Page 38 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Work has been less exciting since finding out the truth about the photo. I haven’t had the heart to tell Jolene that I don’t have some cool story that would fit into the exhibition. It’s just a photocopied picture of a singer who has since passed away.

I’ve googled her further of course. But nothing comes up about her music. She still has a private Facebook profile. Her picture is so sweet though, her with a dog lapping at her face.

I would have liked to know her. In many ways, I feel like I do. Diane Bloom has spent so much time in my thoughts. I never had an opportunity to utter a single word to the woman and yet I feel like she’s a part of me.

She’s faded into the background of my life. Not gone. Not forgotten. Just a steady rhythm section to the high-flying melodies and guitar solos of any given moment.

When I return to my workstation, Jolene is peering down at my laptop with a furrowed brow. “Apartments?”

I flush. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I know I shouldn’t be doing that on the clock,” I say, hurrying to my seat and shutting the window. “I can stay late, I didn’t—”

“So, you think you’re staying?” Jolene asks, a big, beaming smile on her face.

Weirdest boss ever. Best boss, but weirdest too. “Thinking about it.”

Jolene pulls up a chair to sit beside me as I open the next binder. “Does this have anything to do with your ‘friend?’”

I snort. “No,” I say firmly, more for myself than her.

She leans back in her chair and kicks her high heels up on the edge of the table. “Uh-huh . . .”

“Jo,” I scold.

“It’s okay if it is because of him, by the way. I think that’s kind of romantic.”

I pull my glasses off and buff the lenses with the front of my shirt. A nervous habit. Gives me something to do with my hands when I’m uncomfortable. “It’s not because of Luke. I like it here. And it’d be nice to stay.”

“You should! I’d miss you if you left.”

I throw Jolene a small smile. Luke’s not my only friend in town. Jolene has also started integrating me into her friend group. I’ve gone out for happy hours with them and even a dinner party at her friend Meredith’s house. “It’s just a pipe dream, anyway. I don’t have a job lined up. Would be foolish to stay if I don’t even have a job.”

“What’s the status on that picture you were researching?” she asks.

I swallow. “The investigation is stalled.” I’ve been trying to figure out how to regroup with the information I have now. Next steps would require me tracking down the family and, while I’m an insatiably curious person, I haven’t yet gotten the courage to prod them for information on their dead relative. She was young when she passed. It’s still fresh.

“You think you can get something together by the end of next week?” Jolene asks. “A proposal for the exhibit?”

I knead my lips together. “Is that the deadline?”

She smiles sadly.

I’ve pushed away the thought that the picture would help me secure a longer tenure at the museum. Not helpful to think about what could have been if only Diane Bloom hadn’t had breast cancer. Or what could be if I was a little pushier or more assertive. “It’s fine. I haven’t given up yet. And if not, I still have time to figure out my plan to say here.”

“Yeah. You’ve got a couple weeks probably until you really have to put your nose to the grindstone to find a place, but once you hit that month-out mark, you’re going to be in a pool of sharks smelling blood.”

“Jeez, it’s that bad?”

Jolene shrugs. “For the good places.”

I sigh. “And I have to think about that on top of finding a new job? Don’t know how I’m going to manage all of that.”

“You will. And besides, if worst comes to worst, I have a couch you can crash on.”

I scoff. “I’m over thirty, Jo.”

“So?”

“So, crashing on a couch is against my code of conduct at this point.” I can’t imagine the mortification I would feel if I had to live on her couch while I figured out my next steps.

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