“I hope that’s how I feel about my place. I haven’t seen it yet,” I tell her.
She stops and causes a chain reaction as we stop behind her. “You didn’t check it out before you signed the lease?”
I shake my head. “I saw pictures. A one-year paid lease here is part of my salary package, and since it didn’t look like a meth house, I figured I’d be an idiot not to take it.”
“That means a lot coming from Phoebe,” Daniel says. “She knows her meth houses.”
“Get wrecked,” I say sweetly.
“Let’s find out for sure,” Scarlett says. She leads us down the hall and stops to the side of a door with 3E on it. “Welcome home.”
For a year, anyway. But I keep that thought to myself. I’ll be here long enough to make a point to my former boss, but when the lease runs out on this place, I’m going back to the Sutton, where I’ll get a new title and more respect than I left with.
I step into my new apartment, glancing around the empty space. Like the rest of the building I’ve glimpsed, it boasts sturdy 1930s construction and design with thick walls, original wood floors, and high ceilings with crown molding. Midmorning sunlight floods through the east windows, and the greenery from the park next door immediately gives me an earthy, homey feeling.
Daniel steps in and sets his box down. “This one says living room, so I’ll leave it here.”
“Explore,” Scarlett says after setting down her box. “We’ll go get some more boxes while you check it out.”
I appreciate her thoughtfulness in letting me meet my new place without an audience. I can already sense that I’m going to like it here, but it’s nice to not have to “perform” how much I like it for my new neighbors.
It’s laid out well, oriented more deep than wide. The frontdoor opens into the living room space with a dining area bigger than I need for my two-person café table. I walk down the short hallway, passing the first empty room to find my new bedroom at the end. It’s more than enough space for my queen-sized bed and dresser, and the closet is adequate. The natural light is nice, and I like the way it feels in here.
But when I walk into the kitchen, I encounter the ghost of Foster Martin.
Chapter Four
Phoebe
Maybe it’s morecorrect to say I encounter the spirit of Foster Martin.
I don’t even realize that’s what it is at first. What I see is an envelope on the counter with my name written across it in black ink, bold downstrokes on both of thePs in “Hopper.”
When I open it, I find a typed letter inside, and a quick glance at the bottom reveals Foster Martin’s signature. It’s dated from six months ago. I lean against the kitchen counter to read it.
Dear Phoebe,
If you are reading this, it means I have shuffled off my mortal coil and you have accepted the position of inaugural director of the first museum in Serendipity Springs. One could not happen without the other, and rest assured, I am happy about both. I am no doubt waltzing to heavenly harps with my beloved Bonnie as you read this.
Iwanted to be the first—or close to it—to welcome you to your new home and job. After our many lunch talks over the last three years, I’m convinced you are the perfect person with whom to entrust my family’s legacy. I admire the work you have done in your time at the Sutton. I respect your passion and deep knowledge of curation and your sense for the relatedness of people, places, and things. I feel confident that in both temperament and experience, you are the person best suited to bring my vision for this museum to life. Of course, patiently listening to me blather about it these last few years doesn’t hurt.
I know working at the Sutton has always been your dream, so I wanted to make it as easy as possible for you to say yes to my job offer. I hoped seeing to your housing might sweeten the deal, and with many of our conversations in mind, I chose The Serendipity for you.
It is a fine old building, and it enjoys something of a colorful reputation. Since you love a good mystery, I’ll leave you to discover what is fact and what is fiction. I have been friends with its owner, Galentine Valencia, since she bought it many years ago, and I have my own theories about the stories that surround it. Due to my friendship with Galentine, once I decided upon you as the museum’s first director, she permitted me to lease this apartment either until you declined the job or until a year from your first day of occupancy. Beyond that, you can renew the lease, of course, or move elsewhereshould your circumstances change.
I am delighted that you’ve taken the job. You’ll need to immerse yourself in the history and culture of Serendipity Springs, of course, but you know that. I hope and believe that you will feel the sense of kinship to it that you have developed for Boston and that my beloved city will come to feel like home.
There aren’t words to express my profound gratitude that you’ve accepted the challenge of opening this museum. I have done everything I can to ease the process, from settling it with an endowment large enough to keep it running for several generations to handpicking trustees who possess a bewildering amount of common sense for a museum board.
I have pulled every string I can, but I am sure that serendipity will carry you the rest of the way.
Yours in memory,
Foster P. Martin
I feel the sting of sentimental tears as I read through Foster’s letter. We’d become friends when he approached me after a board meeting for the Sutton, impressed with a presentation I’d been asked to give highlighting the exhibition we’d be mounting the following quarter. He’d asked if I was “amenable” to having lunch with him in the museum’s café so that he might ask me more about it.
So began an unlikely friendship. Elderly Foster, with his kindly eyes and lively curiosity, and me, the youngest full-time curator on staff, always gesticulating wildly over our garden salads as I described whatever fascinating artifact I’d been assigned to research.
