Right. Work. I forget he does that. “I’m good. Thanks.”
I head for the butler’s pantry, and he splits for the rear exit.
“Phoebe.”
I pause and turn. “Yes, Jay?”
“Are friendships with individuals connected to the museum considered professional?”
I frown, trying to figure out the trap.
“I’m talking about like what you and Grandad had. You had a professional connection, but wouldn’t you say you were friends too?”
My face softens. “I would.”
“So we can do that. Be friends.”
It’s not a question, which makes me want to laugh again. Just more of his charm. But his charm is effective because there’s a sincerity to it, so I smile. “Yeah, Jay. We can be friends.”
“Excellent. Bye, friend. I need to go expose misdeeds and corruption in eighteenth-century America.”
“Bye, friend. I need to go bring your grandfather’s vision to life.”
He disappears through the door, and I put away the tea set and head to my desk. I have every intention of finishing the preliminary draft of the exhibit flow to present to the board next week, but my eyes wander to Smitten Kitten’s letter.
Who was this object of affection who lived in my apartment sixty years ago? I hope Smitten Kitten and Dear Heart end up together. It’s possible that one or both of them are still living, and if so, I’d like to know the end of their story and return this letter to its rightful recipient.
That quest will need to wait a few days. Ihaveto prep for the museum board. I need to win them over so they’ll have faith in all my hiring choices. The less supervising they feel they have to do, the faster I can work.
I give the letter a light tap. “Don’t worry, lovers. I’ll have you sorted eventually. Something tells me after sixty years, there’s probably not a rush.”
Chapter Fourteen
Phoebe
My friend Jayrespects my wishes and stays out of sight for the rest of the day. Good. Glad he listened.
Tuesday morning, I comb through the applications I’ve received for the archivist and conservator positions. Jay doesn’t pop in. Neither does he stop by in the afternoon when I have Foster’s longtime handyman, Terry, come over to see me. He tells me he’s happily retired now but he’ll help me find a replacement for him.
Good for Jay. Jay is listening.
Do I look up at every sound the settling house makes, hoping he’ll poke his head in and say hello? That would be ridiculous and contradictory. The house does make a lot of settling noises, though. But good job, Jay.
I’ve been home from work for an hour when his name pops up on my phone. What’s Jay texting for? Does he think friendship means he should avoid me during work hours but crash my free ones?
Jay
There’s a med/large delivery truck here for you.
Phoebe
Me?
Jay
The museum. Hang on.
