The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner Heidi Hostetter (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📖

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Jill dropped into a chair… property taxes. She hadn’t considered property taxes. She hadn’t realized she needed to, and the amount was substantial. After arbitration, Jill had pulled together every dollar she had, and the budget left no room for surprises. Property taxes were definitely a surprise. Jill’s mind raced as she swapped one expense for another and still came up short. Selling her car or trading it in for something cheaper was a possibility; she’d look into it. One thing was clear: she had to find a job right away and that meant leaving Dewberry Beach.

So, as intriguing as it was, the photographer job was not meant to be. Disappointed, Jill stuffed the card back into her pocket and finished packing. She’d just zipped her suitcase shut when her cell phone rang. She flicked on the screen and smiled when she saw it was Ellie.

“Ellie, hey,” Jill answered. “Is the wedding over already?”

“Nope. I’m on break. I’m calling because I needed to talk to someone normal, Jilly. Rich people are so weird—completely out of touch. You won’t believe the things I’ve seen in only a couple of days.” Ellie groaned. “But I can tell you all about it later. Right now, tell me about you. What’s going on down there?”

“Well.” Jill pushed her suitcase aside and sat on the edge of the guest bed. “The property agents just left so that’s something.”

“Oh yeah? How did that go?”

“I liked them. I signed the listing and the guy said he’s already got a client in mind, so I’m hopeful.”

“That’s great.” Ellie hesitated, clearly not buying Jill’s forced enthusiasm. “So why don’t you sound happier?”

“Oh, I am,” Jill said quickly. “I really am. It’s just that…” Jill pulled the index card from her pocket and stared at the print. She shouldn’t even be considering this. She needed to find a job and quickly. The house, the mortgage, the property taxes—when she thought about the amounts involved, she could barely draw a full breath. But there was also a tug of possibility, a whisper that she didn’t want to ignore. It reminded her of photography classes and workshops, and how much she loved her work.

So, yes, she had financial obligations, but didn’t she owe herself something too? Something beyond money?

“This is crazy, but I found a help-wanted ad for a photographer tacked to a community bulletin board and I really want to call. I’m not even sure it’s a real job but I can’t leave without knowing. What do you think? Does that sound terrible?”

“Depends. What does it look like?”

“Well.” Jill turned the grubby card over in her hand. “It’s handwritten on an index card so it’s probably not a scam. It was left in a deli down here.”

“Down there? You mean in Dewberry Beach?” Ellie snorted. “Oh, please. The way you talked, I thought you might have found a notice at a rest-stop on I95. Dewberry Beach is like Cape May. What’s the job?”

“They want a photographer to help with a fundraiser—a lead photographer, not an assistant, which is a really big deal. There’s not a lot of detail—not any, really—just a phone number and that one sentence.” Jill turned the card over again. “What’s interesting is that it says ‘minimal experience required.’ I’ve never seen a job posting like that, not ever.”

“Have you called the number?”

“I’ve been busy with house stuff,” Jill began, but Ellie cut her off.

“Definitely call,” she urged. “At least then you’ll know. It might be nothing, or it might be great. You won’t know until you call.”

Jill knew that the responsible thing was to throw away the card and forget about the job. To drive back to Ellie’s, sell her car, and pay the property taxes. And yet. Opportunities like this didn’t come along every day. In fact, they didn’t ever come along.

“You there?” Ellie’s voice pulled Jill from her thoughts.

“Yes, sorry. I’m here.”

“Call the number. See what they say. Maybe it’s the real deal.”

“You’re right.” Jill straightened. “Of course you’re right. I’ll call them now.”

“If anything about the interview location sounds sketchy, text me before you interview. I’ll watch the dot.”

Jill laughed at the absurd idea of sharing her live location in a town like Dewberry. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ellie replied. “I gotta get back to work. Lemme know what happens.”

“Absolutely. I’ll call you later.”

After she hung up, Jill dialed the number printed on the card.

“Hello, Grable Inn.”

“Hi. I’m calling about the help-wanted card you posted in the Dewberry Deli. About a photographer for a fundraiser?” Jill winced at how immature she sounded, so she cleared her throat and added, “I’m calling to see if the job is still available.”

“Are you? That’s wonderful.” The woman muffled the phone as she called to someone else in the room, “I told you girls putting a card in Danny’s place would work.” Returning her attention to Jill, she said, “I’m so glad you’ve called. Your timing is perfect; we’re meeting right now, in fact, to discuss the fundraiser. Are you free to come over?”

“Um, sure.” Jill fumbled for a pen. “Where are you?”

“We’re meeting here at the Grable Inn. Are you familiar with Dewberry Beach?”

“Um, a bit. If you give me the address, I can find it.”

Jill scribbled down the address and said she would leave right away. The woman promised they’d hold the important parts of the meeting until she arrived, which Jill took as a good sign. On her way out, Jill grabbed her portfolio from the car. The last time she had opened this portfolio was to show her work at the Brockhurst mansion, a lifetime ago. The smudged bridal portrait had not been well received and Jill had briefly considered removing it