Free A Slight Change of Plan by Dee Ernst Page A

us. There was also a very attractive gentleman, maybe in his sixties, who drove a Lexus and had no visible roommate or partner. He did not smile or wave, butwhen I saw him unload golf clubs, I gave trying golf at least seven minutes of serious thought.
    When I sat down at my computer, I found a brief e-mail from the dean of business at Centenary College, the woman who was supposed to be my new boss, telling me that, due to funding cuts and slipping enrollment, I would not be getting the contract we discussed. In fact, I would not be getting anything.
    I stared at the screen. I had quit a very high-paying job so that I could relax and take it easy in the world of academia. Sure, they weren’t going to be paying me a lot of money, but then, I had agreed to teach only two classes. It was going to be perfect. I would make just enough to cover the taxes and fees on the condo, as well as basic living expenses, and in return, I would give about twenty hours of my time and expertise to a hundred or so students.
    I was not hurting for money. My biggest expense had always been the house. Now that I was living mortgage-free, my nest egg could last a very long time. But I was counting on a job. I was counting on
that
job.
    I could not go back to my old firm. I knew for a fact that they were glad I had left, because business had slowed considerably, even in the tax department. I suppose I could look for another job as a lawyer—after all, I was qualified and experienced. But that would not work in my favor, not in this economy. I did not want to run through my savings, or have to go into the 401(k).
    I called Cheryl. “I got fired,” I told her.
    “From what?”
    “My job. At the college.”
    “But you hadn’t started working there yet. How could they fire you?”
    I sighed. “You’re right. I didn’t get fired. I just didn’t get hired.”
    “Kate, that sucks. I’ll be right over. I have just the thing to make everything all better.”
    She arrived forty minutes later, a bottle of wine in hand.
    “Happy new unemployment. Where’s a corkscrew?”
    I handed it to her; she poured wine into two glasses, then wandered through the condo. She came back into the kitchen frowning.
    “Kate, this furniture is still giving me a very funny vibe. Is this really the kind of place you want to live in?”
    I shrugged. “It isn’t. Regan and I are getting new furniture and moving all of this upstairs for Sam and Alisa.” I took a long drink of wine.
    “Why would Sam and Alisa need furniture upstairs?” She was searching in her purse for something.
    “Because when I saw the hellish shoe box they were living in, I invited them to move in with me.”
    She pulled a baggie out of her purse, looking triumphant for a moment before turning to me with a frown. “Your son and his girlfriend are going to be living with you?”
    “Yes. Is that pot?”
    “Why would you want that, Kate? You’ve been living alone for a while now. Won’t that be a huge disruption? And yes, I thought we’d smoke a joint in honor of your losing your nonexistent job.”
    She emptied the contents of the bag on my granite countertop. She gazed down at the twisted buds and sighed.
    “This has to be cleaned. I need an album cover,” she said.
    “Cheryl, where the hell did you get that? You haven’t smoked pot in years.”
    “I know, but wine adds on pounds, and I’m tired of eating salad twice a day. I got it from the nice young man who works at the gas station on the corner of my street. I didn’t know where else to go—all my contacts went to prison or died years ago—so I figured a high school boy would be the best chance at a source, and he was happy to get it for me. He graduates next week. I may have to find another supplier.”
    “Are you crazy? You just asked a strange high school kid?”
    She gave me another one of her “Are you kidding?” looks. “Of course not. I get my gas there all the time. I’ve known Kyle for a couple of months now.”