To the Sea (Follow your Bliss) by Deirdre Riordan Hall Page B

anything other than her house, no less get dressed.
Sitting at her desk, in the office, was progress.
    Frank
Brinkman entered and offered a forced smile. “So glad you’re able to return
Kira. I appreciated your contributions from home.” They both knew that was BS.
He went on, “But the pressure’s on like you could never imagine. I really need
you and Alice to finalize the Foster-Davis account. Otherwise, we may have to
intervene. She assures me you can do this.” His forced smile lingered.
    Kira
wanted to say that he could never imagine the burden and tension she’d
experienced, that she walked around with an open wound, and he had no idea the
effort it took to get to a place of upright mobility. Her eyebrows furrowed. 
    “I
know you’ve just been through a trial of your own, but we keep our personal
lives and professional lives separate here, and that’s what I expect from you.
We’re a New England firm, we pick ourselves up by our bootstraps, and we face the
day. I’ll be keeping a close eye on things. Please get right on it.”
    If
that was Frank’s idea of an inspirational speech, he’d better stick with just keeping
a close eye on thing s, Kira thought dryly.
    Nonetheless,
she took a minute to look around her office and summon her focus. She tossed
the framed photo of her and Jeremy in the waste bin with a dull thud, steeled
away tears, and shifted into intense work mode.
    When
her desk overflowed with files and data, she moved into a vacant boardroom to
team up with Alice. The hours ticked by as they went over the account.
    They
worked right through lunch, and when Alice’s phone chimed at five o’clock she
abruptly said, “Come on. Break time.”
    Alice
exited the conference room where they’d set up shop and Kira followed
curiously. Alice went to her desk, grabbed a sage colored bag, and said, “Let’s
go.” She passed Kira a nutrition bar and a bottle of water as they left the
building.
    Still
processing information about the account, Kira hungrily ate the fruit and nut
protein bar. She followed Alice into a building with stone arches surrounding
each window.
    “So
do you think if we include the data from the shareholders—” Alice cut Kira off
mid-sentence.
    “Not
here.” They stood outside a door that said Prana, Yama Yama . Kira had no
idea what that meant. Alice passed her a pair of stretch pants along with a
tank top.
    “Put
these on. Don’t ask me any questions. I’ll save you a mat.”
    Kira
gave her a withering look.
    “Just
come find me,” Alice said. They entered a waiting room with a reception desk, a
smoothie and juice bar, and a bank of cubbies for stowing belongings on one
wall. There was a boutique with an array of incense burners, meditation
pillows, books, and posters on the far side of the room. Kira didn’t move from
her spot near the entrance.
    Alice
had to be kidding. Kira had done yoga before. She’d done yoga aplenty. It was
her quasi-fitness class when she was homeschooled on the commune, before she’d
enrolled in normal school. She’d twisted, down-dogged, and yoga-d into the
proverbial pretzel.
    Emerging
from the changing room, Alice’s eyebrows dipped disapprovingly. Begrudgingly,
Kira changed clothes.
    “We
have work to do,” she protested under her breath after she padded into the
studio and took a seat beside Alice, already on a purple mat, cross-legged, and
with her eyes closed.
    “Shh,”
she said sharply, and then lowered her voice to a whispering hiss. “This is the
only thing that has kept me sane. We’re going to do yoga and then get back into
that boardroom and work on the frickin’ Foster-Davis material until we pass
out. Got it?” Kira swallowed, wondering just what kind of talking-to Brinkman
had given Alice. She followed her orders; they would have a long night ahead
either way.
    Kira
expected the instructor to have on gauzy robes with a leotard beneath, like the
yoga of her youth or short-shorts and a pink sports bra, like the