The Moment of Letting Go - J. A. Redmerski Page 0,2

Like all-expense-paid trips to Hawaii, a career in a creative field where I’m paid generously and have job security that allows me nowhere to go but up. They don’t come along often and one would be crazy not to take it. I grew up with financially struggling parents. I made up my mind long before I was out of high school to not go through life as they have had to. Like they still do. And now, with Dad’s failing health—prostate cancer, though they caught it early and he’s in remission—I’m more determined than ever to have a good-paying job so I can help my parents; they’ve done so much for me.

Paige slides onto the backseat with me and shuts the door behind her, cutting off the sudden stream of voices from outside. Knowing I’m on the phone with Cassandra, she gives me that look, suppressing her playful comments about our boss, and leaves me to our conversation.

“Two days setting up,” Cassandra says into my ear, “a one-day wedding, and then it’s back to San Diego.” She pauses. “After that, you’re off to Jamaica.”

Blinking back the stun, I turn my head to lock eyes with Paige on the seat next to me. “Jamaica?” I say into the phone.

Paige’s face lights up.

“Thought you’d like that,” Cassandra says with a proud air. “A client I’ve known for a long time in San Francisco is getting married in Montego Bay. And he’s loaded, honey.” I picture her brushing her thumb and fingers together rapidly to demonstrate money. “It’ll be your biggest commission yet.”

My face stretches into a smile as I gaze past Paige toward the window as palm trees and colorful landscaping fly by—it’s not the money I’m thinking about, but photographing Jamaica. Paige sits there quietly but anxiously, waiting for the details.

“Getting used to this kind of money is hard, I know,” Cassandra teases, followed by a dramatic sigh. “But I’m afraid you’ll just have to stick it out.”

“Oh, the hell you put me through, Cassandra,” I tease her back.

“Think you can handle it?” Cassandra asks suspiciously.

I laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you say on our last event that I’m the best coordinator you’ve ever hired?”

“Well, I was referring to the flight,” she says, and my smile fades with the realization. “It’s a little over nine hours to Jamaica.”

My heart picks up a nervous pace just thinking about it. Nine hours on an airplane. Thousands of feet above the ocean. Humans weren’t born with wings for a reason.

“I can handle it,” I half lie, and make a mental note to schedule an appointment with my doctor soon to get some Valium because I think somehow the rain sound effects on my iPod just aren’t going to cut it this time.

“Jamaica?” Paige asks eagerly when I hang up with Cassandra. “Please tell me I get to go on that job.”

“Well, yeah?” I look at her as if she’d just asked a ridiculous question. “You’re my assistant. You get to go wherever I need you to go.”

“Awesome.” Her smile seems a permanent fixture on her face, along with that thoughtful, dreamy look I usually have when I first learn I’m going somewhere I’ve never been. Only difference between me and Paige is that she has yet to learn that these trips never turn out the way we dream about them. She was Cassandra’s assistant for only a month before becoming mine and didn’t travel farther than Chicago. Not that Paige couldn’t afford to travel anywhere she wanted on her own—she has plenty of family money—but she’s not above being appreciative of all-expense paid trips, either.

We arrive at the hotel. I turn to Paige, who’s trying to steady my heavy duffel bag, suppressing an uncomfortable look.

“What the hell did you pack in this thing?”

I laugh.

“I think I packed everything I own—Cassandra must be rubbing off on me.”

“God, I hope not.” Paige chuckles and readjusts the duffel bag strap on the opposite shoulder, her wispy blond hair poking out from underneath the ball cap.

“Well, you know me,” I say with a shrug, “prepared and organized as always.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I don’t see it, but I sense Paige’s eyes rolling dramatically.

When we finally make it up to my suite, I gasp as I open the door. Immaculate. Lavish. And with a beautiful balcony view to die for.

Paige places my bags next to the wall.

I kick off my Chucks and plop down on a wicker chair with a soft teal cushion near the sliding glass balcony