Why Me? “Love or Money"

By Amelia Anderson

Amber Corriveau is a successful practitioner who lives in New Orleans. But life's difficult journey takes Amber on an emotional ride. Amber is trying to find out the answer to life old age question of "Why Me" Why certain things happen to me. She is trying to figure out if it is the choices she made in life that determines our life or divine intervention. Amber and her friends try to figure out the answer to life's difficult questions as they search for inner peace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477233405

Amelia Anderson

Amelia Anderson is an extraordinary writer. She has a master's degree and is a former teacher and human resources recruiter. Amelia is motivational speaker. She is from south Louisiana. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Why Me?

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Love or Money

Amelia Anderson

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2009 and 2012 by Amelia Anderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    04/09/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4670-8191-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3340-5 (eBook)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prolouge

Chapter 1   The Difficult Journey

Chapter 2   Depression Sets Ln

Chapter 3   A Good Friend

Chapter 4   Letting Go

Chapter 5   The Big Surprise

Chapter 6   Things Fall Apart

Chapter 7   Blind Side

Chapter 8   The Battle

Chapter 9   Inner Strength

Chapter 10   Life Changes

Chapter 11   Keep It Moving

Chapter 12   Reality Sets In

Chapter 13   Enjoying The Moment

Chapter 14   Putting The Past Behind

Chapter 15   Unknown Challenges

Chapter 16   Needing Closure

Chapter 17   The Seasons Change

Chapter 18   Expecting The Unexpected

Chapter 19   What Lies Ahead

Chapter 20   The Broken Pieces

Chapter 21   Never Forgotten

Epilouge

This book is dedicated to my husband, Jerome, and my parents Edward & the late Mary Jackson

Special thanks to Walter Jenkins.

Prolouge

I hate moving, Amber thought as she looked at the boxes littering her living room floor. There is never an easy way to do this. How did I accumulate so much clutter?

She walked to her bedroom and looked at the four circles in the tan carpet where the legs of her bed used to stand. I swear this is going to be the last time I move. I don’t care how long I live, I’m never going through this again.

Amber glanced at the pictures hanging on the ivory walls. I made so many memories here. Is leaving a mistake?

She sat on the floor, pulled a black wooden picture frame from a half-full box and smiled. Girls’ night out, she thought and looked at herself and three other women in the photograph. How many of those have we survived?

A brown jewelry box caught her attention and she put the picture back in the cardboard moving box. The wooden case rattled as she placed it on her lap. She opened the top and sunlight from the window gleamed off the necklaces and earrings nestling against the soft inner lining of the box.

Amber pulled out an engraved bracelet. Memaw, I miss you so much. If I had only known how smart you were when you were here. She rubbed her fingers against the words on both sides of the bracelet and clasped it on her left wrist. She closed the jewelry box and gingerly placed it back inside the packing box.

Her hand brushed against a walnut plaque. She pulled out the rectangular award and looked at the brass plate screwed on the front. Outstanding Performance it read across the top. Awarded to Amber Corriveau for her Outstanding Dedication, Effort and Attitude. Presented with pride by Southern Creative Services, December 30, 2007.

She rubbed her hands across the smooth, polished wood and felt the grain running beneath the stain.

Moving is too painful. Every time I put something in a box, I think about the memories I made here. I don’t know what’s worse, thinking about the good times or the bad ones. I hope the good ones follow me to my new place.

She reached for a roll of packing tape and grimaced as it growled when she pulled a strip loose from the glossy brown roll. She cut it against the serrated metal edge encased in the red plastic dispenser.

Let’s do this, she sighed as she taped the box shut. So many memories…

CHAPTER 1

The Difficult Journey

If Clarence doesn’t pick this up by Friday, it goes in the trash, Amber sighed as she looked at the cardboard box by her door. The corner of a silver picture frame stuck out over the top and the long sleeve of a man’s blue dress shirt reached over the edge.

Never again. Why do I always do this to myself? She shook her head and snatched her car keys from the kitchen counter. It’s always the same for me. She reached for the door knob, paused and walked up the circular staircase to her bedroom. On top of her dresser sat a gold bracelet. Amber touched it and her grandmother’s face flashed in her mind.

Here, baby, you take this, Amber could hear her grandmother say. Always remember, there will be days when you have so many troubles and worries you’ll feel like the whole world is against you. She closed the bracelet on young Amber’s wrist. When you have those days, you look at this and you’ll know what to do.

Amber smiled as she put the bracelet on the same wrist her grandmother had so many years ago and looked at the worn engraving. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, it read on the outside. She flipped to the other side and saw and all these things shall be added unto you.

I can go now, she thought.

She checked her makeup in the mirror in the front hallway. Her dark hair rested between her shoulder blades and she ran her fingers through it. She looked at how her navy skirt draped over her thin frame and smiled as she walked to the parking garage.

She slid into the tan leather driver’s seat of her blue BMW and fired the ignition. She turned off the radio and focused on her goals for the day. Have to get the papers signed on the Johnson campaign. I don’t know what’s taking them so long to make up their minds.

Her thoughts drifted as she backed her car onto Hammond Drive and headed toward Interstate 10. She rolled down her window and felt a cool breeze coming in from the Gulf of Mexico. Tall oaks trees lined the street and sunlight darted between the leaves. Metairie slowly faded in her rearview mirror as the skyline of New Orleans spread out before her.

The early morning sun shimmered off of the Mississippi River as it ambled between Lake Pontchartrain and the flat, marshy delta on its way to the Gulf.

Minutes later she weaved down Lafayette Street, parked her car in the lot across from her office, and waited on the red bricks for a car to pass. She looked up at the three story brick building and the black iron lamppost standing near the entrance. An oak tree grew out of a hole in the brick sidewalk and waved in the wind.

Once the car passed Amber stepped onto the white bricks in the street and pushed open a tall, white double door. On the wall behind a thin, young, brunette secretary thick brass letters proclaimed Southern Creative Services.

The secretary smiled and handed Amber a pile of pink message slips. Thank you, Rachael.

Good morning, Amber, Rachael smiled as Amber took her messages and strolled by.

Amber, I have a silly question. Do you know Michael and Tiffany?

Amber paused, looked up from her messages and smiled. Tiffany is my cousin.

I was just curious. I met them the other night at a club.

That’s nice, Amber muttered.

I can’t believe how your cousin talks about you. Do you know the things she says? Rachael thought.

Amber walked down the hall and turned in the third door on the left. She sat in her leather chair behind her black, lacquered desk. She slid her computer mouse back and forth and the monitor fired to life as the screen saver disappeared.

Thirty-two emails, but nothing from Clarence. It’s just as well. It’s not like he was the love of my life. Amber shook her head.

She took a moment to look at her office. Framed awards lined the walls on her right and diplomas perched on the left. A brass nameplate sat on the front of her desk. Amber Corriveau, Vice President of Marketing.

A faint smile crossed her lips. Not bad. An MBA, I’m close to making partner, and I did it all before I turned thirty. She swiveled her chair and looked out the glass wall behind her. She flipped through the pink messages again. He hasn’t called. It’s over this time.

Good morning, Amber, Mr. Jordan said as he knocked on the door. Amber spun around to see him. Do you have a minute?

I always have time for you, Doc. She smiled and placed the messages on her desk.

Could you meet me in the conference room? Doc rubbed his tie as he spoke.

Yes, sir, Amber replied. Doc walked out the door and Amber pulled out her PDA to check the calendar. The meeting on new partners isn’t scheduled until next quarter. Are they doing it early?

She found Doc in the conference room sitting between two senior partners. Their faces reflected off the glossy surface of the oval table in the center of the room.

Please close the door and have a seat, Doc said as he stood. Amber turned and pushed the heavy brass handle until the glass door clicked shut. She sat on the opposite side of the table from Doc and the others and could see people scurrying past in the hallway.

Doc cleared his throat. Amber, you know how much we value your work. Even when you were an intern you were one of the hardest-working employees we’ve ever had. Your talent has been a true asset to us.

The two partners nodded and Amber smiled. Thank you. I feel honored to work here.

This is not easy for me to say, but we have to make some difficult decisions. As you know, the recent economic downturn has put us in a position where we have to do some proactive restructuring. You know how we struggled after Hurricane Katrina. We were able to survive that, but the slump in the economy has hit us hard. In order to save the company we are cutting some jobs.

He paused, shifted positions in his chair and cleared his throat.

Amber, we have to let you go. There will be a generous severance package, of course. I wish we could avoid this, but we’ve been looking at this for some time and there is no other way. The two other partners kept their eyes focused on the table.

You’re firing me? What have I done wrong? No one said there was any problem with my performance. I know the Johnson account has taken longer than expected, but I’m getting it done, Amber stammered.

There must be some mistake. I have a mortgage and a car payment. Her heart raced and she struggled to breathe. And right before Thanksgiving?

Doc put up his hand. "Amber, this has nothing to do with your performance. As I said, we have to make changes to keep the company afloat. If we could afford to keep you, we would.

You’re not the only one who is going to be leaving. We haven’t told the others yet. We came to you first out of respect. We want you to have a leg up on the others when you start looking for a new job.

Doc crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on the table. If there is anything I can do, please ask. You’ll land on your feet. You’re smart, talented and ambitious. You will have another job before you know it.

Doc stood and the two partners followed. Take a few moments to gather your thoughts. Then go see Daisy in personnel. She has some paperwork for you to sign. Doc walked around the table and extended his right hand. I wish I could explain how hard this is for me.

Amber took his hand and gently shook it. Mr. Jordan and the two other partners slid out the door.

I’ve never been fired. What do I do now? How am I going to explain this? This job, my work, it’s all I have, Amber thought. This was supposed to be where I worked until I retired. It’s the only job I’ve had since college. I interned here without a salary to get my foot in the door. She fell into a chair and cried.

I’m supposed to see Daisy, Amber muttered as she stumbled into the personnel office. A thin, blond woman sat at a small desk. A pile of papers nestled near her phone. Amber, too embarrassed to look the woman in the eyes, fixed her gaze on the wall behind her. The woman pointed Amber to an office down the hall. Amber trudged to the door and slumped in a chair in front of a small woman with short, auburn hair.

I’m Amber. I just got fired, Amber sniffed. I never thought I would say those words.

Daisy pulled out a stack of papers. I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you. There is no easy way to do this, but there is some paperwork we have to review. First, here is your COBRA information.

Amber heard little of Daisy’s explanation of what was in the papers. Sign here, please, Daisy said. Amber took a pen, signed where Daisy pointed and returned to her office.

Amber was stunned when she opened the door. Her desk and walls were empty. Five neatly packed boxes sat on the floor. She took one look, gasped and shook her head. So this is what I get for all my hard work?

She grabbed a box, slinked outside, stuffed it into the backseat of her car and did the same with three others. She lifted the fifth box and walked down the hallway. As she passed the secretary’s station, Rachael, now teary eyed, stopped her. She held a white envelope in her right hand.

Amber, she muttered, we were saving this for your birthday. I’m sorry. The secretary gingerly placed the card on top of the pictures in the box Amber held. I didn’t know. None of us did.

Amber fought to keep tears from falling. Thank you, she whispered and crammed the last box in her car.

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Tia’s son and daughter waited behind the glass door while Tia went to her mailbox. She pulled on the lid, grabbed the contents and flipped through the envelopes, checking each one carefully. She pulled one addressed to Tia Robidoux from the others, folded it and slid it into her back pocket.

She walked back to the door and her daughter Gabrielle stepped aside to let her in the hallway. Mommy’s back. Told you I wouldn’t be gone long, Tia said. She walked to the kitchen and placed the mail on the counter. Daddy will be home from work soon, so go clean up for dinner. The children scurried down the hall to their bathroom.

Tia walked into the closet at the back of her bedroom. She shuffled through her clothes, tugged on the sleeve of a coat and reached for the inside pocket. She pulled the envelope out of her pants and slid it next to several others hiding inside the coat.

Her children skipped into the kitchen as Tia pulled a head of lettuce from the refrigerator. Who wants to help me make a salad for dinner? she asked.

Me! both children squealed. Tia smiled and pulled a blue salad bowl down from the cupboard. She placed it on the counter and helped Gabrielle into her chair. Her brother, Anthony, stood at the sink and waited for his mother.

Minutes later the full salad bowl sat on the dining room table and Tia heard the garage door opening. Jonathan came into the kitchen and his children ran to greet him. Daddy! they cheered and grabbed him around the knees. He bent down, lifted them up and kissed the tops of their heads. Hello, Pumpkin. Hello, Tiger, he said and put them back on the ground.

He walked to Tia and kissed her on the lips. Hello, sweetheart. Jonathan yanked off his red tie. That smells good. What’s for dinner?

Chicken. It’s a recipe from the new cookbook I bought.

Her husband smiled and shook his head. A new cookbook? Another one?

Tia looked up from the stove. Yes, dear. It’s only a book.

Jonathan sighed, walked to the bedroom and came back out in a white t-shirt and pair of blue cotton shorts. He sat at the dining room table, unfolded the cloth napkin in front of him and placed it in his lap.

Tia carried a plate of hot chicken to the table. Come on, kids. Time to eat, she said and the children climbed into their seats. Jonathan pulled a small piece of meat from the plate and took a bite.

Jonathan! Not until we say grace! Tia blurted. Jonathan smiled at his children as they laughed. He looked into Tia’s chestnut brown eyes. She shook her head and pulled her long, dark brown hair behind her left ear.

Well, hurry up. These kids look hungry to me, Jonathan said. Tia took her seat and the four formed a circle and bowed their heads. Jonathan cleared his throat. Heavenly Father…

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Consuela, make sure the eggs are cooked properly today, Malia said as she sat down at the breakfast table. Malana, Malia’s sixteen-year-old daughter, sat across from her mother and rolled her eyes.

Si, Senora Touchet, Consuela said as she whisked eggs in a plastic bowl. She poured them in a skillet on the top of the stove and stirred them with a silicone spatula. Consuela put the bowl down on the granite counter top as Malia’s youngest daughter Brittany walked into the kitchen, kissed her mother and sat down. Minutes later Consuela placed plates of warm food in front of Malia and her two children.

Your husband, he does not eat with you today, senora? Consuela asked.

Malia shook her head as she looked at her manicured fingernails. No, he is very busy. He has already left for the office. Malia took a small bite of her eggs and slid them past her crimson covered lips. She looked at Consuela. These are better. Still, too much pepper.

Consuela nodded, pulled a pair of yellow, rubber gloves from the cabinet beneath the sink and scrubbed the bowl and skillet.

Malana shook her head and pushed away her plate. I need to go to the bathroom. She slid her chair back and left the room.

Consuela wiped the pan dry and hung it by its handle on a rack over the stove. She draped the towel over the handle on the oven door and scurried down the hall to begin her chores.

Malia took the last bite of her eggs and put the fork on her plate. Brittany gulped her orange juice and slid out of her chair. It’s time, Mommy, she said. Look, the big hand is on the six. She walked to the living room and lifted her