The Green Lace Corset, стр. 61
Dottie texted again: Please FaceTime me.
Maybe she had cancer. What if she died and Anne saw it on Instagram and felt guilty for not replying? She dialed her. “Hi, Dorothea.”
“It’s Dottie again.”
On Anne’s screen, it looked like traces of the old Dottie had come back. Her hair had grown out and was cut in a simple bob, and her nose ring was gone. “Hello, Dottie.”
“I’m so, so, so sorry for the way I treated you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?” Dottie began to cry.
“Are you okay?”
“I am now. I’ve missed you so. Things got out of control, and I ended up in the hospital.”
“What?”
“I OD’d on heroin.” Dottie reached for a tissue.
“Oh.” Anne put her hand on her chest. She’d been afraid something horrible might happen to her friend. Maybe if she’d told Dottie her concerns when she’d been there, that wouldn’t have happened, or perhaps she should have contacted Dottie’s parents about doing an intervention.
“I could have died. My parents took me home and put me in rehab. They’ve forgiven my meanness. Will you?”
“Of course.” Anne wished her friend was there so she could hold her.
“I love you.” Dottie blew her a kiss, like they used to do in college.
“I love you too.”
They both sniffled a bit; then Dottie asked, “What’ve you been up to?”
“I’m teaching at the Museum of Modern Art here.”
Dottie raised her eyebrows. “I could never do that. Kids or adults?”
“Both.”
“Are you still doing art? Do you have gallery representation?”
“Yes, Gallery Noir. I had a solo show there a while ago.”
“I wish I’d been there.” Dottie paused. “I miss you. Will you come visit soon? I’ll pay your way.”
Anne thought of all the times she’d been in New York with Sergio and tempted to call Dottie, but her feelings had been too hurt.
“This isn’t the best time for me to travel.” She raised her shirt and moved the phone to show Dottie her belly.
“What, what are you showing me?”
“I’m going to have a baby girl.”
“You’re preggers? Did you get married without me?”
“Not married.”
“Who’s the father?”
“Sergio. Remember him? I met him at your art show.”
“I know him. Just saw him the other night.”
“You did? Where?”
“At a gallery opening.”
“Did you talk to him?” Anne asked.
“No, he was with some woman.”
Anne felt a twinge in her chest. Ridiculous. She had no right to be angry or jealous.
“What did she look like?”
Dottie hesitated. “Gorgeous. She had a great body and short, dark hair. But not as gorgeous as you.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m so gorgeous.” Anne moved the phone to her stomach again.
“I’m sure she’s just a friend. When are you due?”
“Mid-January.”
“Are you moving home to your mom?”
“No!”
“How are you going to do it alone? Why don’t I come help you take care of her? I’ve been thinking of moving anyway.”
“You have? That would be fantastic.” Anne wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
“Yes, we could be roomies again.”
Maybe that was the answer to the day care conundrum. Dottie could move in and help with the baby. They could get an apartment together, just like old times.
41
Still working on the patio seven weeks into the residency, the longest seven weeks of her life, Anne patted the stag on the head. “Morning, Freddy. I hope you had a good night’s rest.”
She lifted the tarps off her art supplies, but fog had seeped into everything. At first, she’d tried to carry the materials inside and out after each session, but it required too much energy. She had needed five staff members to help her carry Freddy out here.
Karl hadn’t arrived yet. This was no surprise. Often he was late, and some days he didn’t show up at all. At least she could get started in peace—or what passed as peace, given her location. Traffic whizzed by, and a helicopter flew overhead. She huddled in her oversize sweater and sweatpants and began mixing thinset. At least the weather would keep it moist, and there was a power source out here. So much for the stress-free life Lori had recommended.
The project wasn’t as far along as she had thought it would be. No museum guests had found their way to the patio, let alone participated in the artmaking. On the two days it had stormed, she hadn’t been able to work outside at all.
Her Saturday kiddos met her here for their class. She posted the rules and consequences and warned them that on the second consequence, they wouldn’t get to participate in the project at all.
She had the students line up on the ground. The twins took turns breaking dishes and tiles in paper bags and dumped the shards into boxes. That kept them out of trouble. Penny, as her assistant, carried the boxes to each student as they picked a piece. One at a time, each child spread thinset with a spatula, like icing a cupcake, on their piece and adhered it to the dear deer.
She had the smaller kids place their pieces on Freddy’s hooves and the taller ones, on the head. They did a pretty good job, but when they were finished, she sometimes had to take off one or two, lather them up again, and stick them back on to make sure they’d stay.
Alone now, she’d better do the underside while she still could get down on the concrete. She slithered as best she could under the deer, slathered thinset on a piece of broken tile, and stuck it underneath. She knew all spaces