“We’ll get your information from Trey, shall we?” one of the other society women says to me as she walks by.
“Er—yes, ma’am.”
“Very good.” Her eyes gleam mischievously. “Perhaps it’d be best if you made yourself scarce, while we’re in the office.”
I fight a giggle. “Yes, ma’am.”
The second they’re gone, I catch Trey’s eye. We stare at each other for one long, incredulous moment—then we burst out laughing.
“Can you believe that?” I demand, between hiccups. “Did you see Shelley’s face?”
“Rose is going to kill me for not taking a picture,” Trey says.
“You really think she’ll want to be comanager with me?” I ask.
He nods. “She’s been getting bored at the grocery store. And she’s always loved this old place. But I’ll talk to her tonight and let you know for sure. Now get out of here before Shelley comes back out and strangles you.”
I break into giggles again. “Her fingers are probably super strong from all that scrolling on Facebook.”
“I’ll call you later,” Trey says, grinning.
I flee the room, still giggling, and wave goodbye to the blonde girl at the front desk, who looks amused, if slightly confused, by my laughter.
“Have a nice day,” she calls after me.
“You too!” I call back.
She seems quite nice, really. I think I’ll keep her on, even if Shelley hired her.
I can do that, now. Now that I’m going to be thecomanager.
I let out a silly, giddy squeal and do a quick spin in the parking lot.
Holy hell. I just got myself ajob.
39
On Monday, I meet with Elaine, Rose, and the rest of the historical society board to finalize the details. I start as manager (manager!) next week, since Shelley apparently decided that she couldn’t get out of there soon enough. Rose will join me as comanager at the end of the month, since she’s required to give two weeks’ notice at the grocery store. During the interview, it was like she and I were sharing the same brain, shooting off idea after idea for improving the museum and finishing each other’s bright, eager sentences. The biggest thing we suggested was to expand the museum beyond barrels and make it a museum about Waldon itself. I even shyly suggested an exhibit like the one I thought of in New York, with videos of older citizens in Waldon talking about their lives growing up in town. The society women all loved it, even if they were a bit unsure about how to set up the technology. I assured them I could sort it out, and made a mental note to call my three-monitor friend Kevin as soon as I could.
For the back-of-house museum work, Elaine herself is going to train me. Apparently she’s done most of the finance stuff the last few years, anyway, because of some errors Shelley made in the past. It couldn’t be clearer that they’re happy to be rid of her, though they were careful to speak of her in polite, even tones. I think they felt like firing her would be a disrespect to Josephine, the former owner. Plus, there probably weren’t a whole lot of people sticking their hand up to ask for her job.
The pay isn’t that great—in fact, when the salary is split between Rose and me, it’s less than what I made at the auto shop—but I don’t really care about that. Plus, I’ve got my caregiving business! I’ve already set up two meetings with potential new clients, as well as an interview with a nursing student looking for part-time work. It’s going to be a lot of work, balancing the museum with building a business, but I know I can hack it. And the thought of working in the museum again fills me with warmth.
I grab an early celebratory dinner alone at the local fish and chips joint, then head out onto the sidewalk, singing happily under my breath. It’s a little past five o’clock, and I tilt my head back as I walk along the waterfront, soaking in the warm evening sun. I really think things are going to be okay. Even if John doesn’t want to get back together with me... I think things will still be okay.
I sit down on a bench outside the post office and take out my phone. Now is as good a time as any to tackle it: the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth day of Wordle.
I stare at the screen for a long while, trying to think of a good word to start with. I want something that captures this day, this single moment in my life, but all of the words are way too long. Like hopeful. Or peaceful. Like the start of something new.
On paper, it still might seem insane, giving up a prestigious internship and an exciting life in New York, but in reality, it just feels—
“Right,” I murmur quietly.
RIGHT, I type in.
It’s all wrong—every single letter is gray—but I don’t care. My lips curl up in a smile.
Right.
