Seven years later - Present day: Houston, Texas
On the morning of Valerie Stewart's thirty-ninth birthday, her rust-laden, ten-year-old Chevy Silverado jolted to a stop in the employee parking lot. Rolling up the window, she dropped her head onto the steering wheel and screamed, unwanted, stupid tears running down her face.
A huge blowup with Rod had her stomach tied in knots—equal parts fury, exhaustion, and anxiety.
This morning, her focus had been on getting to the office to open the email that might determine the course of her life.
His focus had been on his erection.
Yet, despite Rod's practiced persistence, he hadn't managed to charm her into a morning blowjob. The fight that followed fueled the anxiety already clawing at her.
So, he doesn't feel special. Too damn bad... Hell, it's my birthday.
Pushing open the truck door, she kicked at the ground as she landed. Before her, looming ominous and sinister, stood the edifice of her voluntary incarceration.
The Texas Department of Licensing and Registration, Houston Branch.
The same bleak recognition that had shadowed her since her first days on the job settled over her like a dancing column of gnats.
As she stared at the building, Valerie saw the rest of her life staring back, and shuddered.
The job she thought would be her salvation had become just another burden that came with a barely adequate paycheck, a demanding boss, and a parking pass.
She clicked the key fob to lock the truck.
As though anyone would steal this piece of shit.
Nothing. She pressed the red button again, then three more times, until she finally heard the click-chunk-clank of the locks engaging.
Not needing to be mocked by a truck Rod had insisted she buy—and one she'd never liked—she turned away and headed across the parking lot.
As she reached for the handle, the slogan, etched on the front door, taunted her.
Helping Small Businesses and Consumers Since 1909.
Oh really? Have you ever helped me?
Marching across the parking lot, the cloak of despair tightened around her like a drunken stranger at a Kenny Chesney concert.
After a short elevator ride to the third floor, she threaded her way through the empty cubicle mausoleum toward her own tiny crypt. Clutching hope and composure in a death grip, she knew that short of winning the lottery, today might be her only chance at change.
Optimism had never been one of her strengths, and the closer she got to her desk, the little she had left drained away. The doubt that lived forever in her bones lifted its ugly head.
Hello darkness, my old friend.
As usual, she had arrived an hour early, long before anyone else. She normally used this time to study, but with the completion of her final exam, those days were done. She'd been taking online accounting classes at Alamo Grande College—without her husband's knowledge, of course. If he had known, he would have laughed in her face. But if she could graduate, she'd finally be on the path to becoming a Certified Public Accountant, the dream she'd carried for years.
Today could be the day everything changed. Today might be her last chance to burn down her meaningless existence and build something better. Today, the grades come out.
She thought back over the past six years: all the excuses, all the dodges, all the stolen time. Every morning before work, she carved out an hour to study. Most lunch breaks were spent with her nose buried in her screen. Late at night, when Rod was out or already asleep, she stole more time. For six long years, this had been her life. Some nights, alone in the dark, the weight of it crushed her. Yet when she found herself sobbing in frustration, terrified she might not be capable of finishing, she would recall Rod's initial response, all those years ago.
You're too old to go back to school. All you've ever been is a cocktail
waitress.
Geez, I was thirty-two.
Rod doubting that she was smart enough had wounded her to the core. She never forgot it. It took a year for her to gather enough nerve to secretly sign up for the classes. But whenever the work felt too big, the task too insurmountable, she remembered his smug voice telling her she was too stupid, and the memory powered her onward.
Through stubbornness and sheer perseverance, one step led to another until she found herself on the verge of graduating. Despite the depression, the resignation, and the constant certainty that she would fail, she had somehow kept going and finished the course.
Just then, her phone buzzed. Looking at the caller ID, she saw a welcome sight. Luna Velasco, her lone work friend, was calling.
"Hey, am I glad to hear your voice? I am freaking out!" Val said without preamble.
Luna's Mexican accent shrilled loud and clear, "Oh, really? What's up?" "Just another throwdown with Rod. He wakes me up this morning by stabbing his hard-on in my back; I'm sure you know the feeling."
Luna laughed, "Oh yeah, it's like his little friend wants to come out and play."
"I pretended to be asleep, but he kept poking. So, I reached back and used my hand. No—he wants the blowjob. Damn it, I just wasn't in the mood. And it's my birthday. It should've been the other way around, right?"
Luna laughed, "For sure! And that's why I'm calling, to wish you a happy birthday. So, happy birthday! Any big plans for tonight?"
Val reached her isolated workspace outside the director's office and dropped her backpack into the bottom drawer.
"Not really. If it goes well with the grades, I may plan something so I can break the news to him."
Luna said, "It still amazes me you made it through the whole six years without him finding out."
"I can be sneaky when I want to. And it's not like he pays much attention." Val laughed. "I should've done this right out of high school, but instead, I married my high school sweetheart, and that story always ends the same—four years later, I'm twenty-two, divorced, and alone. Rod comes along a few years after that... and then the drudgery of this job sucking the life out of me... bam, I'm thirty-nine and wallowing. Seven years here and not a hint of a promotion." She took a deep inhale. "I had to do something."
"I feel really bad that this didn't work out for you. I had high hopes. Don't hate me," Luna said.
Val set a hand on her desk. "Not your fault. I've always appreciated you for trying."
She took a deep breath, shook her head to help clear away the past hour, and said, "I'll call you back. I need to open this alone, in case I screwed it up."
Luna let out an exasperated sigh. "You got this. You've been working your ass off, Einstein. I know. Call me back when you find out."
"For sure."
Valerie ended the call. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath to steel her courage, and with her stomach roiling, turned on her computer.
Drumming her purple nails on the worn laminate desktop, she waited for the screen to come to life. Thick with sarcasm, she muttered, "These government computers really do represent the finest technology the '90s had to offer."
Seeing her reflection on the dark, struggling-to-come-alive monitor, she realized that driving to work with the window down had not been the best choice. As refreshing as the cool morning wind had been, it had done a number on her hair. Taking advantage of this disheveled yet welcome distraction, she grabbed a brush from the top drawer and ran it through her long, blonde mane. With practiced precision, the blood-red scrunchie slid off the brush handle, wrapping her hair into a ponytail.
Using the still-dead monitor as a mirror, Valerie considered her reflection.
She wasn't gorgeous like a movie star or dumpy like a character actor, but okay. She'd always considered herself more of a six, but being a hair over six feet tall put her on the border of being a straight-up seven. Not this morning, of course, with her hair all over the place and puffy eyes.
In her youth, she remembered her eyes had been a vibrant blue, but sometime over the past decade, they had gone flat. Life in the adult world had burned through the luster.
The phone buzzed again.
Geez, Luna, give me a chance to open the email.
Looking at the screen, she scowled.
Oh, what now, Rod?
No doubt he wanted to revisit her lack of enthusiasm regarding blowjobs. Still, she hit the green button.
Why the hell did I do that?
The call connected.
"Yeah, what?"
"Whoa, settle down. I just wanted to say I'm sorry. And happy thirty-ninth. You're getting up there, baby—one year away from the big four-oh." Rod spurted out, spinning his usual charm to disarm.
Valerie twisted in her chair, still waiting for the computer.
"Yeah, getting up there."
He paused, and his voice softened. "I just wanted to say sorry. I knew it was your birthday, babe." Valerie squinted.
What the fuck?
The charm oozed out of him with practiced ease, and he said, "I wasn't looking for a fight, is all."
"You made me feel pretty bad. It's not always about what you want."
"I just needed to get off." Rod used the same persuasive tone that so often got him exactly what he wanted.
Why are your feelings always more important?
Valerie took a deep breath.
"It's my birthday; what's our tradition? You fell down on the job there, buddy."
Not that I ever come, but you could have tried.
"I guess I did. My bad. I'll make it up to you tonight," Rod said with a salacious tinge in his voice.
At last, the computer limped to life.
"Oh! I gotta go. I'll talk to you later." She hung up without waiting for his reply.
She went straight to her email, hands shaking and mouth dry. There were two email accounts in the system—one for her boss, Dog Spaulding, director of TDLR, and one for her own official business. She kept hers strictly professional, with one exception: university correspondence.
Okay, here goes. Come on, universe, do something nice for a change.
She scanned the inbox and found AGUAdmissions.
Maybe the light at the end of this tunnel isn't an oncoming train.
Closing her eyes and offering up a prayer to the universe, she clicked on the email.
Scanning the document, trying not to get her hopes up because, God knows, she probably failed, she found her final grade.
Ninety-three.
"What...?"
She did a double-take.
"What the...? "
Could it be true?
"What the hell?" Her voice reverberated through the empty office. This has to be a mistake.
She looked again. Was it a 39? No. Sure as hell, it read 93. Beside it lurked an asterisk. She scrolled to the bottom of the page and saw the asterisk meant she had graduated summa cum laude.
Valerie shot out of her chair with a yelp. "Holy shit!" Stunned, she threw her arms overhead, signaling a winning touchdown.
"Oh, my God!" she yelled. Running in place, her ponytail whipped back and forth as her hands plastered themselves to the side of her face.
Sucking in huge gulps of air, Valerie dropped back into her chair, heart pounding, and tried to compose herself. With deliberate care, she scrolled to the top of the message and read it again from the beginning.
Congratulations, Valerie. This letter is to officially certify that Valerie Stewart (student ID #898763) was enrolled in the Bachelor of Science in Accounting through the online program of Alamo Grande College. Student has successfully completed all required criteria for this degree.
Final Exam grade: 93*
Final Class ranking: 13
The official degree conferral and diploma dispatch are scheduled for the next formal graduation processing cycle. (4-6 weeks)
*Summa Cum Laude Graduate—top 5% of class
She hadn't just passed—she finished in the top five percent of her class.
"Oh, my God!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I just got a bachelor's degree!"
With a deafening screech, she twirled in her chair. Both hands again shot into the air as she flipped the bird into the cosmos. "Take that, universe!"
Her chair zipped in its circle as this unaccustomed cloak of accomplishment draped around her. "Oh, baby!"
A tidal wave of joy crashed over her—unfamiliar, exhilarating, and almost too big to hold. She jumped to her feet and, like a pitcher in Game Seven of the World Series, wound up, with her left knee high, and fired an imaginary fastball. "Steeerike!" Her jubilant cry ricocheted through the empty office.
The elation didn't last. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Out stepped Doug Spaulding—nicknamed Dog. He'd earned the moniker during his high school wrestling days, though Valerie had always thought Slick would have suited him better.
Dog's personality filled every room he entered. When Dog was present, no one ever had to wonder who was in charge. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair shellacked into place above a trim waist and a professional smile polished over thirteen years in the state senate—an experience that had ushered him straight into this job.
He marched down the aisle toward her and stopped when he saw Valerie pantomiming a baseball pitcher.
"Valerie, I'm not sure what you're doing, but come into my office when you're finished." He nodded his head with precision and walked past her.
"Sure, on my way," Valerie choked out, embarrassed by her pantomime.
Still stupefied, she grabbed her tablet. Before she left, she glanced at her computer, checking one last time that she had read the grade correctly:
Final Exam grade: 93*
She skipped into Dog's office, trying not to break into song. Without preamble, with his bureaucratic, proud-to-be-a-Texan voice, Dog began. He always spoke to her in a slow, methodical manner to be sure she could keep up, never realizing how demeaning it sounded.
"I got a call last night from the Austin office—at home, too, if you can believe that. Looks like we've got new licensing requirements coming in: expanded catering, new wide-load rules that'll need special training, and a couple of useless border-control regs." An annoyed grimace flickered across his face, and he said to himself, "I'm as much of a party guy as the next, but I have no idea why I voted for that fool." Then he refocused. "We're talking six new license categories by the end of the quarter. Valerie, call Austin and find out how they want to handle it—classes, online, whatever. You can manage the programming side, right?"
Still distracted, Valerie blinked several times. "Sure thing, Mr. Spaulding. It's pretty straightforward. I'll get right on it." Struggling to focus, she replayed his instructions in her head. "Austin opens in another ten minutes. That's Baldwin's office, right?"
The consummate politician, he replied with adept politeness, yet his tone made it clear he had been annoyed by the question. "Of course it's Baldwin. Who else would call me at home?" "Yes, sir," Val said.
"Now listen, Valerie, we can't let him get away with that. Baldwin's gotta learn to respect boundaries. That is my family time, and I hate being interrupted." Dog glanced at the wall behind his desk. On it hung a portrait of Dog, his wife Amelia, three children, their spouses, and six grandkids.
"You know what I always say, right?"
"Yes, sir. 'There's nothing more important than family.' How could I forget?" Then, hoping to lighten his mood, she added, "I just got some good news."
"Oh, and what's that?" Dog asked, now distracted and scrolling on his computer.
"I've been taking online classes at AGU, and guess what? I just passed my final and got my degree in accounting." She could not contain her pride, and a giggle exploded from her.
Dog's eyes went wide, and he tilted his head. "Now, that is something, isn't it? Good for you."
"Thank you, I'm pretty thrilled," Valerie said with a lilt in her voice, beaming.
"And you know what that means? It means don't just stand there—put that degree to work." He meant it as a joke, but he lacked the skill to pull it off. It came out belittling instead.
She turned to leave, and as she closed the door behind her, she heard him call after her, "And get me my coffee, if you don't mind." She headed for the office kitchen.
Despite the possibility of a brighter future, the wonder of her spectacular accomplishment gave way to the reality of her everyday life.