“You’ll see what I mean,” he said, moving behind the canvas again, out of sight. “You’ll see.”
Chapter thirteen
It was the second week of August, two days before Mira’s eclipse, when Morgan came to work with a plan.
“I’m going to Durham to surprise Mark,” she announced. She had her hair curled and makeup on, as well as a cute skirt and blouse I didn’t recognize. “Will you work for me?”
“That’s my skirt,” Isabel said.
Morgan glanced down. “You never paid me back the twenty bucks I lent you to buy it. Plus, I’ll take good care of it. I promise.” Isabel harrumphed, grabbed a water pitcher, and went back out to her tables.
“Can you cover my shifts?” Morgan said to me hopefully. “At least tonight and the morning? I call if I’m going to be longer.”
“Sure,” I said. The only thing I had going, of course, was the portrait. “No problem.”
“I’m just so excited!” she said as Isabel put the pitcher back on the counter. “You know, the schedule is always changing and you can never tell what games are when, but I was reading the newspaper for my horoscope, and I just happened to see on the sports page that the team was in Durham tonight to play the Bulls.” The words were tumbling out; I’d never seen her like this. “And ever since he came on the Fourth to see me I’ve been dying to surprise him back. Plus,” she said, leaning closer, “I have this wild idea.”
“Yeah?” I said, as Isabel stuck her head between us.
“What wild idea?” she said.
“Well,” Morgan said coyly, flipping one of her curls, “I don’t know if I should say. . . .”
“You should,” Isabel said, her face serious. “Tell me.”
“I was just thinking,” Morgan said, “that all this wedding stuff has just been so awful for me and Mark. I mean, the stress is ridiculous. I could care less about the ceremony, you know? I just want it to be done.”
“Wait a second,” Isabel said in a low voice.
Morgan didn’t hear her. “So I was thinking,” she went on, “that if I was in Durham, and so was he, it’s only, like, three hours to Dillon from there.”
“Dillon?” I said.
“South Carolina,” Isabel said flatly.
“They do weddings there,” Morgan explained cheerfully. “We can go, do the paperwork, get married the next day and be back for this game against the Bulls.”
“Really?” I said. Isabel shot me a look and I quieted down, fast.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” Morgan said, holding up her hand. “And it is kind of crazy. But Mark is so spontaneous. He’ll love it. And if my parents want to throw us a party, great. If not, who cares. We’ll be married.”
She was beaming. But Isabel had That Look.
“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, grabbing her hand. “Can’t you be happy for me? Just once?”
“I just don’t want to see you do something you’re going to regret,” Isabel said. “Morgan, think about this. Running off and getting married to this guy is—”
“It’s not just a guy,” Morgan said with an easy laugh. “It’s Mark.”
“I know.” Isabel frowned. “What I’m saying is, don’t go down there with huge expectations, okay? If he’s not into the idea, don’t freak out. It’s really sudden.”
“Don’t be silly,” Morgan said, standing up. “We’ve been engaged for almost six months. This is the perfect solution. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.” She picked up her purse.
“Morgan,” Isabel said. “Please.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Morgan turned with a jaunty swing of her skirt. “It’s all going to be fine, believe me. And the next time you see me, I’ll be Mrs. Mark McCormick.” She pushed open the door.
“Oh, God,” Isabel said softly, and I suddenly realized she was close to tears.
“I’ll call you guys!” Morgan yelled as she stepped outside and put on her sunglasses. “Wish me luck, okay?”
“Good luck,” I said, and she waved, happier than I’d ever seen her. I started to say something to Isabel. But she had already gone outside and was smoking a cigarette, looking at the sky from under that Last Chance sign as Morgan beeped the horn and drove away.
Someone was shaking me, gently, by the arm.
“Colie.”
I opened my eyes, not sure where I was. I looked down and saw the blue chair before recognizing the hand on my arm, flecked with white paint.
Of course. I was at Norman’s.
“What time is it?” I said. My mouth was dry and I’d been having a dream that now seemed just out of reach.
“Ten-thirty,” Norman said. He was wiping his hands on a rag.
“You conked out on me.”
“Sorry.” I sat up, still groggy. My neck was stiff. “I’ll stay awake from now on, I promise.”
The phone rang—so damn loud—from behind me, making me jump. Norman stood up and started across the room, back to the easel.
Two rings.
“Norman,” I said.
He ignored me, using the rag to wipe a spot on the floor.
Three. Four.
“Norman,” I said. I still felt like I was half dreaming. “Please.”