“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.
She grins. “I thought I’d check the museum out first. Make sure it’s a place Thomas would feel like his collection would be at home.”
Nodding, I agree. “Absolutely! I’d be happy to show you around.”
“I think you have another tour in a few minutes, right, Luna?” Maeve prompts.
I shake my head, pulling out my phone to double-check. “I don’t think so. Unless someone booked one since this morning?” I glance to Josie to make sure no one has called in but find she’s fighting back a laugh. I don’t understand why until I glance back to Maeve, who’s trying to silently communicate with me again, and I realize that she probably wants to be the one to show Elena around. “I mean, uh . . . maybe I have . . . another tour?”
Maeve smiles, and I breathe a sigh of relief for getting it right.
Elena’s not having it, though. “Surely, there’s someone else who could handle that? It’d make me happier than a tick on a fat dog to have Luna show me around. It only seems right since she’s the reason I’m here, and I’ve been wanting to see that Renoir of yours since she told me about it.”
“Oh, well, then there you have it,” Maeve answers, seemingly decidedly less than enthusiastic about my showing Elena around. She probably wants to get her own moment to shine, and I’m in the way of that. “I’d be happy to speak with you about the exhibition in more detail after Luna shows you around.”
“Sure, sure.” Elena dismisses Maeve with a wave of her hand, then holds her elbow out to me. I slip mine through hers and she smiles. “Take me places and show me things, dear.”
I lead her off toward the Renaissance wing, trying to keep an Elena-appropriate pace and not the run-away speed I’d like to go at to get away from Maeve’s sharply raised brow.
“This is one of the most popular areas of the museum,” I tell Elena as she looks around. I know she’s not as passionate about art as Thomas was, but I naturally drop into tour guide mode as we explore. “A lot of folks like the clear imagery, and the bright colors are very uplifting.”
Elena listens as we walk through room after room, but eventually, I pick up a weirdness in the way she’s watching me and barely glancing at the displays. I don’t think she’s here for the museum. She’s here for . . . me?
Hopefully, she’s scoping me out for the exhibition, but I’m not sure that’s it. I swallow thickly, knowing that if she asks any direct questions about Carter and me, she’ll be able to see through any awkward answer I give. And I really hate lying to her. She’s so sweet and kind, and I feel like we could be friends even though there’s a lifetime’s worth of years and millions of dollars between the two of us.
It’s like she’s been waiting patiently for me to catch on that she doesn’t care about the museum because when she sees recognition dawning in my eyes, she smiles gently before sitting down on a bench in the middle of the room. She pats the space beside her, and I slowly lower myself beside her. “Elena?”