Amanda all but crawled into work the next day, almost three hours late, and slouched behind her desk, clutching a venti coffee black from the Starbucks across the street. She sighed as her computer booted, closing her eyes to battle the harsh flourescent lights. Suddenly, the intern was at her side. Amanda jumped like she was in a horror movie - attack of the killer interns - and blinked up at the girl. She still couldn't remember her name. "What?" she asked. Well groaned more than asked.
"Mr. Sheldon wants to speak with you," the intern's voice was jittery.
Amanda groaned for real this time. Hamilton Sheldon was the editor of the magazine, and though they were relatively good friends the last thing she wanted was to stumble into his office on a blackberry wine hangover. She waved the intern off and pulled her desk drawer open, withdrawing a can of breath spray and squirting it into her mouth. She held up a mirror to make sure her hair looked right and dabbed some concealer under her eyes. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked across the wide room to Sheldon's office.
"Come in," he barked when she knocked tenatively. He gave her a once-over and nodded at the door, "Close that. Have a seat."
Amanda let the door close behind her and slid into the chair opposite him at the desk. He looked ominous and official, two words that Amanda hated seeing in his eyes. Usually he reserved these looks for people he was about to 'let go'. She noticed the craft fair article printed and sitting on the desk in front of him. She licked her teeth, hoping her breath spray was enough to suppress the alcohol smell she was fairly certain had survived her Crest attack that morning.
"I suppose you know why you're here?" Hamilton Sheldon asked.
Amanda felt a muscle near her mouth twitch - a nervous tick she'd developed with age. She took a deep breath, "Ummm..."
"I think you need a vacation."
Amanda's eyes met Hamilton's. "A vacation?"
"Yes." He leaned back. "Amanda, you've been here for over ten years, you're a senior writer, you have juniors and a plethora of interns under you. You haven't taken a vacation in over five years, and even then it was only a week before you were back in the office, even though you requested two weeks." Hamilton studied her for a moment. "You need a vacation."
"I'm - I'm fine though," Amanda stammered.
Hamilton shook his head. "Amanda," he said, "I know you way too well to believe that." He pointed at his own eyes, "I can see that you're tired."
Tired was better than drunk, so she didn't argue with him.
"I just think some time off is what you need," he added. "Paid of course."
Amanda took a deep breath, "I don't even know what I'd do on a vacation," she argued. She imagined herself sitting around the house with a dozen empty bottles of wine on the floor and empty pizza boxes on the coffee table. It wasn't pretty.
"I don't know. Go to Cancun. Visit the tropical rain forrest. Fly to Japan. Take a road trip," Hamilton suggested. He shrugged, "Go white water rafting, for all I care. Just do something."
White water rafting.
Amanda's heart raced in her chest. Suddenly a plan began taking shape in her head, and she felt that twitch at her mouth again. She swallowed. She couldn't possibly have the cahonies, though, could she?
Really?
"You're right," Amanda said slowly, her voice shaking with the prospect of what she was about to set into motion. "I do need a vacation." She stood up, "Thank you." She paused. "May I start now?"
Hamilton Sheldon looked surprised. "Now?"
Amanda nodded.
"Well, I was hoping you'd fix up this monstrocity that your intern handed in to me first," he said, holding up the article on the craft fair. "But perhaps after that?"
Amanda took the page. "Of course."
Besides, she had a couple things she needed to look up anyway. And phone calls to make.
The lodge Nick had rented this time was, thankfully, equipped with kitchen and an indoor toilet - things they hadn't had the first time on this trip but had supplemented with the use of the Boys' tour bus. The lodge had actual bedrooms, too, instead of lofts, which Nick had kind of missed the use of bedroom doors last time when Brian had accidentally "climbed in" on himself and Amanda in bed. He laughed to himself at the image of Brian's wide eyes and shout as he'd climbed back down the ladder leading into Nick and Amanda's loft. Not that this would be a problem this time. After all, Amanda was in Boston.
"Look at that view!" Bree was standing by a huge bay window on the back wall of the lodge, which overlooked the city below and the mountains beyond. She leaned against the sill and stared out. "They're beautiful."
"What? The mountains?" Nick was rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen, they were all empty but he was hoping to find some stray box of cereal or a granola bar. He glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah. They're very... purple." He turned back to the quest.
Bree turned around. "What was my dad's favorite place?" she asked. "In the whole world, what was his favorite place?"
Nick had found a jar of peanut butter and had it open, staring into the jar. He lowered it and looked at Bree for a long moment, thinking. "He always liked going home," Nick admitted. "We stopped in Kentucky on the trip, at your grandparent's place. He liked seeing his family." He whipped his finger around in the jar, and stuck a fingerfull of peanut butter into his mouth. Bree gave Nick a funny look. He lowered his peanut buttery finger from his mouth. "What?"
"Do you even know where that came from?"
Nick looked at the peanut butter, "Yeah, sure. The cupboard."
Bree stared at him, disgusted.
"What?"
"Seriously?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"You don't know who put it there..."
"Some nice food fairy that knew I'd be hungry, I'm sure," Nick answered. He returned the finger to his mouth and continued sucking peanut butter off his digit. He sat himself on the counter top.
Deciding to let the 'food fairy' comment go, Bree sat down at the table. "Are we stopping in Kentucky?" she asked, staring at her fingers.
"I dunno," Nick said, voice thick with peanut butter.
Bree looked up, "Can we?"
Nick shrugged, "Yeah sure why not." Bree looked back down at the table. Nick studied her a moment. She looked a lot like Brian used to when he was sitting on a whopper of a revelation. Nick jumped down from the counter and slid into a seat next to Bree. He put the peanut butter jar down and wiped his spit and left over peanut butter off onto his pant leg. He stared at Bree for a long moment. "You've been to Kentucky, haven't you?" he asked.
Bree shook her head.
Nick bit his lip to keep from outbursting. How in the hell was it that Brian's daughter had never been to the place that Brian loved more than anywhere else on the earth? It was his home - it was Ken-freaking-tucky. Then something occurred to Nick. He took a slow, steadying, deep breath. "Bree, when was the last time you saw your grandparents?"
Bree looked up at Nick, her eyes wide and nervous.
"Oh sweet Jesus," he muttered. He stood up and walked in a circle in the kitchen in a way that reflected the spinning of his mind. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. "You ain't never met them, have you?" he demanded.
Bree's voice was but a whisper, "I guess they came once when I was a baby but I don't remember them."
Nick closed his eyes and leaned against a counter. "Why the hell would --" he stopped. He'd been about to ask why the hell would Leighanne do that but Leighanne did a lot of things in Brian's absence that made Nick wonder why the hell so he bit his tongue to keep from starting that river flowing. He sank back into the chair, "We are definitely stopping in Kentucky, then." Bree looked nervous still and had started inspecting the peanut butter jar, turning it over in her hands, looking at the label. "Jackie is going to be a crying ball of mush when she sees you," Nick muttered.
Bree held up the peanut butter jar, "It expired," she said, "Two years ago. You're gonna die from like rancid oil or something."
"Did not, did it really?" Nick snapped the jar from her hand and she pointed out the expiration date. "Well damn that food fairy," Nick said, screwing the cap back on. He put the jar down. "Guess we better go get some food that isn't going to kill us from rancidity."
