of
the situation bore down on her. The night she had sat on her
foyer floor, after losing her job, her apartment and her
boyfriend, she’d thought that maybe there was something left
for her in Grace. Maybe something could be salvaged from the
recent wreckage that was her life, even if it meant revisiting the
wreckage of the past.
She looked at the faces of Cole and the attorney, and
realized what a fool she had been.
“My father gave the arena to me knowing there wouldn’t
be enough money to keep it going and we’d be forced to sell.”
“It makes no difference,” Cole said. “I won’t sell.”
Angela gathered her things. “I don’t want it going to the
coalition, either, but frankly, it’s not my problem. You can fight
them if you want, but the partnership agreement allows me to
sell my half to whomever I choose.”
“Then what? You take the money and run away again?”
“It’s what I do, isn’t it?” She took two business cards out
of her briefcase. Angela Donnelly, Junior Analyst – now a lie. The
phone number was still the same, though. At least until she
could no longer afford to pay the cell phone bill. She laid the
cards on the desk and faced Cole. “This time I’ll say ‘goodbye’.
Goodbye, Cole. Mr. Bradley, I’ll be leaving on the first flight
out I can get. I trust you to negotiate the price, but I’m glad to
assist. Keep me apprised. I’m sure we can handle things via
FedEx and over email.”
Cole picked up her card. “Junior Analyst,” he read. “What
exactly does that mean?”
“I analyze and assess businesses, evaluate problems and
develop strategies for improvement,” she answered
automatically, reaching into her bag for her car keys.
Mr. Bradley and Cole smiled at each other, and then at her.
“Seems to me,” Cole said easily, “what the Bullpen Arena
needs is a Junior Analyst.”
“I concur,” said Mr. Bradley.
“No.” Angela shook her head fervently and moved to the
door. “That could take months and I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”
She hurried out the door.
Cole called after her as she left the room, but she kept
going, already determined to retreat.
“Angie, wait!” He caught up with her as she stepped onto
the Main Street sidewalk. “Just wait a minute, will ya?”
She whirled around and stumbled in her heels.
“Why’d you come back?” Cole demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious? To claim the arena.”
“No. There’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe.” Her chest ached, the air in her lungs stifled by
the wet heat. Cole’s accusing stare forced a knot into her belly.
“But it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“I think you’re right. Henry left the arena to you just so he
could make you walk away. And he wanted it to sting.” Cole’s
voice rose. He didn’t bother to curb his temper. “I’d like to
think he pegged you all wrong, sweetheart.”
“He did peg me wrong, but I have nothing to prove to him,
or to you. It’s over, Cole. Accept it and sell your half, too. You
don’t have the money to fight this. Don’t bring down Doug’s
legacy over this.”
“It’s my arena.” Cole gritted his teeth, desperation and
anger steaming in his eyes. “Mine. It always has been, even
before I bought it.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing what I have to do.
You’d be wise to do the same.”
“There she is folks!” Cole said loudly, looking around as
he gestured to Angela and took a wide step back. No one else
was on the street, but he continued speaking as though to a
crowd: “Miz Angela Donnelly, cold-hearted businesswoman
extraordinaire!”
“You haven’t grown up a bit, Cole. You’re as a much of an
immature jerk as you’ve always been.” Angela turned and
walked away, the click of her heels punctuating her steps.
****
Angela had traveled this same road, for a similar purpose,
almost fifteen years ago. But running away never got easier.
This time, New York was not an escape; it was a prison laden
with uncertainties of its own, tainted by
the situation bore down on her. The night she had sat on her
foyer floor, after losing her job, her apartment and her
boyfriend, she’d thought that maybe there was something left
for her in Grace. Maybe something could be salvaged from the
recent wreckage that was her life, even if it meant revisiting the
wreckage of the past.
She looked at the faces of Cole and the attorney, and
realized what a fool she had been.
“My father gave the arena to me knowing there wouldn’t
be enough money to keep it going and we’d be forced to sell.”
“It makes no difference,” Cole said. “I won’t sell.”
Angela gathered her things. “I don’t want it going to the
coalition, either, but frankly, it’s not my problem. You can fight
them if you want, but the partnership agreement allows me to
sell my half to whomever I choose.”
“Then what? You take the money and run away again?”
“It’s what I do, isn’t it?” She took two business cards out
of her briefcase. Angela Donnelly, Junior Analyst – now a lie. The
phone number was still the same, though. At least until she
could no longer afford to pay the cell phone bill. She laid the
cards on the desk and faced Cole. “This time I’ll say ‘goodbye’.
Goodbye, Cole. Mr. Bradley, I’ll be leaving on the first flight
out I can get. I trust you to negotiate the price, but I’m glad to
assist. Keep me apprised. I’m sure we can handle things via
FedEx and over email.”
Cole picked up her card. “Junior Analyst,” he read. “What
exactly does that mean?”
“I analyze and assess businesses, evaluate problems and
develop strategies for improvement,” she answered
automatically, reaching into her bag for her car keys.
Mr. Bradley and Cole smiled at each other, and then at her.
“Seems to me,” Cole said easily, “what the Bullpen Arena
needs is a Junior Analyst.”
“I concur,” said Mr. Bradley.
“No.” Angela shook her head fervently and moved to the
door. “That could take months and I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”
She hurried out the door.
Cole called after her as she left the room, but she kept
going, already determined to retreat.
“Angie, wait!” He caught up with her as she stepped onto
the Main Street sidewalk. “Just wait a minute, will ya?”
She whirled around and stumbled in her heels.
“Why’d you come back?” Cole demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious? To claim the arena.”
“No. There’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe.” Her chest ached, the air in her lungs stifled by
the wet heat. Cole’s accusing stare forced a knot into her belly.
“But it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“I think you’re right. Henry left the arena to you just so he
could make you walk away. And he wanted it to sting.” Cole’s
voice rose. He didn’t bother to curb his temper. “I’d like to
think he pegged you all wrong, sweetheart.”
“He did peg me wrong, but I have nothing to prove to him,
or to you. It’s over, Cole. Accept it and sell your half, too. You
don’t have the money to fight this. Don’t bring down Doug’s
legacy over this.”
“It’s my arena.” Cole gritted his teeth, desperation and
anger steaming in his eyes. “Mine. It always has been, even
before I bought it.”
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m doing what I have to do.
You’d be wise to do the same.”
“There she is folks!” Cole said loudly, looking around as
he gestured to Angela and took a wide step back. No one else
was on the street, but he continued speaking as though to a
crowd: “Miz Angela Donnelly, cold-hearted businesswoman
extraordinaire!”
“You haven’t grown up a bit, Cole. You’re as a much of an
immature jerk as you’ve always been.” Angela turned and
walked away, the click of her heels punctuating her steps.
****
Angela had traveled this same road, for a similar purpose,
almost fifteen years ago. But running away never got easier.
This time, New York was not an escape; it was a prison laden
with uncertainties of its own, tainted by
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