Norman waited for the full attention of the table. “We’ll be hosting a private retreat at Banff Springs November 21-23.”
November 21-23. Was that on our contract? I thought back to the document, to the dates Norman had scribbled in.November 21. TBD.This was a pretty damn big TBD.
“Key partners only,” he continued. “Creative strategy, board introductions, a preview of the gallery program.” He looked at Logan, then at me. “We’ll be conducting community giving opportunities in conjunction with the Blizzard and culturaleducation sponsored by Douglas. I can’t wait for you both to participate.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
It wasas if someone pulled the plug on Logan Kemp. I didn’t hear from him all week. My calls went to his voicemail, and I did leave a few messages. He was away at a game for at least part of the time, but that hadn’t stopped him from calling the last time.
I doubted he was angry with me, but it was still heavy. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through or what kind of fallout there was after the Palliser. I wanted to help.
Since I couldn’t, I dug into work. The gallery was in that strange in-between stage now. No longer a construction zone, but not yet an actualized space. The walls were finished, the floors sealed, the track lights installed. The air smelled like fresh paint instead of wet concrete.
Norman had me doing tasks I enjoyed, and it was easier to separate him from what I’d seen when we were focused on the opening.
We spent one morning crawling through the floor plan with tracing paper overlays, sketching how the emerging-artist alcove would flow into the main exhibition space. Another afternoon we stood under the lights, testing brightness and warmth against a generic canvas. I started a spreadsheet, my new religion,tracking works, sizes, mediums, proposed placements, and “conversation partners” (Norman’s term) across the room.
On Thursday he set a stack of folders on the edge of his desk and tapped it. “Student applications. I’d like your take before I make final selections. Two or three pieces for the opening.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Perspective. You have yours. I’d like to hear it.”
I dragged the stack over and started working through it, one by one. Photos of sculptural installations made from recycled material. Etchings of suburban houses with ominous shadows. A series of small canvases exploring light through lace curtains.
One piece stopped me cold.
It was a triptych of monoprints. A repeated image of a figure mid-stride, torso twisting, limbs blurring, the ink pushed and pulled across the plate so the body almost dissolved into motion. Each print was slightly different, like someone had captured three frames of a film and smeared them before they set.
There were no cover sheets, so I had no idea who had done it, but I instantly set it in my “yes” pile. By the time I finished the stack, I had three firm picks and two “maybe if we have more space” pieces. I brought them over to Norman, my notes scribbled in the margins.
I hoped we’d have a conversation about it, but his attention stalled when his office door swung open.
“Well, good afternoon you two.” Logan’s mom swept in, her light, floral perfume invading the room.
She greeted me with a hug, then embraced Norman.
My smile froze in place. If she knew I knew, she didn’t show it. If Logan had confronted her, there was no sign.
Which meant he likely hadn’t.
I didn’t know what to think about that. There were a thousand reasons why he may have kept that information to himself, but I had none of them since he’d gone radio silent.
I missed the Blizzard game that night. I said it was because I had packing to do, but really, I couldn’t imagine watching Logan on the ice when I knew what was going on in the background.
When I woke up the next morning to the little red light on my answering machine and heard Logan’s voice, I nearly choked on my Shreddies.
“Hey, Crystal.”Not Crys.“Just confirming tomorrow—pick you up at eight? I’m making up a training session in the morning, so it might be closer to eight-fifteen. See you then.”
Normal.
Like nothing had happened at all.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
