February 2. Thursday Night.

Hi Journey.

There is truly nobody on God's green earth that understands me quite the way Mattie does.

That's not always a good thing. Even at 95 pounds and pumped full of chemo, she is a fighter.

“Trust?” she asked. “Trust starts from within. Can't trust any of your workers unless you trust yourself. What is it within yourself you don't trust, Beacon?”

“I don't think you understand. I don't trust one of my…” I began. She waved her hand back and forth in front of her face. The IV taped to her wrist wriggled back and forth in parallel like a lazy adder.

“Your gut. That's what you don't trust, my friend. You don't trust your own gut. That's the real concern, not this Vivian. Lordy, Crystal , how many employees you have now—four?”

Part of me wanted to defend myself, to raise up mental dukes in front of my face and parry—no, not parry-- deflect her blows of honesty. I hate being told when I'm wrong; I double-hate being told when I've not sufficient experience.

I just nodded.

“I've hired three hundred plus. Imagine I've had a few bad apples, can you? You know what you do with that bad apple? You get rid of it before the worms inside eat their way out to the rest of the barrel. Those worms are invisible, ready to devour everything you've toiled for in business. They arrive in the nicest apples, too, don't they? All packaged shiny red and looking just fantastic enough to sink your teeth into and before you know it wham! you're picking a chunk of worm-meat out of your teeth.”

“How do you see the core?”

“Can't. But, once the first snout of a worm pops out, it's time to take out your paring knife and see if you can't salvage the apple. That means you've got to cut. Best to get that apple out of the barrel, straightaway.”

“What if I can't,” I asked.

Then keep your knife out, ‘cause there'll be more wormy apples before you know it.” She took a sip from her Diet Coke. “Remember, Crystal , you're the one wanted to climb on this entrepreneur merry-go-round you're riding on. You could have been finishing up med school about now. If your mom had her druthers, you would be, too.”

Page 2.