Chapter 70 Owen
T he familiar sound of the bell rings as I enter Bobbi’s and it’s a little busier than usual for a Saturday morning. I know I’ve seen the woman in line ahead of me, but I can’t place her until Cicely comes out of the bathroom, busy on her phone, and joins her.
“Mom, it looks like they don’t have the purple dress—” Cicely looks up and her eyes widen in surprise. “Mr. Wright?”
“Good morning,” I say, greeting both Cicely and her mom, whose name I can’t recall. “What are you two up to before eight on a Saturday?”
“Oh, we’re driving out to a few boutiques today for prom dress shopping.” Her mom turns to Clara behind the counter to place their order.
“What are you doing this early on a weekend?” Cicely always gets right to the point.
There’s no way I’d tell a student I was awake early to apologize for being an ass to my girlfriend, but I give myself a split second to weigh whether it’s a bad idea to tell her about the damage.
“Actually, there might be something you can help me with. I don’t have that many details, just what Noah has told me, but the building the art show is scheduled to be in had a pipe burst. It sounds like the art was stored in a separate room that had a little less damage.”
She looks confused at first, but then I see the moment it sinks in. “Is my piece okay? I just finished it and it took months to create.”
“I’m not sure what the full process will be, but I’m positive that Ms. Edwards is going to give you all that information when she’s been able to go through everything.”
She turns to her mom who is paying for their order and looks like she might cry. “Is there anything I can do? Can I go check myself?”
God, I’m making a mess out of this and stressing Cicely out which isn’t helping a damn thing, so I try to refocus. “Let’s let them figure that piece out; this all just happened so they’ll be busy keeping your art safe.”
She nods, her eyes shining.
“I was hoping you might be able to help me. Again, we don’t have all the details, but the space won’t be usable for the show on Monday,” I say quickly, not wanting to belabor the possible point of the senior art show being ruined. “But, if you can talk to me about the pieces and what they need to be displayed, I’d like to try to find a location so the show can be set up tomorrow and still open on Monday.”
“What happened with the show?” her mom asks and her daughter gives her a surprisingly calm summary while I place an order for three coffees to go.
“Can we go shopping another weekend, Mom? I want to be here today to help where I can.”
“Of course, honey. Once we know what we can do, then we can check with some other families. I’m sure they’ll be eager to help make sure the show can open on Monday.”
I smile hearing how supportive both Cicely and her mom are.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Clara says, looking apologetic, “but I’d like to offer coffee and pastries for everyone setting up today and tomorrow. I’d offer the cafe to host the event, but there’s no way it’s big enough. Poppy already placed an order for Monday, but I’d like to help somehow.”
“That’s really generous of you, thanks,” I say, writing my number down on an order ticket she hands me.
“Just let me know how many people will be setting up and what time.”
“Absolutely, thanks, again.”
Cicely is at a table, waving me over while her mom is talking to someone on the phone near the door. Setting my coffees on the table, I pull out my phone to take notes and as Cicely scrolls through her photos, showing me each time she has one of a project.
“Ugh, I don’t have a picture of everyone’s.” Frustration laces her voice.
“What you have has already been really helpful already,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Noah mentioned the pillars are unusable for some of the sculptures. Do you think tables would be okay?”
She makes a face like she took a bite of something sour. “I mean, sure? But it wouldn’t display them well.”
“Is there something we could use instead? Or something we can add to the tables that could help display the sculptures if we don’t have another option?” I ask.
Cicely thinks for a moment and suddenly smiles. “The theater department should have hat boxes.”
“Hat boxes?”
“Yes, they’re round and pretty sturdy.” She types furiously as she talks. “I was in a production a few years ago and they have more than we’d need. We could easily drape white fabric or even sheets over the hat boxes which could be set on a few tables spread out in whatever space we use and it would have a similar effect as a pillar.”
“That’s perfect,” I say, sending an email out to Ms. Neeymeyer since she organizes the musicals and I know she’d be able to tell me what we might be able to use.
“Okay, so everything else is something that can hang on the wall, but there aren’t a lot of places with empty wall space.” She scrolls through her photos once more and shows me one of her pieces early in the process. “That’s it.”
“The art room?”
“No, the easels,” she says, pointing to the photo. “We have a ton of easels for working on so we can stand or sit upright if we want, so there are a bunch of sizes too. The easels would make it so we wouldn’t need open wall space. So now, we just need a space with some tables we can move around and room to set up the easels.”
I think about Honey Cove Books, and the way Grace transforms the space for author visits, and say, “Let me make a phone call.”