35. Marnie
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Marnie
Following my call with Irene, I was mentally drained. That feeling lasted all week, and now that we’ve started exhibit installation, I’m physically drained, too.
I’m still working my way through what feels like a never-ending to-do list, so instead of being available to help Caleb, I am running errands all around the island.
But with each task I check off my list, I am one step closer to being done, and the stress is coming off my plate.
That frees up space to feel proud of the exhibit I’m putting on.
It’s mid-afternoon and I realize I forgot to eat lunch in the chaos of today’s tasks.
I’m excited to see the progress in the showroom, but I’m more excited to see Caleb. This is the first time since we’ve started the installation on Monday that we’ve been in the same building.
I follow the dirt path from the parking lot around the back of the building in the direction of the showroom, catching a whiff of the taco truck across the street.
The door to the showroom is open while some of the other guys are unloading more items from the truck, and I take advantage of the opportunity to pause in the doorway, my shoulder leaning against the wood.
Caleb is alone inside, lifting something heavy out of a storage container and setting it down gently in the middle of the room.
My eyes roam over his form. Everything about him is so masculine. Backwards hat, toolbelt, fitted white shirt. He lifts the front of his shirt to wipe away a thin layer of sweat from his face, exposing his abs in the process.
Damn, he looks good.
I peer over my shoulder to make sure no one catches me ogling him.
When I look back, he pulls a pencil from behind his ear, marking a measurement on the back wall where a set of small display cases will be mounted for eye-level viewing. He repeats this several more times, making precise, even spaces.
I could watch him work all day long. If I didn’t have other things to finish up in my office, I honestly would.
My stomach growls.
Maybe I can go grab a few tacos and Caleb can sneak away for a few minutes to catch up before I run another errand.
I push off the doorframe and head to the taco truck when my phone starts chiming over and over again. My hand slips into my back pocket and I pull out my phone. The screen is filled with a flurry of messages from Gwen.
Gwen Townsend
MARNIE
911
Have you seen it???
Me
Seen what?
Three dots appear as she types her response. It stays like that for a while and the pit in my stomach grows with each passing second as I await her response.
Suddenly, the bubble disappears, and my anxiety is now through the roof. I am about to give up waiting for a reply and call her directly when her text finally comes through. No words, just the link to an article from The Boston Globe, published ten minutes ago.
I click the link and read the title of the article.
Time stands still. My body feels numb and my head starts to spin. The dizziness only grows, inviting in a nauseous feeling.
I blink once. Twice. Three times.
There is no way my eyes just read what they did. There must be a mistake. A cruel trick of the mind. But as I read the article title again, the sickening realization dawns on me that I was not mistaken.
Nine words. That’s all it takes to shatter my world.
Smithsonian Institution welcomes new director of exhibitions, Irene Campbell
I scroll through and skim the short article.
The Smithsonian Institution is pleased to welcome new director of exhibitions, Irene Campbell, to the team. Campbell previously served as the chief curator at the Boston Historical Society for over fifteen years.
Campbell is a proven trailblazer in her field and is well known for her groundbreaking exhibition on the Boston Marathon, award-winning tribute to honor former President John F.
Kennedy, and most recently, a collaboration with the Martha’s Vineyard Historical Society to feature the Jaws 50th Anniversary celebration and its everlasting impact on the island.
Campbell is joined by John Hoffman, her former intern at the Boston Historical Society, who will serve as exhibition liaison, a new role that connects the exhibition department to all other departments.
Campbell credits Hoffman for his reliability, creativity, and attention to detail, which have prepared him for this new role.
The Smithsonian Institution is committed to upholding a standard of excellence in the fields of history, education, and research, and is excited to bring on these two scholars to usher in this new era.
My initial shock slowly simmers into a burning rage.
She knew. She knew all along that she was interviewing for another job and never told me. She let me believe that I had a chance to continue working with her and learning from her. And I let her talk me out of following my own dreams all the while.
Every conversation we’ve had over the last several months floods to the front of my mind, trying to put the pieces together.
I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that she blatantly and openly lied to my face, the fact that John was also in on it, or the fact that she thought it was okay to do that to me.
I skim the article again, paying close attention to the listed accolades.
She took credit for all of it. Every single thing I ever worked on, all the way down to my current assignment.
No mention of me or my role in anything.
As my supervisor, Irene signed off on every exhibit I worked on, ensuring she received credit for her work on each one.
Never mind that she didn’t do any of the actual legwork.
The errand I had to do no longer matters. Nothing else seems important. I have a new mission now, these recent developments giving me the final nudge I need.
I haven’t seen Josie all day, though that is not unusual. She is always on the go, much like Irene, but I can usually find her in her office in the final hour before she leaves for the night. I confirm with Jordan that she didn’t see Josie leave already before locking myself in my office.
Twenty minutes later, I’m marching down the hall, portfolio in hand, determination in my blood. This is the last time I ever let Irene convince me I am not good enough for something.
The door handle opens easily despite my hurried movements. “Hey, Josie, I just wanted to?—”
My mouth drops and I freeze in my tracks.
In my haste to see Josie, I didn’t even think to knock, and my cheeks redden at the knowledge that I’ve interrupted something important.
There is a man I do not recognize in the seat across from Josie, dressed in a dark blue suit. On the floor by his feet sits a dark brown leather briefcase. Papers are spread out in front of him, and Josie is holding one in her hand.
I can’t quite make out what the words say from this distance, but I recognize the formatting. It’s a résumé.
Oh my god.
My heart pounds in my ears and my legs grow numb. I don’t need a mirror to know that my cheeks undoubtedly turn another shade redder.
No one speaks as I stare at the papers on the desk. Realization dawns on me. I waited too long, and Josie moved on. She threw me a bone, and I refused to catch it.
She clears her throat and draws my attention to her. “Marnie, we are in the middle of something. I will come find you when I am done.”
My brain is still playing catch up.
“I’m so sorry for the interruption. Truly,” I say quickly before turning around and closing the door behind me.
Mortification seeps through me and my throat runs dry. I have to get out of here. I run down the hall back to my office, trying not to have a panic attack in the middle of the hallway for all to see.
The second I am back in my office, I toss the papers in the recycling bin and begin to hastily pack my bag.
“Marnie,” Josie calls from my doorway.
I halt my movements and quickly wipe away the tears threatening to stream down my cheeks before I turn to face her.
She spots the corner of the portfolio peeking out of the bin, papers extending out in several places. “What are you doing?”
“I, uh . . . I forgot I have an appointment in Edgartown that I’m late for.”
Josie drags her eyes from the bin over to me and then moves from the doorway to pull out the portfolio, straightening the papers and laying it across my desk. She flips through the pages, skimming the contents. “You were going to apply?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t realize you were already interviewing.”
“We only just started this week. You were going to apply?” she repeats.
All I can manage is a nod.
Her face softens, and she tucks the portfolio under her arm. “I’ll give this to the board for consideration. I’m not making any promises since we have already scheduled a few interviews, but I’ll give it to them anyway.”
“Thank you,” I reply before she turns and disappears into the hall.
I grab my bag and keys, letting the tears fall this time. Only one thing in this moment can calm me down, and I’m scrolling for his contact before I reach the parking lot.