365 Days

Chapter 1 (Part 3)

Eight Hours Earlier

The sound of the alarm clock pierced my brain.

“Get up, honey. It’s nine already. We have to be

at the airport in an hour. Our Sicilian vacation

awaits. Wakey, wakey!” Martin stood at the bed-

room door, sporting a wide grin.

I opened my eyes slowly, reluctantly. It’s the

middle of the night for me, for God’s sake. What a

barbaric idea to fly at this time, I thought. Since I’d

left work a few weeks ago, time of day stopped

making any sense. I would go to sleep too late,wake up too late, and the worst of it was that I

didn’t have to do anything. I could do what I want-

ed. I’d spent too much time in the quagmire of the

hotel business, and when I had finally gotten my

dream position as a sales manager, I quit. I just

lost the passion for my work. I never thought that

at the age of twenty-nine I’d feel burned-out, but

those were the facts.

Working at the hotel had been satisfying and

fulfilling, and it was good for my ego. Every time I

negotiated a big contract, I felt the thrill of excite-

ment, and when those negotiations involved com-

peting with more experienced people—adepts at

the art of manipulation—I was exhilarated. Espe-

cially when I won. Each little victory in my finan-

cial battles had given me the feeling of superiority.

It satisfied the vainer side of my character. It

might sound stupid, but as a girl from a small Pol-

ish town who hadn’t even graduated university,

proving my value to everyone around was a pri-

ority.

“Laura! You want cocoa or tea with milk?”

“Martin, please! It’s the middle of the night!” I

rolled over on the bed and covered my head with a

pillow.

Bright August light illuminated the bedroom.

Martin never liked darkness, so even our bedroom

wake up too late, and the worst of it was that I didn’t have to do anything. I could do what I wanted. I’d spent too much time in the quagmire of the hotel business, and when I had finally gotten my dream position as a sales manager, I quit. I just lost the passion for my work. I never thought that at the age of twenty-nine I’d feel burned-out, but those were the facts.

Working at the hotel had been satisfying and fulfilling, and it was good for my ego. Every time I negotiated a big contract, I felt the thrill of excitement, and when those negotiations involved competing with more experienced people—adepts at the art of manipulation—I was exhilarated. Especially when I won. Each little victory in my financial battles had given me the feeling of superiority.

It satisfied the vainer side of my character. It might sound stupid, but as a girl from a small Polish town who hadn’t even graduated university, proving my value to everyone around was a priority.

Laura! You want cocoa or tea with milk?

Martin, please! It’s the middle of the night! I rolled over on the bed and covered my head with a pillow.

Bright August light illuminated the bedroom. Martin never liked darkness, so even our bedroom windows lacked any kind of blinds. He used to say

that darkness caused depression. Well, for him to

fall into depression was easier than getting a cof-

fee at Starbucks. The windows were all on the

eastern wall, so each morning the sun made it

pretty much impossible for me to sleep late.

“I made both cocoa and tea.” With a smug ex-

pression, Martin remained standing in the door-

way, holding a cup in each hand. “It’s scorching

hot outside. I bet you want the cold one,” he said,

and passed me the cocoa. Then he began pulling

the sheets from the bed.

By that time I was getting pissed at him, but I

crawled out of my cave. I knew he wouldn’t relent.

Martin flashed his teeth in a wide grin. That was

so much like him—every morning he had too

much energy. He was a heavily built, bull-like man

with a bald head perched on top of a wide neck.

People called him a muscle head. Aside from the

purely physical aspect, he had nothing in common

with that kind of man. He was the best human

being I’d ever met. He had his own company, and

each time he scored a big hit, he’d transfer a large

sum to a children’s hospice. He liked to say: “I

need to share God’s blessing with others.”

Martin had blue eyes. They were gentle and full

of kindness. His nose was large and crooked—it

windows lacked any kind of blinds. He used to say that darkness caused depression. Well, for him to fall into depression was easier than getting a coffee at Starbucks. The windows were all on the eastern wall, so each morning the sun made it pretty much impossible for me to sleep late.

I made both cocoa and tea. With a smug expression, Martin remained standing in the doorway, holding a cup in each hand. It’s scorching hot outside. I bet you want the cold one, he said, and passed me the cocoa. Then he began pulling the sheets from the bed.

By that time I was getting pissed at him, but I crawled out of my cave. I knew he wouldn’t relent. Martin flashed his teeth in a wide grin. That was so much like him—every morning he had too much energy. He was a heavily built, bull-like man with a bald head perched on top of a wide neck. People called him a muscle head. Aside from the purely physical aspect, he had nothing in common with that kind of man. He was the best human being I’d ever met. He had his own company, and each time he scored a big hit, he’d transfer a large sum to a children’s hospice. He liked to say: I need to share God’s blessing with others.

Martin had blue eyes. They were gentle and full of kindness. His nose was large and crooked—it had been broken in the past. Nobody’s perfect,

and Martin hadn’t always been this wise and well

mannered. What I loved about him the most were

his full lips and his spectacular smile that always

disarmed me each time I was mad at him.

His enormous arms were covered with tattoos.

His entire body was, in fact, aside from his legs.

He was a strong man, weighing a good deal more

than two hundred pounds. I always felt safe with

him, though I have to admit that at five feet five

and 110 pounds, I might have looked a bit mis-

matched with him. My mom had always told me

that sports are good, so I trained in whatever took

my fancy at any given time, from Nordic walking

to karate. I never stuck to any discipline for long,

though. What it ultimately boiled down to was that

my body was extremely fit, my tummy was hard as

rock and perfectly flat, my legs were slim and

muscled, and my buttocks toned and curvy. I

must have done more than a million squats to

achieve that effect.

“All right, I’m getting up,” I mumbled, then

drank the delicious now-cold cocoa in one great

gulp.

I put the cup down and went into the bath-

room. As I stopped by the mirror I realized just

how much I needed this vacation. My dark eyes

had been broken in the past. Nobody’s perfect, and Martin hadn’t always been this wise and well mannered. What I loved about him the most were his full lips and his spectacular smile that always disarmed me each time I was mad at him.

His enormous arms were covered with tattoos. His entire body was, in fact, aside from his legs. He was a strong man, weighing a good deal more than two hundred pounds. I always felt safe with him, though I have to admit that at five feet five and 110 pounds, I might have looked a bit mismatched with him. My mom had always told me that sports are good, so I trained in whatever took my fancy at any given time, from Nordic walking to karate. I never stuck to any discipline for long, though. What it ultimately boiled down to was that my body was extremely fit, my tummy was hard as rock and perfectly flat, my legs were slim and muscled, and my buttocks toned and curvy. I must have done more than a million squats to achieve that effect.

All right, I’m getting up, I mumbled, then drank the delicious now-cold cocoa in one great gulp.

I put the cup down and went into the bathroom. As I stopped by the mirror I realized just how much I needed this vacation. My dark eyes were sad and resigned, and the lack of anything to

do had made me apathetic. My chestnut hair

flowed around my lean face and fell to my shoul-

ders. That it reached this length was a success—

usually I wore my hair a lot shorter. In normal circumstances, I would have thought myself pretty

hot, but I didn’t right then. I was overwhelmed

with the burden of my own failings and my aver-

sion to work. I had no idea what to do with myself.

My professional life had always determined my

self-esteem. Without a calling card and a work

phone in my purse, I didn’t feel too confident.

I brushed my teeth, put some pins in my hair,

applied some mascara, and… that was about it. I

didn’t have it in me to do much else. Besides, it

would be enough. A while ago I had splurged on

permanent brow, eye, and lip makeup out of sheer

laziness. It allowed me to have more sleep and

limit the morning bathroom routine to the bare

minimum.

I went to the closet to get the clothes I had prepared for today. One thing always remained the

same for me, irrespective of my moods and all the

things I had no power to change I had to be

dressed as perfectly as possible. Wearing the right

clothing made me feel better. Obviously, it made

me look better, too.

To Be Continued...