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Insula
Frank Harvey steps onto the sidewalk, squinting in the evening sun. As the days grow longer, he’s been getting off his bus home from work a few stops early so he can enjoy the warm weather.
For the first time, Frank gazes upon a tall, grey building looming behind City Hall. He admires its dark stone and arched windows. The architecture downtown really is magnificent, Frank muses, adjusting the strap of his briefcase. Maybe he should take up photography.
He figures he’d have a nice eye for that sort of thing.
Frank mentions the building to his wife after dinner. “It’s funny how you can live in a place your whole life and still notice new things.”
“Mm, funny,” echoes Laura, clearing plates from the table. She has a critical presentation to deep-pocketed developers in two days, and she’s up for a promotion against smug Parker Jameson. She has a thousand better things to do than listen to Frank talk about how blue the sky is and how much more awake he feels since he started doing yoga at lunch.
Laura doesn’t have time for yoga at lunch. Most days, she hardly has time for lunch.
* * *
Laura Harvey crosses her legs, prompting her chair to let out a slow, agonizing creak.
Whenever Parker preps the conference room, Laura ends up sitting in the one squeaky swivel chair. Worse, he invariably “forgets” to send her critical information, so he can swoop in and woo clients. It’s infuriating, not to mention unprofessional. Sure, they compete against each other at the office, but when they share accounts, they’re meant to be a team.
But today, Laura isn’t bothered by Parker’s childish tactics. This time, she’s the one with a dream property up her sleeve.
“Alternatively,” Laura proposes to the woman in the boxy teal suit and her set of note-scribbling assistants. “There’s a midsized lot on the southwest side of Quarry Street. Surrounded, but completely undeveloped.”
“I would strongly suggest one of the Ryerdale properties,” Parker interrupts, giving Laura a look.
She gives him one right back. Two can play at his ridiculous game.
Teal Suit locks eyes with Laura. “Where on Quarry? We’d love to be right downtown.”
“2240,” Laura says, reaching for her notes. “Right across from—”
“There are no vacant lots on Quarry.” Parker objects. “Sorry, my partner must be mistaken.”
“I have all the information right here.” Laura flips through her notes. Where’s Quarry Street? She scans them a second time. “I must have left it on my desk. I’ll just—”
“Thanks for your time today,” Parker cuts in, reaching to shake Teal Suit’s hand. “We’ll let you look over everything. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.”
Laura doesn’t push Quarry Street any further. Teal Suit already looks as though she’s trying to mask her alarm, and Laura doesn’t want to make the situation any more uncomfortable. She’ll get the file once she’s back at her desk. There’s no question this property is still available. Tricky zoning restrictions have kept it on the market for over six months. Laura spent all of yesterday putting together a proposal to demonstrate why these won’t be an issue for this particular client.
As embarrassed as she feels now, it will be worth the look on Parker’s face when it turns out she’s right.
But the missing files are nowhere to be found, not on her desk nor computer.
To read the rest of the story get our book at Amazon: The Stories We Tell.
Just Another Tree
Some things are just okay. They’re not terrible. They’re not even bad. But they’re not really anything else either—and that can make just okay even worse than terrible.
Brighton Valley is just okay.
It’s the lukewarm bath water of neighbourhoods. It’s a day-old doughnut.
Unlike Jeremy, I wasn’t all that upset about moving here. Sure, I liked our house, and I had nice friends at school and my soccer team. But I was excited about the idea of a fresh start—a new adventure.
Until we got here.
Moving to Brighton Valley was like finding a glowing magic portal only to walk through and wind up in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.
“Funny, I seem to remember saying something about getting fresh air.”
I look up at my mom, hovering in the doorway of my bedroom. “I’m doing homework.”
Her face tells me she isn’t buying it. “Why don’t you take your brother to the park?”
I get up and get ready because I know it isn’t really a question.
Back home, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere on my own, let alone in charge of Jeremy, but here, my parents are fine with it. I think it’s because they know nothing ever happens in Brighton Valley.