Margaret moved her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. It was a joke around the office to stay away from Margaret if there was any noticeable twitching or stretching. So Jen had been right. This was not going to be the right time for decisive conversation.
Ann pointed toward the door and offered a dismissive wave, indicating to Margaret that she was going to her office and would catch up with her later, no big thing. But Margaret jumped to her feet in a defensive stance and shook her head sternly. She pointed at the chair Ann had just been sitting in.
Uh-oh.
“I’ll be happy to continue this conversation with you at a later time, but right now I have a meeting. I believe if you read through your contract you will realize that further talk here is unnecessary. Good-bye.” Margaret pressed a button on the phone on her desk, removed the head set, and dropped back to her seat. “Idiot. I can’t believe how many
stupid
people there are in this world. How do they make it through childhood?”
“Got me.” Ann turned both hands palms up and made her best attempt at a sympathetic shrug.
Margaret shook her head again, as if to clear the whole conversation from her mind. “Welcome back.”
Ann nodded. “It’s good to be here. Looks like I’ve got a few things I need to sort through.”
“Yes, but more importantly, we have a meeting with Patrick Stinson tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. I trust that you have everything together for it.”
“Yes, I’m ready.” It wasn’t technically true. Ann had worked on it some during the last few days, but there had been more pressing matters at hand. She had many hours of fine-tuning ahead of her tonight.
Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the grief that made Ann not care about the possibility of an explosion, but she suddenly blurted, “Of course, after we secure the deal with Stinson, I’ll be taking some time off in the next few months, getting my sister’s estate settled. I’ll stay on top of work here, though.”
“Your sister?” Margaret paused for a moment, as if trying to remember whether Ann actually even had a sister. “Your sister, oh right, I was sorry to hear about that.” This was about the limit of sentimentality when it came to Margaret, but Ann took it for what it was. “Of course, I’ll need you in town for the immediate future, until we get the Stinson thing buttoned up tight.”
“Of course. Speaking of which, I was wondering what you’ve told everyone, about our agreement, I mean.”
“Not one word, of course. I don’t want a bunch of chitchat and speculation going on that will distract them from their work. I simply told Beka that we will continue to need her while we’re working toward the Stinson project, and that if it comes through, I plan to keep her on.”
You’ve decided to keep her on? Right
. Ann nodded her head. “All right then. I’ve got work to do; I’d better get busy.” She walked out of the office and directly into Beka, who threw her arms around Ann’s neck. “How you holding up?”
“I’m all right.” Ann needed to change the focus if she was going to keep it together. “How is Gracie doing?”
Beka continued to look at Ann with a worried expression as she answered, “She’s getting better every day. The new medication is amazing.”
“That’s great to hear.”
Beka smiled and squeezed Ann’s arm. “Thank you so much, Ann—for bringing in the Stinson account.”
“What makes you think I had something to do with the Stinson account?”
“Oh, come on, I’m not stupid. I overheard Jen saying he’d called here looking for you. Even in college—which was what, a couple hundred years ago?—you were the one who scored the big breaks, not to mention caught the eye of men like Patrick Stinson. Besides, it would never have been Margaret’s idea to give me a reprieve—that had to come from you.”
“If I ever need a private eye, I’m giving you a call. You have got to be the most observant human on the planet.”
“Yes, and by observing the tense way you’re holding your shoulders, I’m guessing you need to sit yourself down and get to work. Now quit goofing off with the hired help and get busy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ann saluted.
“By the way, I want to have you over for dinner later this week. I’ve got a new stir-fry recipe that will knock your socks off.”
“Sounds good.” Ann took a seat at her desk. She looked at the Stinson folder in her hand, willing the sudden wave of grief to stay firmly buried until she made it home tonight. Work, hard work, was the only thing that would get her through this. Maybe the Stinson account was just the thing to keep her sane. Yeah, well, she needed to get busy if she had any chance of actually succeeding.
It was almost 2:00 a.m. when Ann rode the elevator up to her studio apartment on the eighth floor. She lit a fresh-linenscented candle and walked into the kitchen, hoping she could at least find something to eat, but the only inhabitants of her refrigerator, aside from condiments and salad dressing, were two cans of tomato juice, a Diet Coke, and a case of bottled water.
Ann pulled out a water and unscrewed the lid. She needed to go to the market, but it would have to wait until tomorrow night.
Well, at least she was home. She looked around the small place, relief washing over her. The black bed with a white duvet, the white sofa, the white countertops, her little chrome coffee table. Oh, it all felt so good to be back in this neatly ordered world, no matter how chaotic life around it was.
She slid open the door to her small balcony and looked down at the street below, still moving with activity even though it was the middle of the night. Yes, this was her world. And here in her own world, she looked forward to a good night’s sleep. Without nightmares, without memories, and without waking from dreams of hearing music that wasn’t there.
“As I said before, this is a very impressive portfolio, and your company has an equally impressive track record.” Patrick Stinson looked at Margaret over the photos she’d placed on his desk. “I definitely think that I see the potential for a long-term partnership here.”
“I absolutely agree. It just makes sense.” Margaret’s tone was as calm as if she’d just been told that the sky was blue, but her left pinky finger began to tap against the desk.
“And I must say, I really think Ms. Fletcher has just the type of approach that will work well with our team. I’d like to see her personally involved in this project.” He looked at Ann then, a casual expression on his face, but there was a gleam in his eyes that suggested other intentions. He smiled his half-dimpled smile toward her, looking a bit too sure of himself for Ann’s liking.
Jen’s warning played through her mind, but she wasn’t overly concerned. She’d seen plenty of his kind over the years and she’d learned how to handle them. She’d play along now, all innocent and naive, get the job contract signed, and then when Patrick Stinson started to cross the line, Ann would explain that she didn’t mix business with pleasure, but thanks just the same.
Of course, Patrick Stinson was more charming than most, and many people were depending on this deal. Ann would have to take a little extra care not to offend him, at least not yet.
He picked up one of the sketches and held it up for closer examination. “Why don’t we spend a little time mulling these things over and meet again after I’ve had a little time to talk with my team?”
Margaret was already nodding. “Perfect.”
“Can I buy lunch for you ladies? We could continue to talk about the project.”
The invitation held little appeal. Ann wanted to keep some space between Patrick Stinson and herself until the deal was made—no sense asking for trouble. Besides, lunch with Margaret was never a happy thought.
She stood and loaded her purse on her arm. “I’m sure the two of you will want to talk over the details, so I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got several things to take care of at the office.”
Margaret grabbed Ann’s arm and hissed, “I don’t think it’s anything that can’t wait, Ann.” She looked at Patrick. “Of course, lunch sounds wonderful.”
And so Ann spent the next two hours not getting the work done that she needed to do, and listening to increasingly flirtatious comments from Patrick Stinson. He
was
charming, and Ann found herself enjoying his company. This seemed to unnerve Margaret, which made it all the better. Somewhere in the back of Ann’s mind, she knew this was dangerous, but after a while, she thought maybe she simply didn’t care.
Ann had ordered takeout Chinese for dinner, too exhausted to attempt a trip to the market. She stood at her kitchen counter eating Kung Pao chicken out of the carton while thumbing through the large stack of mail she’d retrieved on the way in.
There were the usual assortment of bills, the newest edition of
Elle Decor
, and plenty of junk mail. Then a pale blue envelope caught her eye. The return address was missing, but it was postmarked Charleston. She ripped the flap open and saw a single piece of folded white paper inside. She pulled it out, opened it, and stared down at a crayon drawing of a stick figure with long dark hair and tears dripping from her face onto the ground. On the far edge of the paper was another stick figure, shorter, with big glasses. In between the two was a large glob of golden octopus. She knew instinctively what this picture was. It was Ann, and Keith, and an angel in between them.
She’d spent the last twenty-four hours convincing herself that nothing in Charleston mattered. She had almost completely put all the people, all the events, all the music out of her mind, until one childlike drawing smacked it right back in. This was something she couldn’t indulge; strength was needed at all costs. She wadded up the paper and threw it in the trash.
Leaving the remainder of the mail behind, she wandered out onto her balcony. There was something comforting about the sound of the people on the street below, the mindless hum of many voices, some laughing, some shouting, some simply talking. They all blended together into a kind of mind-numbing buzz that kept any one voice from mattering too much. That’s what Ann liked. Voices that were at a safe distance. Not up close. Not giving hugs and saying how much they loved her. And definitely not talking about songs that didn’t exist, sung by angels that didn’t exist. Yep, a good dose of the drone of reality was all Ann needed to put her head back on straight.
She tried to refocus on her work. She’d been sketching a kitchen for Mrs. Benson this afternoon. Something about it still wasn’t quite right; something seemed to be missing.
When exhaustion threatened to overtake her, she walked back inside. A quick glance toward the stack of mail, then in the direction of the trash can, triggered an idea. What Mrs. Benson’s kitchen needed was more color—shocking color, much like the brightness of Keith’s golden octopus. High-gloss yellow cabinetry, even a yellow ceiling. It would contrast with the Lake Placid Blue granite and turn the entire kitchen into an abstract work of art.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she walked to the trash can and uncrumpled Keith’s picture. Her hands seemed to act of their own will as they smoothed out the creases and wrinkles. Then she walked to the refrigerator and hung the paper in the clip she usually reserved for her grocery list or important to-do memos.
She put her fingers to her lips, then pressed them to the picture. “I don’t think much of your angels, but the color scheme is great. Thank you, Keith.”
Ann dreamed of Keith that night. She saw his face ghost-white, his lips pale, and heard him gasping for breath. Behind him stood an angel—at first it was the chubby toddler version of a cherub frequently depicted in paintings. Then the sky turned gold, taking on a brilliant phosphorescent glow that continued to morph around him until it became one of Keith’s yellow octopus–like creatures, breathtaking and fearsome. Music came from all around, filling the room, the building, and even the air he was breathing. Keith smiled weakly up into the glow above him. “I knew you’d come,” he rasped. “I knew it.”
Ann awoke with a start, the same song still flowing through her brain. Or was it here in her apartment?
She knew, in that moment, a truth she’d hoped not to face. The song, the insanity,
had
followed her to New York. Her mind would never be free from thoughts of Charleston—it wouldn’t be free of the paracusias—until all ties to that place were gone.
She got dressed as quickly as possible, then took pen and paper down to the corner coffee shop. There she sipped a chai latte and composed a list of all the things she needed to do to prepare the house for listing, then ranked each in order of priority. She’d hire Ethan to work on the place. If she actually paid him, their barter agreement would be null, and she wouldn’t feel guilty about not going back there and helping.
Relieved to see that it could be so easy—on paper at least—she left the shop with a renewed sense of purpose. She was going to be stressed to the limits financially, but the end results—the Stinson job, her new partnership with Margaret, and her sanity—would be worth it.
It was just a few minutes after seven when she arrived at the office. No one would be there for another hour, and it would be a good time to get a big leap on her day. Except the lights were already turned on, and the door to Margaret’s office was open. This was not a good sign. Even less of a good sign was the handwritten note Ann found on her desk:
Come see me as soon as
you get in
.
Ann couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong since she’d seen Margaret in such high spirits yesterday. Had Ann forgotten to do something? She’d already blazed through a good portion of the paperwork on her desk, and the Stinson presentation had been well received. During the course of yesterday afternoon, she’d managed to greatly calm the über-uptight Stephanie Simpkins and promised to come by late this morning to start getting her Gramercy Park project all set up. Well, whatever Margaret’s problem, best to get on with it. Ann had a full day ahead of her and needed to get to it.
“Good morning, Margaret.” Ann said the words as she walked into the office.
Margaret put her hand to her heart. “Thank goodness you’re here. I got a call last night from Patrick Stinson. He definitely wants to use our firm.”