Page 9 of You Make Me Feel
But in the meantime, I’ll keep on pretending that everything is fine.
three
ZACH
Have you told them yet? – Wyatt
I stare at his message the next morning, picturing him on his boat off the coast of North Carolina, waiting for my reply. Of all my family, Wyatt and I were always the closest. It’s not surprising, since we’re the closest in age, with him only a year younger than me.
He’s also the only person – other than medical staff – that I told about my near-accident in Rome. The way the tires screeched as I stepped into the road, not seeing anything to the right of me. The way I fell to the ground and scraped the side of my face.
The way my heart slammed against my chest for hours as I realized there was something wrong.
Not yet. Autumn’s organizing an art trail and gala. Wants me to help. I’ll tell them after that. – Zach
Pussy. – Wyatt
I laugh out loud, because that’s so Wyatt. He’s short and to the point. He doesn’t suffer fools, and he hates conflict. The man is just in love with boats and the ocean and there’s nothing wrong with that.
As I go to put my phone down, it starts to ring. It’s not Wyatt – he hates talking on the phone even more than he hates group chats – but Larry’s name that lights up on the screen.
“Hey,” I say, swiping my thumb to answer it. “What’s up?”
Larry’s worked for me for six years. He runs my gallery in Chicago single handedly, while I spend most of my time traveling, sourcing art for rich clients or for us to sell through the gallery itself.
He’s a good guy. In his early-thirties. But he’s also severely agoraphobic. He so rarely leaves the building, which is great for security but not so great for him.
Still, for as long as he needs it, he has a job and a home at the gallery.
Or at least, for as long as I can give it to him.
“We got an email from Sunset Alliance,” he says, because he also runs our comms. “They have a painting they want you to find. Disappeared after a residential break in.”
Insurance companies are also one of my biggest clients.They employ me to find missing pieces, using my contacts, my knowledge of dealers, and my ability to jump on a plane at a moment’s notice.
It’s lucrative work. We get a cut of any recovered artwork. And most of the pieces are worth millions.
I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t. I’m not available to travel for a while.” Or possibly forever.
There’s a pause. Then Larry clears his throat. “I was wondering,” he says. “Maybe I could do it. Or at least start it.”
“You want to do some investigating?” I question. Because this is new. Larry’s never been interested in the ground work.
But fuck, it could be a good thing. I’ve spent the last few weeks worrying about him. How he’s gonna keep a job when I’m not able to keep the gallery full.
“Yeah, I just… I don’t know. My therapist says I should start pushing at some boundaries.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” I tell him softly. “Why don’t you get started? If you come to a dead end, let me know and we’ll talk it through.”
“You think I could do it?”
Fuck, I hope so. “Yes, I do,” I say firmly. “Start like I do. With the basics. Where and when it was taken. When it was originally bought. You can do that from the gallery, for sure.”
“Okay. So I’ll tell them we’ll do it.” He sounds excited.
“Great.” I nod. “Talk later.”
When we hang up, I stand and walk over to the huge windows that overlook the grassy cliffs that lead down to the Atlantic Ocean.
