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“Jesus… That sucks,” I reply, trying to assemble this new information alongside my perfectly justifiable anger.
Somehow, every time I start out angry at her I always end up feeling sorry for her.
“It does suck… But I’ll be okay. Are we still okay?”
She looks up at me, practically batting her eyelashes. Her expression is sincere and full of remorse, but it’s not like I’ve never seen that before.
“Whatever,” I sigh. “You were just drunk.”
“Yeah, but what I said… I mean I should never—”
I hold up a hand to silence her. I don’t want to hear the words again.
“Okay, fine,” she mumbles, defeated. “Just know that I really am sorry.”
“Didi?” comes a voice from the gallery door.
We both stand up a little straighter as Martha Adler enters the loading dock. Sharp as a dart in a form-fitting, matte-black dress, she sweeps her gaze over Didi from top to bottom with one eyebrow arched almost to her hairline.
“I’m totally fine!” Didi chirps unconvincingly. “I just needed to grab my other portfolio from the office.”
Martha’s lips disappear into a straight line. “You are not totally fine. You are broken.”
“It’s just a fracture,” Didi explains.
I can see the light blue veins around her eyes and wonder if she got to sleep at all last night.
“I suppose I could find some office work for you to do here,” Martha continues, not really addressing Didi directly at all. “In the back, of course. One of the offices.”
“Wait, what?” Didi asks, confused. “I have a flight to catch, Martha. I’ve got an Uber in like ten minutes.”
Martha swings her gaze to me, pinning me in place like a butterfly on a specimen board.
“You’ll need to go,” she announces.
My mouth goes dry. “Go?” I repeat pointlessly.
“Didi will have your tickets ready at the airport,” Martha says, pressing her lips and blinking several times with her long, magnetic eyelashes casting just a slight breeze. “All the renovation should be done… Shipments are all scheduled. Just finish what Didi already started.”
“Wait! I’m ready!” Didi objects. “I can go! It’s fine!”
But Martha’s already gone, back into the gallery with her stiletto heels clacking on the concrete floor like abbreviated gunfire reports.
“Jesus Christ,” Didi whimpers, looking around frantically.
I can feel how upset she is, but I can’t seem to bring myself to focus my attention on her. Martha just announced that I’m going to the exact place I just said I didn’t want to go. Willowdale, Florida. My hometown.
Didi sniffles dramatically.
“Okay, so… Just tell the Uber driver to go by your place and pick up your clothes. Just pack fast. The flight leaves at noon, so I suppose you technically have plenty of time. You can do it, but hurry.”
I grind my teeth, trying to keep all the words safely inside my mouth. I can’t say anything right now. Not anything at all.
“It’s the old hat shop, you remember it? All you have to do is get the paintings hung and hold the opening, okay? Maybe… a couple other things. A few. I’ll email you details about the budget and stuff. You should have a company credit card already, right?”
My head is swirling. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Joe?” she repeats, but her voice seems to be getting farther away. “Are you listening to me? You have a company card and everything? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
