1 Chapter 1

“I’m sorry, John, but the company is downsizing drastically and we’ve had to make deep cuts.”

This was Helen Pasterwick’s way of saying I was out the door after fifteen fucking years of mental sweat and toil for an ungrateful corporation.

“You can’t be serious.” I could see that the human resources director was uncomfortable with this conversation, and I knew why. But it was still hard to take.

She shifted in her leather chair. “The list is growing as we speak. Unfortunately, they’ve decided to merge your job with someone else’s. It’s unfair, and I fought it, believe me. You’re the most seasoned architect we have, and you work the longest hours. But in the end, they won. You’re to clean out your desk, effective immediately.”

I slumped in my chair, trying to keep the fury inside me at bay. I was this close to throwing a temper tantrum and putting my foot through a computer monitor, though it wouldn’t be as satisfying with a twenty-inch flat screen as it would have been with an old school CRT. Visions of the movie Office Space came to mind.

“I don’t know what to say. This is a shock, Helen.” I ran a hand through my salt-and-pepper hair, the blond becoming more silver with each passing day. I was sure I would be entirely gray in a month after this. Or less.

She looked at me with sympathy. “You haven’t been happy here for years. Admit it. Maybe this is the push you need to finally take stock and figure out what you really want to do with your life. It’s time, wouldn’t you say?” The fact that Helen had known about my dissatisfaction wasn’t helping.

I scowled. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Platitudes in some fucked up attempt to provide solace for losing my goddamned livelihood?” At her startled glance, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Forgive me, it’s a lot to take in.” I stood, joints popping. I needed to get away. I decided not to straighten my tie which had become askew while I’d yanked on it repeatedly. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

I walked out of the office, not really hearing whatever other apology she might have uttered. I simply needed to be gone. And the thought of where to go…

* * * *

By the time I was ready to leave, my shoulders felt weighed down by my jobless reality. I strode between the cubicles, no one willing to look me in the eye for fear that my current unemployed state might rub off on them. A security officer accompanied me to my vehicle. It felt as if I’d walked the green mile, no possible reprieve in sight. For a man at the age of forty-nine, this felt like a death sentence.

I drove my pre-owned SUV home, which was a condo I’d purchased eleven months ago after an amicable break-up with my boyfriend of two years. I’d wanted a new start, away from things that would remind me of him and all we’d done together. It wasn’t that we hated each other. Far from it. But we were better off as friends. I needed someone less like me, someone passionate and lively to be my other half. I’d finally learned that after numerous relationships with clones of myself.

But now, I had nothing to offer. I had savings, sure, and perhaps six months or so to find another position as an architect before I became desperate. Did I want that, though? Grudging as I might be, Helen could be right. Still, I couldn’t face any of that at the moment. I needed time to think.

I placed the half-full box that was the detritus of an unsatisfactory career in the hall closet. I didn’t need the reminder of my failure to be valued by an employer anywhere in sight. I took a quick shower, heated up leftover pasta, and watched TV for hours while drinking beer after beer. The perfect end to a lousy hump day.

When I awoke at six the next morning—my usual time—I had a hangover and fuzzy teeth. I stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up and empty a full bladder before weaving my way to the kitchen. It was Thursday, and I had nothing to do.

I emptied corn flakes into a bowl and poured almond milk over it. I preferred it to cow’s milk, sometimes, for the taste. As I lifted the spoon to my mouth, there was a knock on the door.

* * * *

Mrs. Patricia Lombard, the retired social worker down the hall, needed help with her kitchen sink again. She knew I was an early riser, and the plumbing issue was usually an easy fix, something I could do even before I left for the office at eight-thirty. Or rather, when I usedto have a job. I told her to give me a minute and I’d be there. Perfect start to the rest of my life.