LAYTONThe old tick to modulate my urges to set things straight had returned with ten times the intensity it had before I met her. For a couple of days there, I learned to let things go, to let them just be the way they are around her. She brought organizational chaos wherever she went and somehow, I managed to relax my urge to correct it around her.Those days were long over. Horrified, I watched the stack of papers wobble, but Marissa didn’t even seem to notice. Meeting my eyes again, she gave me a pointed look. “Was there anything else you needed?”“Not a thing,” I said curtly, then gave her a quick nod and walked out of her office.I didn’t thank her for the reports or for promising to get the work done by day’s end. There was no need. She was just an employee and I was just her boss. If I had to run around thanking every one of my staff members for doing their work, I wouldn’t get any of my own done.On my way to my car to meet Craig at the site, I shook out my tense muscles. My

MARISSADenise and Annie were in the living room when I got home, crafting blobs out of pink playdoh. Coaxing a bright smile onto my lips despite my melancholy, I shrugged out of my coat. “What have you two been up to?”Annie whirled around at the sound of my voice, excitedly and proudly displaying a misshapen figure on her palm. “We’re making dinosaurs. Look at this one, her name is Dippy.”“Dippy?” I asked, crouching down to give Annie a hug and get a closer look at Dippy the wannabe dinosaur. She had what might have been a long neck, a bubble of a body and four balls as feet. No head as far as I could see. Certainly no features that distinguished her as a dinosaur instead of an elephant-in-the-making. “Did you have fun making Dippy?”Annie nodded enthusiastically, giggling as she introduced me to several equally indistinguishable pink dinosaurs. The simple act immediately snapped my head back to those silly fantasies, making me wonder what Layton’s reaction might have been to being

LAYTONFor some reason, my hands started trembling as I clicked in and selected a program to open the video with. Get it the fuck together, Layton.The picture that came up on my screen was of my father’s office in his building in Boston. There was some movement, as if he was setting the laptop or webcam down where he wanted before sliding in behind it.On the walls behind him, I could see several works of art that had moved with him from home to every office he’d ever had. There was a painting of a sailboat sailing into the sunset. Without being able to see it on the video, I knew the name printed on the back of the boat was Jolene. My mother’s middle name.There was another painting of a lion, one he had commissioned from a photo he took while on safari in Africa. A blueprint design of his first jet hung next to the lion.An unexpected wave of emotion hit me in the chest when I thought of those frames sitting in an exhibit dedicated to him that I hadn’t even visited yet. It intensif

MARISSAThe aeronautics museum was a sight to behold. It was a massive, sprawling complex filled with high ceilinged hangars and some of the most incredible feats achieved by man. Denise, Annie and I joined hundreds of other visitors in gaping at the displays of man’s attempts to conquer the very skies above.What I hadn’t known before we arrived was that there was a memorial exhibit dedicated to Jeffrey Bridges himself open until June. My eyes filled with tears when I spotted the sign pointing in the direction of the exhibit and I blinked at Denise, totally unable to keep from throwing my arms around my friend. “You’re truly incredible, one of a kind.”She smirked, returning my hug. “That I am, my dear. But so are you, both of you.”I couldn’t believe my eyes when we stepped into the exhibit. There was almost an exact replica of his office where you entered, complete with several paintings and framed blueprints that sure looked real hanging exactly where they used to be on his walls.

LAYTONMarissa’s shoulders slumped before she squared them again. Uh-oh. Oh no. I know that look.Before I could stop her from saying her piece despite my saying I didn’t have time, she locked her eyes to mine and said confidently, “If I have to wait for you to have time to talk, it’s never going to happen. I want to fix this, Layton.”Fuck. And so she said it anyway. Standing up from my chair, I grabbed my coat hanging from its backrest.If she’d said those words to me weeks ago, I would’ve stayed to hear her out. I would have called Craig and pushed the meeting back to next week if that was what it took. I was humiliated now to think how badly I’d wanted an explanation from her. Back then. Not now.If she came to me a day, two or three, or even four days after pretty much telling me to go fuck myself, I would’ve tried to fix it. As things stood now though, she’d made herself plenty clear that day and every day that followed. “There’s nothing to fix, Marissa.”“But,” she started, as