I looked toward the door. "It means I've gotta get back to work." When he didn't move, I added, "That's a hint, by the way."
He still didn't move. "But we're not done talking."
"Oh, we're done," I said. "And that goes double for your dad."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, go ahead. Sue me, kick me out of my house, whatever. I'll work it out." As I listened to my own words, spoken out loud for the first time, it suddenly struck me that I meant everything I was saying.
What was the worst thing that Derek or his dad could do? Have me physically evicted? Drag me to court and make a giant spectacle of this whole sorry situation?
Well, my life was already a spectacle. And if he booted me from the house? Well, I'd find a way to get it back. I wasn't alone anymore, and I was tired of being bullied.
Derek's gaze narrowed. "It's becausehe'sback, isn't it?"
Maybe. But it wasn't the only thing.
I'd been only sixteen when my parents had died. I'd been a scared teenager, looking for guidance from the people I knew. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and it was long past time for me to seize some control.
Feeling suddenly inspired, I said, "And by the way, that endowment? I'm making sure that Joel gets it."
Derek's mouth fell open. "The art endowment?"
As if he didn't know. I smiled. "That’s the one."
"But you can't."
"Sure, I can," I chirped. "Remember? I refused to give his slot to anyone else."
It was true. And it wasn't only due to sentimental reasons. Joel was by far, the most talented painter I'd ever seen, with the possible exception of my dad. None of the other candidates had a prayer of filling Joel's shoes, and I saw no reason to pretend otherwise.
I thought of my dad and all that he'd been able to accomplish in the fifty-plus years he'd been on this Earth. He'd been amazing – as a dadandas a painter.
But Joel was just starting out. What could he accomplish if he focused on it full-time? Suddenly, my heart felt lighter than it had in forever. Thanks to the endowment, Joel would finally have that chance.
Feeling embarrassingly smug, I said, "Oh well. The cookies are waiting." I made a little shooing motion with my hands. "Off you go."
Derek was staring again. "What's gotten into you?" He leaned closer to study my face. "Are you on something?"
Yes, I was. And his name was Joel.
By the end of my shift, I was practically squirming with excitement. I'd spent my lunch hour conferring with Claude, the art critique who oversaw most of the endowment activities. He was thrilled, to say the least, to hear that Joel was back in the picture.
But when I bounded in through my front door to give Joel the happy news, something in his expression told me that he had news too. But unlike mine, it wasn't going to be good.