Chapter 72 Owen
H er eyes swim with emotion when she sees what we’ve been up to. Poppy is led around the space, the students animatedly pointing out the spots they taped to represent where each easel could be placed.
Cicely was able to get most of the senior art students to the store within twenty minutes of Grace meeting us. They all shared a moment of panic and commiseration before dividing up tasks and away we went. A few met Ms. Neemeyer at the high school for a bundle of hat boxes and she even sent panels of black fabric from a recent production.
I stay off to the side, busy standing on a ladder to get the final batch of twinkle lights hung under Cicely’s guidance.
“To the left,” she says, comparing how far each section ‘dips’ so they’re all even. “A little more.”
Adjusting the lights with one hand, the other holds a nail ready to be tapped into the top of the bookshelf to hold everything in place.
“That’s perfect.” Both of her hands are held out in front of her, like she’s about to catch something that might fall.
“Okay, one second and you can do your final inspection.” Pinching the nail next to the wire, I grab the hammer from my pocket and tap it in before stepping down the ladder and gesturing to the shelves. “What do you think?”
Everything has been so tense for the students the past couple of hours that I’m not surprised to see Cicely wave a few classmates over to help sign off that everything is perfect. As they’re looking from shelf to shelf, I take a peek at Poppy. Her back is to me but I can tell she’s wiping her eyes as she nods at whatever they’re telling her.
“They’re perfect, Mr. Wright,” Cicely says, drawing my attention back to their mini critique group.
“Excellent. Why don’t you go show Ms. Edwards the solution for the damaged pillars you came up with?”
She grabs her friends’ hands and off they run to Poppy. Noah narrowly avoids being run over by the three of them and stands next to me.
“She looked completely surprised,” I say to him. “How’d you keep it a secret?”
He chuckles. “Not easily at the end, but she was distracted by everything we needed to go through.”
“How bad is it?”
Blowing out a breath, he already sounds tired. “Some of the pieces are great, some might be fine once they’re dry, some will have minor damage, and a few are completely beyond repair.”
“Damn,” I mutter under my breath.
“My sentiments exactly.”
Grace comes by with two cups of coffee from Bobbi’s. “I thought you two might like this after your crazy morning.”
“It’s not like yours has been an average Saturday at the shop,” I say, noticing that Noah is a little quieter than usual.
“Thanks,” he says as he accepts his coffee before clearing his throat. “This is really amazing, Grace.”
She blushes and waves away the compliment. “Anyone would have done this. I’m just the first person Owen called.”
“No,” he says gently. “Not everyone would have turned their store upside down for a small group of students at a moment’s notice.”
Just then, amidst a group of art students who are pointing in our direction, Poppy’s gaze finds mine. All the tension and frustration that’s been slowly driving a wedge between us seems to melt away in that one look. It’s not gratitude, it’s just love.
For the first time since she got the call from Sally, I feel like I can fully breathe. We don’t have answers right now, but something feels like it’s less…hopeless.
The moment is broken by the seniors asking her a dozen questions at once. Noah and Grace continue a quiet conversation but all my focus is back on Poppy.
“You’ve all done…” She sniffles a little and starts again. “I can’t believe what you’ve all been able to put together this morning. Truly.” Taking a deep breath, she continues, “As you all know, when you finished your projects, I took a few photos of each one so you could add them to your digital portfolios. I’ve sent some of those photos to be printed so all of your pieces could be displayed at our show on Monday.”
“Does that mean we lost our projects?” someone farther back in the group asks.
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy says, getting choked up. “Noah and I have a batch we’re going to dry out to see what we can save, but a few of the projects were completely damaged. I didn’t know that I’d be seeing you all so soon so I don’t have a list for the state of everyone’s projects, but I can tell you which prints I had ordered to be safe while we see what we can save.”
Noah declines my help to unload the damaged art at Poppy’s place, but takes my keys so she can continue to focus on the students and their questions. She’s calm going through the list of photos she ordered, being mindful of the anxious state the seniors are in.
A few of the book displays were piled on the counter while Grace carted batches to the back room to store during the show, so I make myself useful and load the now-empty cart.
“Thank you so much for doing this,” Grace says behind me. Damn, I didn’t even hear her approach.
“No problem, you’ve been so accommodating and I know I’ve said it and Noah has said it, but really, thank you.”
She flusters when I mention Noah’s name, but I don’t pry. She gets on the far side of the cart and gives it a shove to gain momentum. “I love that I can help. Honey Cove means a lot to me and I’m happy you thought of this space, it’s kind of perfect to have some community art in here. Maybe not a full show all the time, but it’s giving me ideas.”
When I turn around, the students are busy making adjustments to the makeshift pillars and tape marks for the easels. And Poppy is walking over to me, her eyes shining again.
“Ms. Edwards, it looks like we might have a senior art show on Monday even with the damage.”
Without saying a word, she throws her arms around my neck and mine wrap around her waist, feeling calm after such a crazy morning. A quiet sigh leaves both of us as we hold one another.