"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."

~Neale Donald Walsch

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The way I react to the girls leaving would make me look like I've never dealt with a loss before.

I'm an orphan for Pete's sake, but neither of my parents' deaths made the house feel empty.

I'm leaning against the closed front door, staring blankly out at the expanse.

I try to keep reminding myself that the girls aren't dead, but I feel the sting just the same. It's confusing more than anything.

I guess I've never had something that I was sad to say goodbye to. And that's the part I hate the most--saying goodbye. Goodbye means that you might never say hello again. At least, not in the same way you've said hello before.

I rub my eyes tiredly and check the clock. It's still only noon.

I don't know what else to do with myself, so I grab my apron and head to Red Ribbon's. I'm sick of moaning over sad things.

~~~~~~

I shove the yarn stack up higher in the rack to make room for the new colors I'm stocking.

"Beverly!"

I sigh deeply as Sacha comes up behind me.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mutter. "I'm here for a little escapism, okay?"

Sacha pats my shoulder sympathetically. "I know how hard it is, honey."

I keep putting the yarn away, thinking, the only hard thing around here is getting some peace and quiet.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"Better. But still terrible."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" I shout, loud enough that even Mrs. May Goldfinch, the resident crazy cat lady of Chestnut Ridge, looks over at me with raised eyebrows.

Sacha spreads her hands out, gesturing to the store. "Look at you! At work, of all places!"

"It's as good a place to go as any!" I argue. "What else am I supposed to do? Stay home and clean up all the stains in the carpet from Dusty flinging guacamole everywhere?!"

Sacha's face darkens into a fierceness I've only seen a few times. "You're on the brink of another new start, Bev. The first start was the girls and you didn't have a choice. Now you do. So you can either keep working in multicolored yarn hell or you can do something you want to do." She shrugs nonchalantly. "And I'm not going to tell you what I think you should decide." Her eyes sharpen and she's honestly a terrifying mix between a demon-possessed teddy bear and a fire-breathing dragon. "But you've got a narrow window here, sis. You either make a new routine or get stuck in the old one."

I gulp and blink at this scary Sacha.

"Okay," I say quietly.

Her countenance immediately changes and she's smiling. "And we're here to help you in any way we can, hon. Never forget that."

"Thanks, Sacha." I awkwardly reach out to pat her shoulder, but she crushes me in a hug.

When she finally lets go and rushes off to help a customer, I go to put the rest of the yarn away but hesitate.

What do you want? I ask myself.

For the first time, I feel like I have my whole life ahead of me. And I get to choose what it looks like. For a second, I'm tempted to run away and join a caravan of wandering hippies who listen to Elton John and probably eat ice cream for breakfast. But I already know what it is that I actually want.

Over the past couple days, I keep wishing that I was back at Percival, but the only reason I could ever go back was if the girls were there. But that might not be entirely true.

So I leave the yarn cart where it is, with my apron hanging over the handlebars, and leave Red Ribbon's for good.

It is a dramatic and perfect exit, but the only person in the entire world who can ruin it shows up just outside.

I haven't seen her since Shaky's Chicken Shack.

I scowl. "Judy Hemingway."

She smiles her lipstick-smudged grin. "Bevvy! I almost didn't recognize you without your chicken costume!"

I'm trying to remember that the Super Aunt Beverly rules still apply, but I can't help but reply, "What made you crawl out of your cave this morning? I thought trolls were allergic to sunlight."

"I just came to congratulate you," she says sweetly. "I'm honestly shocked that your nieces survived that long with you looking after them."

"Yeah, me too," I reply. "No thanks to you telling Kristen that I was bribed to take care of them."

Judy shrugged. "All's fair in love and war," she says, shrugging a zebra-strapped shoulder. "But I have to go, I have a tanning session to get to."

"That's okay," I say. "I'll bet the Oompa-Loompas are wondering where their mother is."

"At least I don't eat the gum stuck on the bottom of a bench!" she retorts.

"That only happened once and at least I don't make a dried raisin look like it could be on a Neutrogena commercial by comparison!"

"Street trash!"

"Describing your breakfast?"

Judy hauls in a breath to continue, but my face breaks into a smile and I laugh.

She glowers at me and says, "What's so funny?"

I pat her shoulder. "You know, Judy, this was fun. I really needed it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my whole life ahead of me and you've just given me the confidence to start it."

"Well--"

But I'm already across the street and getting into the car. I have places to be, after all.

~~~~~

"Wow, don't look so surprised," I say, leaning back in the hard wooden chair as Principal Douglas gapes at me.

"Do you want flies in your mouth or something?" I ask.

He shakes himself out of his stupor and looks at the resume I've placed on his desk. "I mean, well, this is actually a good resume, but...neither of the positions you want are actual positions in the school."

I shrug a shoulder. "You need someone official to oversee the disaster that is the PTO." Principal Douglas opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand. "Don't deny it, bro. Kristen has everyone and everything wrapped around her little finger. Even though I personally think she's like the one Napoleon without the Dynamite, think about it. Nobody gets a say in that meeting room besides her."

The principal nods. "I would agree with you there. We need someone to oversee things. However, we don't have it in the budget to hire someone to fill the role. Kristen does it for free, technically speaking."

"Ah-ha! That is where you are quite wrong, sir." I pull out a sheet of paper from my purse and unfurl it with a snap before passing it to him. "I looked it up on the school calendar--we have almost three National Day celebrations a week."

Principal Douglas squints at the spreadsheet.

"And you might think Kristen works for free, but between National Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Day and National Hippopotamus day last week, Percival spent almost five-hundred dollars." I tap the paper with my fingernail. "Now how 'bout them apples?"

He raises his eyebrows and exhales slowly. "Well...I don't quite know what to say. I didn't realize Kristen was so--"

"Psychotic?" I offer.

"I was going to say out of control." He purses his lips before folding his hands on the desk. "I think we might be able to make this work, Beverly. If you're sure. I need commitment and responsibility for this task. No more soccer field fist fights or anything of the like."

I give him a lofty expression and lean in closer. "No promises in that regard, but I can promise that National Lumpy Rug Day will hereby be abolished forever."

I stick out my hand.

Principal Douglas eyes me for a second before clasping my hand and shaking it.

I grin.

"As for your second request, I don't know if we can pay you double..."

I stand up and wave my hand around. "No worries. Consider that one a favor. Besides, if I get half the money Kristen's been wasting, you can just say I'll put the Beverly in Beverly Hills, pal."

I reach for the door, but then Principal Douglas says, "You've come a long way."

I glance behind me and smile. "Thanks, sir." Then I add, "Three kids driving you to near insanity is better than any lemon water detox I've ever tried."

I walk into the lobby, where Kristen is watching me like a hawk.

I slow down in front of her desk behind the check-in counter and rap my knuckles on the laminate.

I can see her defenses being built up as she visibly prickles. She suspects something.

I grin smoothly. "Your hair looks great today," I say.

"And?" she hisses.

I shrug a shoulder. "A woman can't give a compliment once in a while?"

As I leave the lobby, I'm satisfied knowing that she'll be driven absolutely crazy over the comment for days.

I go down a few halls and come to a familiar door. The one I accidentally stumbled upon my first day here at Percival. The one that changed everything.

I push down on the handle and peer inside. "Excuse me, sir, but are you in need of an art assistant? I've been told that I look a lot like Cindy Crawford when I cut out coloring pages for the first graders..."