No End of Bad by Ginny Fite

Author:Ginny Fite
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2022-08-30T16:40:46+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was the same as building a nest, Cheryl thought. You take a tiny piece of string, a few short straws, hairs from somewhere, then more straw, some twigs, and tuck them one inside the other until they formed your life. That little object called your life was as fragile as a nest, able to be blown away, or picked apart by a larger scavenging bird that was after your eggs. When you had this fragile, tiny bowl ready, you put things in it, valuable things—your hopes, your ideas, your investment in people, your children.

She was waiting for the congresswoman to read through her memo. Her presentation had been short, as required for an attention span akin to that of a three-year-old child. She had learned over the years that more than twenty words earned her no points. Either Representative Hannah Gittleson would start looking at other things on her desk or snap at her to get to the point.

“Cheryl.” The congresswoman’s barked order for her presence interrupted her reverie.

It hadn’t taken long for Gittleson to look over Cheryl’s written strategy. She had expected it would be a make it or break it moment. “On my way,” Cheryl yelled back.

It didn’t matter that Cheryl could be buzzed on the phone. The Congresswoman preferred to bellow from her office. It was her way of making sure everyone knew the pecking order. Well, she was the top pecker. That didn’t sound right. The top hen in this hen house. Cut it out, Cheryl told herself. She hoped to use this meeting to actually get something done, something she cared about. She tugged at her jacket, fixed her collar, and mentally got her brain in order for the conversation with her boss.

The Congresswoman’s office was the same size as the outer space into which all of the staff was crammed. The huge desk behind which the elected representative’s diminutive body perched was off the right wall. Under the huge windows that no one ever gazed out were a camel back sofa covered in green velvet, two club chairs in a faux needlepoint design that picked up the green in the sofa, and a rectangular mahogany tea table. A round rosewood conference table with red leather rolling chairs was at the end of the office near the hallway door. Two large oriental rugs in dominant shades of red and green covered the floor.

The congresswoman had great taste for someone who’d grown up in Highlandtown, Maryland in the apartment above her parents’ grocery store. It never failed to impress Cheryl how far this woman had come on grit and brains alone. She never forgot how smart Hannah Gittleson was; how fast she learned new facts she was interested in; how quickly she synthesized existing facts into new ideas. That was the talent Cheryl had come here to serve; that and what had once been a devotion to the community the congresswoman had come from.

The question in Cheryl’s mind was whether she could get the congresswoman interested in the Turnbull case.

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