Page 137 of Gilt

“Emma?” he says uncertainly.

“Hey, Jerry. How’s the store?” The place looks intact, but I know appearances can be deceiving. We both know what I’m really asking: how’s my dad? I’d purposefully decided on my impromptu visit tonight since I knew Dad was heading home after he dropped me off at Josie’s. I didn’t want to get his hopes up that I’d be returning to my job. He hadn’t always been the best boss, often leaving me to handle the financial affairs. I’d also been the on-call owner when Dad didn’t show for a shift. While no one could argue that I hadn’t learned a lot of trivial information about collectibles and forgeries, I’d been so caught up in not letting the shop go under that I’d forgotten to have a life of my own.

“We’re doing pretty well.” I don’t miss the strain in his words.

“And Dad?” I might as well get to the point.

“He’s been on it,” Jerry says to my surprise. “But we’ve been busier than normal. I guess a lot of people read about you on the Internet and…”

“People came here to see me?” Seriously, I’m only accused of murder. I’m not that famous.

“Yeah. Jake’s really stepped up,” he says in a lowered voice as a few tourists step through the front door. “But we could use a little help.”

Gee, can I sign autographs at the same time?

“That’s why I came by,” I say.

“Thank God. We’re really missing having you here and I know your dad will be so happy. He misses you.”

I suspect Jerry misses me, too. He’s been in love with me since my dad hired him out of community college a few years ago. Although he’s never said it, it’s written across his face even now. I feel like I’m letting them both down now, because I’m not here to offer my services. I square my shoulders and deliver the bad news.

“I’m not looking for a job.” I’m too busy dodging indictments. “But my friend Josie could use a part-time gig. I came by to see if you could afford to hire her.”

Jerry’s face falls but he recovers his pride quickly. “That would be great.”

“Excellent!” My phone begins to ring in my pocket and I back up a few steps. “I’ll bring her in this week and show her the ropes.”

Outside the shop I check my missed calls. I don’t recognize the number but there’s a voicemail.

“Call me back,” Monroe orders me in the message. She really needs a life couch because her people skills are lacking. Despite that, I return the call.

“You rang?” I snap.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she advises coolly. “I just got some news that I thought you’d be interested to hear.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. Monroe and I don’t necessarily share the same concept of news.

“You know I don’t have to go out of my way to include you.”

“I’m sorry. Will you please share your news with me?” I pretend to plead, but neither of us are buying it.

However, it must have sounded moderately sincere because she continues. “Leighton woke up from her coma yesterday.”

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Is she alright?”

The doctors hadn’t been certain she would recover fully the last I had heard. After the trauma she’d experienced, they couldn’t judge the extent of the brain damage.

“I guess,” Monroe says.

I refrain from reminding her that Leighton is supposed to be one of her best friends. Mostly because my own interest is far from selfless. “Has she said anything about that night?”

“I don’t know, but I think we need to find out.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to find out you lied,” I accuse.

“Play nicely if you want answers,” Monroe warns me.

“Can she have visitors?” I ignore her rebuke. I didn’t lie about that night but I didn’t correct the story Monroe fed the authorities. If Leighton is awake, there’s no telling what she remembers or who she has told.