Color the Sidewalk for Me Read Online Free Page B

Yours is—and I don’t mind telling you—that you’ll work like crazy. Nights, weekends. You’ll spend hours to come up with a brilliant advertising campaign only to hear that the client’s girlfriend thinks it’s too cute or not cute enough, and the opinion of a layperson will send you back to the drawing board. You have to possess both talent and a high degree of diplomacy in leading clients to accept what you know is right. If you can manage that, you’ll do well here.”
    The talent I’d possessed. But diplomacy? I’d spent the previous seven years drifting away from people, swimming in my grief and guilt. Then again, I thought, the promised hours were appealing. I figured I could lose myself in the work’s hectic pace and have little time left to mourn all that my life was lacking.
    â€œI’ll manage it,” I’d declared, holding out my hand. We shook on it. Now, ten years later, after a few minutes of chitchat as he sat in front of my desk, Quentin Sammons artfully steered our conversation to the morning’s event. Matter-of-factly I told him of Mama’s request. “I need to go but I don’t see how I can. I’ve got two new big accounts, plus now I’ve been pulled in on Partners, not to mention all my old clients.” I dropped my head and rubbed my temples.
    Quentin was silent. I heard his chair creak, knew he was leaning back to gaze absently out my window, chin puckered, hands clasped across his chest. After Carrie’s words I now found myself waiting for his response like a child pleading for a benevolent uncle to whisk away a daunting burden. At least he wouldn’t preach.
    The chair squeaked again as he leaned forward to place both elbows on my desk. He cleared his throat, his words careful. “I don’t think work is the real reason you’re reluctant to go.”
    I stared at him, a denial dying on my lips.
    â€œCelia,” he said gently, “I’m about to say some things that until this moment I’ve kept to myself. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never once talked of your parents except in grudging answers to Edna’s prying questions. You’ve never taken a real vacation. Your holidays are spent nursing old folks and working on accounts at home. We’re like family here, and you’re one of the most liked and respected of all my employees. You have such a giving spirit—yet you only allow your friendships to go so deep. I don’t know what happened to you in that little town where you came from, but I think you fear facing it. Your parents won’t be around forever. So go. We can handle the work while you’re gone, and with all your accrued vacation time, it’ll be a paid leave. Take care of your personal business. Then come back and get on with your life. I think you’ll be happier for it.”
    Echoes of Carrie. Once again I was betrayed.

    I After Quentin left, I gazed unseeing out my window, wishing he’d minded his own business. My thoughts tumbled from our conversation to Southern Bank, from lunch with Carrie to Partners and Mama. Partners. My eyes narrowed. Out of nowhere a catchy phrase for Gary Stelt began forming in my head. With sudden inspiration I reached for the phone to dial Matt’s extension.
    â€œStill here, huh? Look, I’ve got an idea for a slogan for Partners. How’s this: ‘When you want someone minding your business.’”
    He repeated it, rolling it over his tongue. Thought it had promise. “Hey, thanks!”
    â€œAnytime,” I replied.

    Mamie rubbed against my hand as I sat on the patio Friday night, head tilted toward reluctant stars, a mug of tea balanced on my lap. My irritation with Quentin Sammons and Carrie had seeped away, leaving me with the old emptiness and longing.
    The neighborhood was quiet, children gone to bed, their bikes and balls stored in overfilled garages. I was the