Page 33 of Lift Me Up

The next morning, I go in for my shift hoping to see Georgie’s face greet me at the desk, sprawled across the counter with her nose in a book or a crochet project as she listens to a book in her headphones. But it’s Abi with that same ‘what can ya do’ face, and I know that there is no possible way that I am making it through another day of radio silence, not knowing what’s wrong and if she’s okay or if she’s avoiding me.

“Abi,” I start, just as she says, “I’ve got the store today, kiddo. Go to her.”

I feel an instant flood of relief, my heart thumps hard, and my body goes cold, tension leaving me with only the remnants of fear dissipating and hopefulness returning.

“Thank you,” She must hear the relief and urgency in my voice because she pats my cheek with the fondness of a grandmother.

“Thank you for caring about her.” Abi smiles, “Now get going, tell my girl I’m thinking of her.”

“I will. I’ll keep you posted.” I make to leave but turn back. “Thanks, Abi.”

She flashes me a knowing smile and wink. Tucking the book under my arm, I am off, a man on a mission. Her apartment is only a few blocks away, it makes sense how quickly she gets here and why she’s always earlier than me. I decide to text her that I am on the way, so that she at least has time to stop me if she doesn’t want me there.

When I get to her building, I try her buzzer, but it fails. I try again, but it also fails and goes to her voicemail. I hang up, looking for something, anything that can help. I catch my reflection in the glass pane, skinny jeans and a blue v-neck Georgie said she liked once. My hair is haphazard, I look like I haven’t slept in a hot minute, and I don’t even care. I turn back to the buzzer board, hoping for a sign.

The sign is a literal sign that comes to me a minute after perusing the tenant list.

Wanted!

Volunteers for the community BBQ.

Needed:

- grill master

- activity coordinator

- donations of food, drink, etc. for sharing

- anything else you think would be helpful to make the BBQ a hit!

Call Franny - the most super superintendent

The number is dialling out before I can think twice.

“Hello?” The familiar voice is on the other end of the line and I almost panic because I don’t want to feel like I am intruding or overstepping in any way.

“Franny?”

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“Sorry, it’s Noah? I’m Georgie’s⁠—”

“I know who you are. Hi! Um, how did you get my number?”

“It’s on the barbeque volunteer sheet in the building?” I say innocently.

“You live here?” She asks, confused.

I sigh, “No, I’m in the lobby. Sorry, I know that sounds creepy, but I’m really worried and trying to see if Georgie’s okay, she hasn’t been to work in a couple days and she’s not answering her phone and I’m starting to panic.”

“I’ll be right over.” She hangs up before I can say anything else.

True to her word, Franny comes to the lobby from inside the building. She was likely in her own apartment, judging by her casual outfit of jean shorts and a flowery tank top, her hair piled atop her head in a half blonde-half purple bun. She’s a similar height and curves like Georgie’s, and her makeup is dolled up to the nth degree, bright pink and blue eyeshadow and matching lipstick.

“You are—” She clicks her tongue and smiles softly at me, “Georgie picked well.”

“Thank you?”