings and putting a lid on her sadness. I couldn’t blame her. She may hate what’s happening to me, but at the end of the day, my sorrow didn’t shift her own circumstances.

“Me too,” My throat hurt from subterfuge, but it was easier than ripping all the bandages off at once. How could a person survive the loss of their dreams? Let alone face the possibility of losing the only family they have simultaneously.

“Bye, Madame.” I gave her a weak smile.

“Do call, Nelly.” The sadness in her expression. The glazed-over quality of her gaze. She also already knew I wouldn’t ever reach out. “When you visit your grandparents, let me know.”

“Sure,” I pushed out the one word, and it felt like broken glass.

I turned quickly, walking away from her. I took the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. The lift wasn’t on this level. I didn’t want the pause to give someone else the opportunity to approach me. Thankfully, the stairwell was empty. I was alone for fleeting moments. As I descended, I let myself feel everything. Each word Madoff and the board member had said in the meeting fell back into my brain like rain droplets from a memory cloud. The awfulness of the experience soaked me to my marrow. I felt cold. Dead inside.

There wasn’t an umbrella in the world large enough to shield me from this storm.

“We wantyou to know this was a tough decision, Nelly.” The woman was a former dancer and a current member of the board. Elena… Something.

“Yes, tough is an understatement. We all know how talented you once were.” The company director paused then, clearing his throat. “How talented you are, and continue to be,” he corrected. Daniel Madoff straightened his tie; it wasn’t crooked.

“Incredibly talented, of course. Otherwise, you’d never have made principal dancer in the first place, let alone be fast-tracked to first female principal.” The Elena woman gave asimpering, fake smile. Part of me thought she was enjoying this—seeing a fellow dancer fall from grace, as if it would bring back her own heyday.

“The fact of the matter is that the kind of injury you experienced is often career-ending. You knew this was always a possible outcome.” Madoff again.

I blinked at them. This couldn’t be happening. Not after all my hard work.

What happened to, ‘You’ll always have a place here’?

What happened to, ‘Don’t worry, Nelly. We see how hard you’re working to recover’?

What had they gained by leading me on?

“I don’t understand. My surgeons and physical therapists all gave the thumbs-up. They’ve even written Imperial that I’m cleared to dance again. I’ve done everything asked of me.” I stammered out the words, trying to collect my thoughts and not sound like a muddled mess. I nervously patted my hand over my slicked hair. I didn’t remind them of the full medical note, that I was cleared to dance again, but I was half a year out from rigorous jumps.

“Yes, well, the general liability and workman’s comp coverage has skyrocketed since your accident, Nelly. It was the first real claim we’ve had in…” the director flicked a look at the representative from the board.

“A decade, Daniel,” she offered. “Don’t quote me on that though. You know I’m still familiarizing myself with the Company’s history.

“You’re catching on brilliantly, Elena. A decade sounds right.” He turned his attention back to me, scrunched his brows and frowned, as if trying to look as sympathetic as possible. “There was really no way we could know bringing you back on would raise our premiums so much. The Company simply can’t afford the rates. I’m sure you understand.”

“How much?” I blurted out.

“Pardon me?” Madoff raised an eyebrow.

“How much of a pay cut would I need to take to cover the increase?” My entire body tensed. I sat there on a chair, but really, I was standing on the edge of a cliff. “You can cut my salary in half. I don’t care.”

“I’m afraid that’s just not how it works, Nelly.” He shook his head sadly.