Page 2 of Indulgence
If the artist got wind that his painting had gone missing, it could have a catastrophic impact on the gallery’s reputation. No one would want to let us handle their work if we couldn’t guarantee safe arrival.
I hadn’t wanted to think about the fact this particular piece was Alek Devereaux’s highlight painting in his debut collection. It was supposed to make its rounds up and down the coast over the next three months.
The threat of moving our business elsewhere, seemed to light a fire under Phillip’s ass. “Give me an hour, and I’ll have your asset located.”
I sighed. “That would be great, Phillip. Not as great as having the painting here now, like it was supposed to be, but at least we are moving in the right direction. I’ll await your call.”
As soon as I disconnect the call with him, the driver’s phone rang. He stepped away, probably getting yelled at by Phillip, and I counted the crates on the loading dock that contained the other pieces thathadarrived.
“Let’s get these moved inside,” I called to Pete, the head of our in-house moving team.
Just as we finished checking the last box of the delivery, my phone rang. I was expecting Phillip, not a frantic Emma.
“Hello?”
“Mom, I was so distracted fixing my science project that I forgot my piano folder, ” Emma rushed out.
I glanced down at my watch and sighed. Only two hours to get her folder to her. That meant heading across town and back in the beginning of rush hour traffic. Wonderful. “I’ll bring it to your music lesson.”
She exhaled, sounding relieved. “Thanks, Mom.”
Traffic wouldn’t help ward off the migraine knocking on my door or the seventeen new gray hairs I‘d have by morning.
"Great job, team.” I nodded at the men as they covered the last box with the wool blanket.
From my office, I scooped up the stack of paperwork on the corner of my desk. I still had so much left to do.
Where was Phillip with my painting?
Speak of the devil. My phone rang as I rushed to my car.
I skipped the greeting. I didn’t have much left in me today. "Tell me you’ve found it, Phillip.”
“It’s at the University of Oregon.”
Great, my piece was five hours away at a college art museum. Phillip assured me that my painting would be at the gallery first thing tomorrow morning as I drove home.
I was over the day by the time I ran into the house grabbed the folder and then ran back downtown to drop it off to Emma. Her shoulders visibly relaxed the moment she was prepared for her lesson. Matteo and I needed to sit with her to discuss her anxiety and stress levels. I knew it wasn’t healthy for a child to be as concerned about perfection as Emma was.
While I waited for Emma’s lesson to end and Jackson’s lacrosse practice to finish, I ran the slew of errands on my to-do list throughout town.
I dropped off new dry cleaning while picking up the previous batch I dropped off last week. Then I stopped at the UPS store to send back our Amazon returns. The drapes I ordered looked great online but not so great in person. Last was the grocery store. It seemed as if I lived at the grocery store. We were always running out of something. Either bread or milk or the protein bars that Jackson liked to eat before practice.
Lately, my life felt as if it was a tornado, spinning around knocking down everything in its path or, in my case, the never-ending to-do list. I was Mom, Mrs. Collins, and the gallery manager. All at the same time on some days. Once in a while, I just wanted to be Natalie, and be Natalie in a place that was all about making Natalie happy. On the heels of that thought was always guilt. I had great kids, a wonderful husband, and a good job. I was happy. Truly I was, but I figured I was just tired of the monotony of everyday life.
I finished at the store right on time. After packing everything into the trunk of my Jeep Cherokee, I swung back to pick up Emma before shooting to school to grab Jackson.
Turned out, Jackson’s best friend, Scotty, needed a ride home, and Jackson volunteered me without bothering to check first. Not that I minded necessarily because I loved Scotty, but I was tired and Scotty lived on the other side of town, which meant twenty minutes in the opposite direction during the thick of rush hour.
Emma glowered at the boys in the backseat, all the while complaining about having a lot of homework and how she would be way behind and missRiverdale. As if missingRiverdalewere the end of the world, but I assumed that to a twelve-year-old who would undoubtedly hear spoilers tomorrow, it was.
It was after six when I pulled into the garage. “Can you each grab a bag before you rush into the house, please?” I asked the kids as I popped the trunk. I did not feel like making a second trip back out for the groceries.
Emma let out a garbled protest while Jackson smiled. “Sure, Mom.”
With the mood swings and anxiety raging through Emma’s body, I was sure her impending first period wasn’t too far off. God, please, anything but that. If Emma was about to start PMSing, I was going to move out.
Exhaling a deep breath for what had to be the thousandth time that day, I gathered the remaining bags and headed into the house, needing to get dinner started.
