Disappointment filled Ora, shoving aside the anticipation and happiness that had been building inside her chest—and elsewhere. “Oh. I see.”
“I hope you are not disappointed in my lack of assistance,” he said to the pork.
“Of course not,” she lied. “I do not expect you to ignore your duties on my account. Besides, I shall do just fine on my own.”
Just as I always do, she thought but did not say.Just as I always must as a woman who wants more than the world will ever willingly give her.
FOURTEEN
Callahan
Annie above me.Annie beside me. Annie under me. Somehow she’s everywhere at once, everywhere I need her. Taking control, yielding it. Saying my name, over and over.Cal. Cal.
“Cal!”
My eyes spring open at the sound of the very real voice intruding into my dream. Annie remains sound asleep on my shoulder, which is, incidentally, also asleep. That means that the woman calling my name must be Genevieve, finally here to rescue us.
I shrug, trying to nudge Annie awake. “Hey. Wake up. Genevieve is here.”
“Mrrr,” she groans, nuzzling into me even more. The pins and needles sensation in my shoulder aches, erasing some of the gratification her closeness might otherwise make me feel.
“Come on, Annie. Time to get up.”
This is met only with the measured breathing of someone who has already returned to deep sleep. Great.
Using my free hand, I push against Annie until she’s upright, then slide out of the way. I intend to let her fall back into place on the mattress, but instead she tilts in the opposite direction. Before I can grab her, she’s rolled over, off the bed entirely. She lets out a little shriek, waking up in the split second before she hits the ground. “Ow,” she whines, sitting up and rubbing her elbow.
Genevieve enters the bedroom to find me on all fours on the bed, staring down at Annie in a groggy heap on the floor.
“Um, hello,” she says. “Am I…interrupting something?”
“No, just…” My back protests as I jump off the too-firm mattress where my watch tells me I’ve been sleeping sitting up but slumped over for the last seven hours. “Ah. We’ve been here all night,” I tell Genevieve, though I’m sure she’s already aware.
“I am sorry about that. Makayla had to leave in a hurry after her babysitter called to say her daughter had developed a high fever. She must have thought you both already left and set the alarm without thinking about it.”
“Yeah, but I called you at least six times,” I say, trying not to sound too annoyed.
“I know, but I only saw that this morning when I woke up. I was sleeping off a migraine and had my phone set to ‘do not disturb.’ Again, I apologize.”
Annie props herself against the nightstand, eyes still narrowed in sleepiness. Somehow knowing this about her—that she’s slow to wake up—feels like an incredible discovery. Like I’ve collected another tiny charming piece out of the hundreds that make up the full set of Annie O’Neill.
“Did you find what you were looking for, at least?” Genevieve asks, glancing around the room.
“No,” Annie says, propping a hand on the mattress in order to lift herself up. “It wasn’t here.”
“Is there anywhere else it could be?” I ask. “Another property, maybe?”
Genevieve’s short auburn bob somehow remains completely still as she shakes her head. “This is the only property we’re staging this week. So if it isn’t here, the only other place it could be is on the truck still. That happens sometimes, when there’s a piece we can’t fit or otherwise don’t want to use. We just leave it in the truck until it’s time to return everything to Virtu.”
“Where is the truck?” Annie asks. “Can we check it?”
Genevieve sets her purse down on the armchair in the corner and digs around until she finds a business card. She hands it to me:Marvin’s Moving, it says in dark green ink with a clip art stack of boxes in the corner. “We partner with Marvin Johnson for all of our staging. I’m sure he’ll be able to assist you if you give him a call.”
“Thanks,” I say, pocketing the card, a hint of relief creeping in now that we’re once again on the road toward tracking down our taxidermy nightmare.
“Now, I don’t mean to be rude since I know you had no control over the matter,” Genevieve says, looking around the room again, “but you made quite a mess in here.” Other than flattened pillows, wrinkles on the bedspread from where Annie and I slept, and a few absent oranges, I don’t spot anything amiss, but Genevieve continues, “I’m going to have to completely redo this room before the open house. And have Makayla stop for more fruit. So if you wouldn’t mind vacating…”
“With pleasure,” Annie grumbles.
