“I’ll be ready and in the kitchen for seven p.m. tomorrow night.”
“You’ll just need to wear black. That’s pretty much the standard here, so Susan will have made sure she gave you several black outfits for work.”
“She did. I have black shirts for work.”
“Great. Thank you for doing this, Robin,” she says, as if I’m doing her a great favor.
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Thank you, for everything, Lana. I’m glad I can help when you need it. I’ll be happy to start working tomorrow night.”
She gets to her feet, and I do the same.
“Good luck with your first shift.” She touches my arm, and I have to force myself to stay right where I am. “Come and visit or give me a call whenever you need anything, okay?”
The desire to move in for a hug is so great I can feel the skin on my face heating up in embarrassment at how desperate I am for simple human touch.
“Thanks,” I murmur, nodding as she drops her arm.
We say goodbye and I leave Lana’s office with a hint of excitement bubbling up inside me.
Pete’s right outside the door, and he goes back inside after I move past him, giving me a nod in passing. I nod back in response as he disappears, leaving me alone in the reception area.
Well, almost alone.
Erika beams at me as I start to walk away from Lana’s office.
“Hey, Robin,” she greets as I move toward her.
I glance at the slip of paper in my hand, wondering if I might be able to make sense of the numbers Lana wrote down when I’m alone. I can usually recognize numbers when I try. Colleen had to teach me to read scales for cooking, so I had to know numbers. Unfortunately, when they’re written down all fancy, they can become much harder to read than if they’re in print.
The phone number starts with a zero, but the rest looks like a meaningless scribble to me.
“Hi, Erika,” I start, hesitating almost immediately.
What are you doing, Robin?
You can’t tell her the truth.
I know I can’t tell anyone.
But if I don’t ask for help, I don’t get to talk to that detective.
I press my lips together while I try to think up a reasonable excuse that doesn’t reveal my lack of ability. It’s harder than I expect, and I worry that the longer I stand in front of Erika, the easier it’ll be for her to figure out what’s wrong.
Think, Robin! There has to be something …
Erika’s expression softens from expectant to concerned.
For a moment, I’m sure she’s worked it out.
Then, I realize, she only thinks something’s wrong because I’ve been standing in front of her, speechless, for at least a minute too long.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
I give a quick nod. “I’m fine. It’s nothing, really. I just …”
Still, nothing. God, why can’t I think of an excuse?
I hold up the slip of paper, while I try to find the words to explain.
