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“Hello?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
LUNA
“Hope y’all had fun and maybe learned something cool today?” I let the question hang, hoping for raised hands from the group of kids I’ve been showing around the museum for the last two hours.
“My favoritest thing I learned is that they made paint with dirts and eggs in the olden days,” a little boy informs me.
“Ooh, good one. Yep, paint was made with different types of dirt, colored rocks, minerals, even gemstones.” I freeze dramatically, holding out both hands in a ‘stop’ pose, and look around at the kids with overly wide eyes. “But what’s the rule there?” I prompt.
“Don’t use jewelry to make paint!” several kids shout in unison.
“Yes!” I pump my fist to celebrate their correct answers. “Because gems and jewelry are . . .?”
“Different!” the kids respond.
I bend down, wanting to make sure this lesson sticks long after they leave the museum. “Or your momma will get mad at you, and you, and you.” I point at various kids, and then myself, “And mad at Miss Luna, and we don’t want that, do we?”
“Nooooo!”
I hold up my hands, high-fiving the kids. Another successful school field trip tour in the books!
But as I wave goodbye to the group and their teacher, the overhead speaker calls out, “Luna to the front desk, please.”
What? I don’t have another tour today. I was looking forward to a little time wandering the halls and talking to museum guests. Guess that’s changed.
Maybe Carter is here?
When I approach the desk, the receptionist looks at me in surprise even though she’s the one who paged me.
“What’s up?”
Silently, she points to her right, and I look where she’s indicating. “Oh. Ma. Gawd.” My first instinct is to duck down behind the desk so I can’t be seen, and I immediately drop to the floor. I know what I saw, but I keep repeating, “No, no, no, no.”
Josie leans over the desk, and I hear her above me. “You good?”
“I don’t know,” I confess honestly, looking up into her concerned face. She’s not usually very friendly with me, so I must be freaking her out if she’s being nice. “How long has she been here?”
“Maeve? She got here this morning, like usual.” When I glare at Josie, she smiles back triumphantly, well aware that I’m not talking about Maeve who I saw at the coffee pot in the employee lounge this morning. “Oh! You mean the other lady? She’s been here about an hour, just chatting away with Maeve. Who is she?”
Who is she? She’s the Elena Cartwright! What is she doing here?
It’s not that I don’t want to see Elena, but she’s supposed to be meeting with Carter and her money guy today, so her being here is unexpected. I don’t do well with the unexpected. I like to plan. Prepare.
Screaming in my head, I measure the distance to the nearest hallway, trying to figure out whether I can crawl over there without being seen. I think I can do it and even make it two feet before Josie throws me under the bus.
“Luna, what are you doing on the floor?” she says, intentionally loud enough for Maeve and Elena to hear.
“What? Luna?” I hear Maeve’s voice echoing in the lobby.
“Shiiii—” I whisper, but I realize there’s nothing to do but stand up and take my lumps. I pop up too quickly, my vision going a little fuzzy, and have to hold on to the counter so I don’t fall. “Oh! Hi there!” I say, my voice an octave higher than usual. “What’s up?”
Maeve clears her throat, glaring at me in a silent order to pull myself together. But Elena seems more concerned that I’ve lost my mind, looking from me to the floor. “You okay, dear?”
“Yes, yes,” I assure her hastily. “I thought there was something . . . on the floor?”
“There was . . . you,” Josie murmurs. Thankfully, I don’t think Maeve and Elena hear her.
Finding some semblance of normalcy—or at least what passes for it—I walk toward Elena with my hand out. “Sorry, just surprised to see you. But it’s a great surprise.”
Instead of shaking my hand, Elena holds her arms out, enveloping me in a hug. I stiffen for a split second but then hug her back warmly.
“Good to see you too.”
When she pulls back, I don’t know what to do with my arms and end up with them clenched behind my back as my brain yells, “What is she doing here?”
On cue, Maeve tells me, “Mrs. Cartwright was just telling me about your suggestion that she consider an exhibition here of Mr. Cartwright’s collection.”
She sounds a little put out, and I realize that I probably should’ve mentioned it to her before, but it was nothing more than a passing hope. Elena hasn’t said anything more than ‘interesting’ about it.
“Are you actually considering it?” I ask Elena excitedly.
