I quickly dialed the home number. Grandpa picked up after the second ring.
"Where is Cooper?" he asked.
"I don't know. I was calling you to find out."
"He hasn't been here," Grandpa said.
"How is Mom?"
"She's okay, but she does much better when things go like she meticulously rehearsed them in her head."
"I know. Cooper was sick Friday night. Yesterday morning he said he was feeling better, but I haven't talked to him since then. I wonder if he took a turn for the worse."
I felt a presence to my left and looked up to see Mr. Wallace. I let out a short yelp of surprise. "I have to go," I said to Grandpa. "Can you try to call Cooper?"
"I'll try."
"Come even if he doesn't."
"Without Cooper we have no car. You have it."
I had forgotten that minor detail. "A cab?"
Grandpa gave an ironic laugh. "You think your mother would get in a cab?"
"No."
"Either way, Abby, have fun tonight. Don't pin all your success on your mom."
I hung up because Mr. Wallace was still there, still staring.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "My mom was supposed to come, and my friend, and I was getting worried. . . ." I trailed off when I realized he didn't care about my excuses. "I'm sorry."
"Please try not to show your age tonight, Abby. This isn't a show about parents seeing their kids' artwork."
Ouch. I nodded and stepped out from behind the screen. There was nobody at my station, but I went to stand by my paintings anyway.
Another half hour went by. At least that was my guess. I couldn't be certain without my phone. My excitement from before was melting to disappointment, and my head started to ache even more. I saw Elliot across the way, and I waved him over.
"What's up?" he asked.
"What time is it?"
He looked at a smart watch on his wrist. "Five after nine."
"There's less than an hour left. Cooper was supposed to get my mom. I have the car. Will you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Text Cooper for me." I had a feeling his phone wasn't on, but maybe it was just the Find Your Friend app that wasn't working. Or my phone was being weird. Or . . . something.
"What's his number?"
I recited it to him.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Say, Abby is looking for you. Where are you? She said that if you're not sick, she's going to break into the nearest science facility, steal their deadliest virus, and release it in your bedroom."
Elliot raised his eyebrows at me. I watched him type-Abby wants to know where you are-into his phone.
"That works too," I said.
We both stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. When nothing happened, I sighed.
"Excuse me," a voice from behind us said. "Are these your paintings?" I turned to see the woman looking at Elliot.
"No," he said at the same time as I said, "No, they're mine. Here, let me show them to you." As I walked her to the nearest one, out of the corner of my eye I caught Mr. Wallace staring in my direction. Had he seen that whole exchange? My grandpa was right, I needed to stop thinking about it and let tonight be about my paintings and not about a breakthrough for my mom . . . or Cooper and me. As I let both of those ideas slip to the floor, my heart followed suit.
THIRTY-ONE
As soon as the woman moved on to another artist, Mr. Wallace was at my side again. Elliot must've moved on as well, because he was nowhere to be seen.
"Abby, I'm disappointed," Mr. Wallace said. "Your father assured me you would be mature."
"My father? You know my father?"
"He emailed me. Didn't he tell you? I thought that's why you brought your paintings by last week."
"He . . . emailed you? That's why you picked me?"
"He said one of the paintings you were displaying was already sold, so it would be financially smart of the museum to allow an opportunity for the others to be seen. I meant to tell you earlier that you should put a Sold sticker next to the placard of the one that is sold."
My dad had lied to get me into the show tonight? My paintings hadn't earned their own way in?
"You have a patron." Mr. Wallace nodded behind me, then left me standing there with that new information swirling around in my head and trying to drain out my eyes. I sniffed back the tears and joined the older gentleman looking at the painting of Cooper on the sand dunes. The painting looked so juvenile now. Nobody else at the show tonight had a quad on their canvases.
"My grandson would love this," the man said.
I nodded numbly. "It's my friend. He rides."
"So does my grandson. How much?"
He was the first person to ask me my prices and I became tongue-tied. This man was buying this for a kid. My eyes slid to the fish painting next to it. My paintings-loved only by children. Maybe they were immature. I suddenly felt embarrassed. Like I was selling stuffed animals while everyone else was selling live exotic ones. Like I was the only amateur in a room full of professionals. Maybe Mr. Wallace really had been protecting me by telling me no. I wasn't ready. My paintings weren't ready.
"Young lady?" the man asked, sympathy in his voice. "Are you okay?"
"Um. Yes. I . . . uh . . . I'm not sure how much I should sell that for." I had researched and priced my paintings before the show, but now those prices seemed too high.
"Should I make you an offer?"
I turned to face him fully. I could do this. He wanted this painting, I was going to sell it to him. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, my eyes collided with a pin on the lapel of his suit coat-a US flag alongside an army one.
He knew my dad. My dad had sent him here. If my dad had been willing to lie to Mr. Wallace to get me in the show, I had no doubt he talked some of his friends into coming to support me. He probably even told them he'd buy a painting for them. Anger coursed through me.
"No. That one isn't for sale, actually." I'd planned to give it to Cooper, and if this was just someone my dad had told to come in, I wasn't about to let it go. Where was Cooper? I was worried about him. His parents were still out of town, and his sister had gone to a friend's today. Was he at home burning up with a fever?
"Oh. Okay. Someone beat me to it I guess," the man said. He handed me his card. "If you ever paint another one featuring a quad, give me a call."
"Okay. Thanks."
He left and I paced, regardless of the blisters I now had on both feet. I paced and looked at the door. Before, I'd been begging time to slow down, and now I just wanted tonight to be over. My phone was buzzing. It rattled my bag on the chair behind the screen. At this point, I didn't care what Mr. Wallace said. I pulled it out. Elliot's name flashed across the screen and I furrowed my brow in confusion.
"Hello?"
"Hey." It was Grandpa, and now I really was confused. "Thanks for sending Elliot, but she can't do it. Take lots of pictures for us."
"Elliot's there?" I whispered back.
"Yes."
"You can't talk Mom into coming?"
"I've tried and it's not working."
"Then you come."
"Abby, I can't leave your mom like this. She's a mess now."
"What?" I asked in disbelief. "She doesn't want you to come either?"
"It's not that she doesn't want me to come-"
"Is she telling you to come?"
"I don't think I should leave her like this."
"Okay," I snapped and hung up the phone, angry tears stinging my eyes.
I didn't take pictures. They could see all the paintings when I got home. They would all still be mine.
Cooper, are you okay? I tried one last time.
My phone said five minutes left. Five minutes. I counted to one hundred, then one hundred again and again, until Mr. Wallace stood by the door, saying good-bye to the last guest. Then as quickly as possible, I cleaned up my station, making several trips out to the car to store my paintings.
"Abby," Mr. Wallace called as I passed him with my last armload.
"I can't talk right now!" I answered over my shoulder. "I have to go. Emergency." I didn't look to see his face. I knew it would register disappointment.
At the car I took off my heels and threw them behind the driver's seat. My paintings were tucked away in the back. I started the car, my hands shaking. I made it to Cooper's in record time. His house was dark. I parked across the street.
First I rang the doorbell. I didn't wait long before I was at his window though. "Cooper! Are you okay?"
I pried it open like I had before and climbed in. His room was pitch-black. I clicked on his desk lamp to see his bed was empty. I tore through the rest of his house, even checking his parents' room. There was nobody there. The worry that had driven me to his house melted first into relief and then into anger. If he wasn't here, where was he?
I could wait. I sat on his bed. It smelled like him, so I moved to the floor by the window. Ten thirty came and went. Then eleven. My phone buzzed.