Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Bess

C harlie had been right about Mom. She was relieved and happy about my decision to stay, insisting that she and Celia were doing fine. I heard my daughter’s protests in the background, but she settled as soon as Mom promised her an amazing souvenir. So, now I had to find her a souvenir.

I finished the call and stepped back into the cabin. To my relief, I found Charlie fully dressed, sitting in one of the armchairs with his laptop. It had taken a lot of concentration to keep my gaze away from those boxer shorts.

He looked up, eyes full of expectation. “What did she say?”

He must have been desperate with this campaign. Could I help him with it? What if I made things worse and we lost the client? Would I lose my job?

“She’s fine with it. I’ll stay.”

He jumped to his feet, bagging his laptop. “Hurray! Breakfast?”

“Sounds good.”

I returned my backpack to the loft and we walked together to the main building. In daylight, the place looked like a palace, nestled within manicured gardens, perfectly complimented by the mountain backdrop. A touch of frost lingered on the ground and the air felt crisp in my lungs.

Neither of us knew where to go, but Charlie led the way until we spotted a sign leading to the dining hall. We found a lavish buffet of breakfast foods, and a handful of other attendees, sitting at round tables scattered across the vast space. A floor-to-ceiling panelled windows opened to the gardens, framing the postcard scenery.

Charlie found us a vacant table and plonked his laptop on it. “Reserved.” He smiled, gesturing for me to tackle the buffet.

I eyed the wide selection, my mouth flooding with saliva. Could I take a little bit of everything? I didn’t want to appear greedy, but I hadn’t seen such a spread in a long time. “It’s like a… wedding buffet.”

The buffet seemed geared towards healthy and expensive, with an endless array of nuts and seeds, and individual bottles of ‘energizing’ and ‘brain boosting’ juices. Charlie stood behind me, waiting patiently as I mixed a spoonful of each muesli, cereal, and nut topper into the same bowl.

“That’s an interesting way to enjoy cereal. You must have an impressive selection at home.”

“Haha.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve never tried most of these, so I want to test them out.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to test them one by one? Unless you’re planning on buying all seventeen and mixing them?”

Yes, that did make more sense, but my cereal-deprived body wasn’t listening to reason. I’d been making oatmeal for two years, carefully steering my daughter through the grocery store without even visiting certain aisles. What I really wanted was to box everything and take it home.

“I… don’t know how long I’m staying,” I explained, cutting the rolls and pastries into smaller pieces so I could taste everything.

“You know what? I’m gonna do the same.” Charlie picked up the leftover quarters of my pastries, loading them onto his plate. “I’m always trying to choose the best looking one and then wondering if I made the right choice, when I could have been sampling everything. This is genius.”

I smiled, feeling a little lighter.

We returned to the table, our trays filled with various treats, juice bottles and cereal, as well as cups of steaming coffee.

“This is amazing.” I sighed.

Charlie frowned, studying his tray. “I’ll see if I can order some eggs. Do you want any? Scrambled okay? That’s probably fastest.”

“Eggs?”

“Yeah. Protein. But don’t get your hopes up yet. They might not have the chef onsite right now.”

I hadn’t even considered that the breakfast buffet could be lacking something. Not waiting for my answer, Charlie got up and traipsed across the hall, slipping through a doorway marked ‘staff only’. I held my breath, slightly stunned.

After a moment, he returned with a triumphant grin, and a few minutes later, a server brought us two plates of scrambled eggs and sausages. I was already quite full, but I had to admit they were delicious.

“I need protein in the morning,” he explained. “Don’t you?”

“No, I live exclusively on carbs and fat.”

He laughed at my stupid joke. “Okay, yeah. I meant I prefer a better balance. Less sugar.”

“We usually have oatmeal with jam. Celia’s preferred balance would be jam with a smattering of oats.”

“Oatmeal is great. More protein than cereal.”

“That’s what I tell myself when I can’t afford anything else.” I instantly wanted to swallow the words with the scrambled eggs. I was here to add value, not to have a pity party. “So, what was the feedback on that Thriver campaign?”

To my relief, Charlie switched gears. “The focus group thought it wasn’t relevant to them. Basically, nobody felt like taking action. So, I guess we need to make it more direct. Although I don’t know how much more direct it can get. I mean, the words ‘learn money management’ are right there.”

“Uh-huh. And the people you’re trying to reach… who are they?”

Charlie took a long sip of coffee, looking away. “The lower socio-economic quartile. Families on single income, seasonally employed?—”

“The chronically broke?”

Charlie squirmed in his seat. “Yeah, I mean… no…”

“It’s okay. That’s how I’d describe myself.” He’d asked for my unfiltered thoughts. I didn’t want to whine about my situation, but if my misfortunes helped him with this campaign, maybe it was worth it.

Charlie met my gaze, swallowing but no longer looking away. Waiting for me to continue. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, but it was too late to back out. “The thing about being broke is… it brings out the worst in you. Makes it harder to plan or up-skill or make decisions that will benefit you in the long term. Because you need money now. You’re in a state of stress, and that stress is narrowing your vision to what’s right in front of you. Tomorrow is hazy. Next week looms there on the horizon. Next month doesn’t exist. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Charlie propped his elbow on the table and leaned on his hand, staring at me like I was giving a riveting Ted Talk. “Yeah. That makes sense. So, asking a person to sign up for a training that will help them in the next six months or a year…”

“Exactly. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not a solution to your immediate problem, which is what your brain is acutely trying to solve. Like the next week’s rent, or the medical bills, or daycare fees… or the loan shark repayments.”

His eyes widened.

“For some people,” I quickly added.

He didn’t need to know I was some people.

“That’s something I’ve never understood,” he confessed. “Like… why would you go to a loan shark? There are options like payday loans, cash advance…”

I nodded. “Yes, and when you’re in a relaxed state of mind, with moderate stress levels, you’re able to research those options and make good choices. But the thing about financial stress is that it sort of creeps up on you. Things get harder, deadlines get closer, your balance is running out… and sometimes, you’re still there, half-hoping for a miracle, thinking you’re okay for a week or two, when something happens. It doesn’t have to be big. Like a flat tire. Or your kid’s sick and you don’t have any sick days left. You know they’ll deduct your pay. And suddenly, it’s panic city.”

Charlie’s voice was low. “And that’s when you take the first offer, eh?”

“Pretty much.” I attempted to smile, focusing my energy on polishing my plate.

I couldn’t help the memories from surfacing. Those months after Jack’s death, when it had all been on my shoulders. The sky had fallen, and somehow, it kept falling, no matter how hard I worked. I’d ignored the red flags and accepted the first rental offer, suddenly blindsided by the maintenance fees that I couldn’t afford. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and somehow, we’d survived. I’d only recently managed to pay back Mom who’d come to my rescue, covering the cost of our next move. So much money down the drain.

“Must be really hard to do it on your own.” Charlie’s soft voice hit me in the middle, and I straightened in my chair.

We’d never talked about my old life, but Teresa knew. The office knew. I was the sad, single mom. A widow.

“It’s okay. I’ve had some time to adjust now.” I met his eyes and saw the question in them. “Two years. It was over two years ago.”

My insides clenched, bracing for a follow-up question, but he simply nodded, turning his attention to the remaining eggs on his plate.

We finished our breakfast in silence, took our dirty plates to the conveyor belt carrying them back to the kitchen, and followed the trail of retreat attendees down a long hallway. I counted only ten of us, which upped my anxiety. I’d been hoping to hide in the back row, not drawing any attention to myself. But with such a small group, the classes would be intimate. Or worse, interactive.

It made sense, though. Everything about Rubie Ridge felt exclusive. Its understated luxury intimidated me more than any brazen displays of wealth. Subtle messages hidden within the details, only readable by those in the know. Like Charlie, and all these ladies around us. Most of them looked older than me, maybe in their forties and fifties. Judging by their all-black outfits, they worked in design, advertising, or something else commercially viable. I’d seen the pricing on the website. Rubie Ridge was not a place for starving artists.

“Are you ready for the first class?” Charlie asked me.

One lady ahead of us turned around. “I heard they always do a surprise warm-up exercise. Nobody knows what it is.” Her voice dropped into a stage whisper. “One time, it was interpretive dance.”

My muscles clenched so hard that I could barely walk.

Please, God. No dance.