I scan the stairwell. There’s not a ladder in sight. Because why would there be?
I squint in thought, breathing in sharply when it hits me.
The firehouse.
Hook & Ladder 8.
I reach for his arm. “Logan, wait!”
But it’s too late.
He trips over the threshold and grabs for the railing to balance himself. It’s too wobbly to sustain his weight and pops out of the wall.
Logan makes a grunting noise before tumbling down the stairs. The takeout boxes and his fortune go down with him.
Chapter 10
LOGAN
Turns out, it was a metaphorical ladder.
“Nine weeks? For a broken wrist?” Mrs. Walker asks on the other end of the line.
“It could’ve been twelve weeks or longer,” I say.
Huh. Maybe my luck is turning around after all.
After my fall down the stairs, Hazel insisted on taking me to the hospital, refusing to hear myI’m fines. Nothing about the sharp, burning sensation felt fine, but she didn’t need this burden, especially with all that she has going on with her brother. She stayed with me the entire time at the hospital, asking the doctor questions and typing notes into her phone. A couple of hours later, I was sent home with a cast. Hazel picked the color: lucky red.
And now I’m home earlier than usual from work on a Friday. Not only did I break my wrist, but my entire body is sore. I should still be at the theater managing my crew, moving things along, but Richie promised to make life hell for me if I kept pushing through the pain.
“Tell the doctors you need it done faster,” Mrs. Walker says in her no-nonsense British accent.
I make a face she can’t see. “What can the doctors do? It’s the body’s timeline.”
“Then will your body into obedience. At the beginning of any cold, I tell my body,No! You do not have time for this.And it works. I’ve had mild colds that only last two days since 2010.”
Nothing about that sounds healthy, but I don’t fight it. Celine Walker is a powerhouse in her personal and professional lives. A former actress headlining in shows, she’s now transitioned into producing them, mostly on Broadway or the West End, and she doesn’t have time for whining or excuses. Which, apparently, includes my wrist.
“I suppose I’m being a smidge dramatic. You’re taking time to recover, I hope?” Mrs. Walker asks, her tone a warning. “The theater will still be there next week, you know.”
If she had seen what’s been happening, she wouldn’t be saying that.
“There’s still a lot to do, but I’m managing,” I say, keeping it vague. I flick the waving arm of a lucky cat figurine that Hazel had delivered to me this morning.
Mrs. Walker groans. “Spare me the bullshit. Is everything okay over there?”
“Okay? It’s better than that. It’s fantastic. This show’s going to be… great.” I don’t need to worry Mrs. Walker about her most personal show and biggest investment to date when she’s halfway across the world. No one wants to be around negative people.
“Okay, well, good,” she says. “Because I’ve decided that this is my last show.”
I’m so glad this isn’t a video call because then she’d see the look on my face.
“Your last show?” I ask, hoping she can’t hear the panic vibrating through me. The final show she produces cannot be this one. Not when it’s on the verge of crashing and burning. “But aren’t there still so many stories you want to tell? You’re just getting started!”
“Roman will never get to see it come to life, but I’ll get to. I figured, why not go out on a high with the musical my husband spent half his life working on?”
“Half his life, wow,” I say, tapping the lucky cat’s arm so hard the whole thing falls over. “Great. Well, can’t wait for you to see how things are progressing. You’re going to be…” Disappointed. Upset. Alarmed. “Surprised.”
