“Count me in. I’m happy to help.”
She waved her hands at the ceiling. “We have to pack it up and move it upstairs. It’s a lot of up and down.” She sipped her tea. “It’s always a big rush, but we have to be careful, too. Willing hands are a big help.”
****
When Maia telephoned in mid-October, she said, “If you can get here around two o’clock, we’ll have time to clear the gallery floor, spruce it up, then leave to get ourselves dolled up. Bring your outfit with you—it’s fancy dress—and we’ll get changed over at my place.”
“Maia, I can’t.” Juli stumbled over the words.
“Oh. Something came up? No problem, I’ve got a couple of other people I can ask.”
“No, wait. You misunderstand. I’ll help get the gallery set up for the showing, but I can’t attend the festivities.”
Maia’s voice rose. “What do you mean, you can’t attend?”
“Think about it. Ben has been gone two months. How will it look?”
Juli heard a groan through the receiver, then Maia said, “I see your point, but is that your only concern?”
“What do you mean?”
“Not because you’re shy or feel…you know.”
“Because I won’t feel good enough or accepted?”
“Acceptance works both ways, Juli.”
“What do you mean by that?” She waved her free hand as if someone could see it. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Bottom line, Ben’s memory deserves better. Didn’t you say that once?”
“The situation was a little different. Still, I understand. Two months a widow. We know Ben would want you to enjoy yourself, but it may provoke others to ask questions about things that are none of their business.”
“Don’t pout. You’ll get wrinkles.”
“How do you know I’m pouting? You can’t see me. And, anyway, I’m disappointed.”
“I’ll help get the gallery floor cleared and get the decorations up and then discreetly disappear.”
Maia grumbled.
Juli said, “I’m glad it matters to you, but face it, we’re both marshmallows. If I’m there, and one curious question is asked about Ben, we’ll both sob. Think of what it’ll do to our makeup. Not good for business at all.”
“Yeah, we’ll be soggy, wrinkled marshmallows. Not good on a lot of levels.”
****
Juli showed up in her jeans and a lightweight cotton shirt, ready to work.
Maia led her to one of the round display tables in the middle of the gallery floor. “Thank goodness, you’re here. Brendan cancelled. He’s got an upset stomach or something. Do you think it’s an excuse? I hope he’s telling the truth. He’s been very reliable. If he’s turning into a slacker, well, I can’t deal with it.”
“He’s probably sick. I thought I was coming down with an upset stomach, too, but it passed. Must be a virus going around.” Juli noted boxes with white packing paper were near the display tables. She picked up one of the shell sea-creatures and wiggled his eyes.
“I’ve got a neighbor coming to help. He’ll be here any minute.” She pointed to one of the boxes. “Wrap these loosely in paper, then put them in this other, empty box.”
“He?”
“He’s seventeen.”
“Not exactly boyfriend material.” Juli handled the seashell creatures gently. The box, when full, weighed little. She carried it to the foot of the stairs.
“Our helper will carry the boxes up.” Maia was wrapping the seashell frames when she heard a knock. She rushed to the door. “George. Hey, welcome.”
Tall and lanky, George looked strong and shy.
“Juli, excuse us for a minute. I have to explain to George what I need him to do.”
Juli finished up the frames, then moved on to other items. She found it peaceful working in the quiet of the closed gallery. She looked around the room and allowed herself a moment of fantasy, imagining her artwork hung on these walls. Perhaps one day she’d have a showing and people would dress up to attend. She’d be gracious and elegant…and the paintings—
“Juli? Are you here with me? You look far away.”
“Daydreaming. Did you say something?”
Maia gave her a closer look and seemed satisfied. “As you empty the display tables, George will disassemble the ones we won’t need and carry them up.”
George was a quiet and willing worker. Juli continued wrapping items and stowing them in the boxes while George helped Maia swap out some of the paintings and larger items from the walls. Not everything would be the work of the one artist, but the prime space on the main wall would be solely his work.