“Oh, yeah.” John nods. “That was sick.”
He sits down beside me, throwing an arm over the back of my chair. I lean into him a little. He’s been really great these past twodays. He called the Charlottetown hospital to ask for news on Mrs. Finnamore when I was too nervous to do it myself, and at work he’s been popping out from the garage every hour or two just to check on me. Kiara and Rose have also been amazing, texting me all the time to see how I’m doing. Even Doris has been helpful, in her own way. When I told her what had happened, she snorted and said, “Boo-hoo. I’ve broken both my hips, and no one threw me any pity parties.”
John’s father, Laurent, comes in, and the conversation turns to the trip that he and Carla are planning for this winter. As we listen to them talk, John shifts his chair a few inches closer to mine. Carla refills my empty teacup, and Laurent says, “You would love that, Emily,” when they’re talking about a hiking trail in Scotland. The tight knot that’s been living in my chest since Mrs. Finnamore’s fall loosens up a little, and I lean a bit more into John’s arms.
“John says you’re looking into museum jobs in Charlottetown,” Carla says later, as I help her take the dishes to the kitchen.
“Oh, yeah,” I say brightly. It’s part of my “staying in Waldon” plan. If I’m going to be truly happy here, I need to find a job I’m more passionate about. “I really love volunteering at the museum in Waldon, but it doesn’t actually pay anything. And there are some really cool museums in the city.”
Like the Anne of Green Gables museum, for example. I had a total fit when I found that one, even if they don’t technically have any job openings right now. I sent them an email anyway, just to inquire, but I haven’t heard anything back.
Carla puts a hand on my shoulder. “I hope you find something good. I know a lot of young people want to get off the island thesedays, but”—her eyes twinkle mischievously—“I think John would like it if you stuck around.”
I smile at her a bit shyly. I still get a tiny bit nervous around her and Laurent. I really want them to like me. Just because it’s nice to be well-liked, you know. Not because I secretly think they might be my in-laws someday.
“I’d like it too,” I say honestly.
The next day is Saturday, only two days before Canada Day. My shift at the museum doesn’t technically start until noon, but I head in around ten because there’s still so much I need to do, not least of which is inflating about a million red and white balloons. I get lightheaded just thinking about it.
There’s a small line at the door when I arrive at the museum.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping around people. “I’m not cutting,” I add hastily, seeing some dirty looks come my way. “I work here.”
“Is the front desk opening up any time soon?” demands a woman balancing a toddler on her hip.
I frown. “It should be open...” I trail off as I reach the front of the line. There’s no one at the desk. Weird. I thought Brenda was supposed to be here this morning.
“I can get you all sorted,” I say to the people in line. “It’s five dollars a person, three for children under ten.”
For five or ten minutes I answer questions and hand out tickets, until the final visitor disappears into the museum. I peek outside to make sure no one else is about to come in and then head to the break room. There’s no one there, but Shelley’s voice is emanating from her office. Taking a steadying breath, like I always do before I talk to Shelley, I head over there.
Her office door is open. She has her phone pressed to her ear and is laughing loudly at something. I don’t know why, but her laugh is almost more unpleasant than her usual scowl. I can’t hear what the other person is saying, but I just have a feeling it’s something mean-spirited.
She frowns when she sees me in her doorway. I turn to leave, but she waves a hand for me to stay.
“I’ve got to run,” she says to the person on the phone. “Talk to you later.”
I force a smile. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” she says.
And, ugh, even the way she says that is annoying. Sort of condescending, like, “ObviouslyI’m great, my life is so much better than yours.”
(Okay, I may have developed a serious grudge against Shelley.)
“Did Brenda call in sick?” I ask. “There’s no one at the desk.”
“Oh, no,” she says. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve spoken with the board of the historical society, and they think it’s time we have some consistent staffing. Especially now that things are picking up so much.”
I frown. Consistent staffing, what does that mean?
“We’ve hired two paid staff to work the front desk for the rest of the summer,” Shelley goes on. “Really bright college girls looking for summer jobs.”
“Oh.” I try to think of something to say. “That’s great,” I manage finally.
And itisgreat, actually. This place should have consistent, paid staff. And it’s the perfect job for college students, since the museum is busiest in the summer.
I just... wish I could have been considered. Not that I mind volunteering, but it would’ve been nice to start getting paid a little for my work.
