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“Can I…” I choke out stupidly again.
“Opal? Can you do it?”
I command myself to take a breath, heaving myself out of my chair to force my lungs back into service.
“You want me to come down to the Keys? For a few days?”
“Yeahhhh,” he drawls, drawing out the word for a long time as though he is looking around, figuring something out. I have heard this tone in his voice many times before. He is making mental lists, organizing problems, basically creating a mental version of the whiteboard panel from the Tuesday Morning Mashup meeting.
He must have liked whatever Cal has put together. He wouldn’t be putting so much mental energy into it if he didn’t see potential.
“I think this is going to take more than an afternoon,” he continues pensively. “If you don’t have the time…”
“No, I absolutely have the time!” I blurt out nervously.
“Well, then, fantastic,” he replies.
His voice is distracted, which is making me very curious. Cal’s presentation was an interesting thing to read. I can’t wait to see what it is like in person.
“We are sending the jet for you. Pack for… I don’t know. Probably slightly nicer than Honduras.”
The cell phone connection pops slightly.
“That was another joke,” I smile as soon as I realize it.
“Yes, Opal,” he replies, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I am beginning to realize people do not always appreciate my sense of humor.”
“No! Don’t say that! It’s perfect!” I object.
“Evidence suggests otherwise. In any case, I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer, but the line is already dead.
My heart races. I understand this is my chance. I can absolutely prove myself. I may have been underachieving so far, but all that changes now. I’m sure all those fiddlehead fern shots were good for something.
Racing home, I make a series of lists for myself. What the heck am I supposed to pack? An evening gown? Overalls for physical labor? His joke about Honduras wasn’t exactly helpful. I did all kinds of things there. I even learned how to mine the old-fashioned way, with a pickaxe and a shovel. It was hard work.
I’m sure that is not what he means. Right? Oh, I certainly hope not.
As soon as I get home, I order an Uber so that I won’t have to waste any time getting to the airfield. Marty gave me the address and the general outline of the logistics of how a person flies on a private jet. Not very different from the Uber, honestly. Probably even a whole lot easier.
As I am packing, the absurdity of the situation makes me start to giggle. Is this really me? Opal Curie? The girl who would have dropped out of Florida State University if a scholarship hadn’t magically fallen into her lap? The girl who spent most of middle school living in a trailer park outside Tallahassee? The girl whose parents, through no fault of their own, both managed to up and die on her before she finished high school?
ThatOpal Curie? Trying to pack for a spur-of-the-moment trip to a private island in the Florida Keys on her billionaire boss’s personal jet?
Once I start laughing, I feel like I can’t stop. I may be a little bit on edge with the realization that I probably should have been fired a year ago already for underperforming, and a little on edge because I just discovered my incredibly handsome boss is single, my other boss hates mein particular, and I also don’t seem to own a swimsuit even though I have lived in Florida my whole life.
Now that is funny.
My sides ache. I’m trying to hold the laughter in because I really don’t have time for this. But really, I can’t stop. My shoulders shake, my stomach cramps. I have to sit in the middle of my bedroom floor and just let it flow through me, practically terrified that I won’t be able to stop.
“Opal? Are you okay?”
Tabby crosses the room and stands astride me, her fists on her hips as she bends over to inspect me.
“Have you cracked? Finally lost it? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No!” I protest, between ragged breaths that sound like a cross between laughing and sobbing.
