Objects of My Affection Read Free Page B

“Tell me. Are you easily offended?”
    I barely pause to wonder why she’d ask such a question before I think, With what I’ve been through in the past year? Is she kidding? I almost have to laugh.
    â€œI prefer to think I’m easily amused.”
    Marva stares at me without expression. I swallow over the dry lump that’s formed in my throat. I’ve blown it. Why did I have to be glib? I couldn’t have simply said, No, I’m not ? I want to explain to her that’s what I do when I’m on edge. I crack stupid jokes. Please don’t take it seriously. Please understand that I need this job, even if I am entirely unqualified for it—even if I’m only a laid-off PR writer and hack author parading herself as an organizational guru. Give me this chance and I swear I’ll—
    Marva turns away, and the thump of the cane makes it clear she’s going to leave.
    I’m still silently pleading when Marva says, “Fine.” She flicks a hand dismissively toward Will. “I suppose this one will do as well as any other.”

chapter two
    When you hold on to everything in case you might someday love it/want it/need it, you block the path to what is truly valuable to you.
    â€”Things Are Not People
    I t’s 2:00 a.m., and I’m lying here while Abigail digs her feet rhythmically into my side. For a four-year-old, she can really go at it with force. She’s managed to wriggle herself so she’s lying horizontally on the bed, wedging me into the crevasse between the bed and the wall. Rather than attempt to push her away, I climb over her to the mattress on the floor, where her mother—my friend Heather—tucked her in earlier. Won’t do me much good. Abigail is a pixie-haired, green-eyed heat-seeking missile. She’ll find me again.
    Ah, well. It’s not as if I’m going to be able to sleep anyway. I’m too busy worrying.
    I’d feel better about my first day on the job if I had an idea of what to expect. I want there to be a lady from HR, greeting me with anemployee packet and a video on sexual harassment in the workplace. Seems instead I’m on my own.
    Will and I did talk awhile after Marva left as he walked me to my car. Although at first, all he could do was utter variations on “I don’t get it. Why you?”
    It went on long enough that I felt compelled to ask if he had a problem with me.
    â€œYou’re fine. But she didn’t even talk to you. As far as she knows, you could be a serial killer.”
    â€œOr perhaps,” I pointed out, speaking slowly, “she trusts that her son wouldn’t bring someone inappropriate into her home.”
    He stared absently toward the house. “No, that’s not it.”
    Whatever. I’m to report to work at ten o’clock, although I’m free to arrange different hours with Marva. I can use the bungalow outside as an office. I don’t have to do physical labor; there’s hired muscle for that. Will’s already hired an art expert, whom I’m to coordinate with to take any valuable art and high-end items to auction. The rest—the majority—is either trash or for a yard sale. Anything that doesn’t sell will go to charity.
    â€œYour mother certainly has a nice, big yard for a sale!” I said. “And this neighborhood will draw in the customers. People love—”
    â€œYou will not conduct the sale here ,” Will snapped, as if I’d proposed running live nudie shows on the roof. “Do I need to explain the importance of discretion ? I’ve rented a storage unit. Anything to sell is to be transported there. You will oversee the estate sale there , at the facility , when the job is complete.”
    Boy, somebody got himself worked up mighty quickly. “Sounds like a plan!” I said, eager to prove he hired the right woman for the job.
    â€œNaturally, you can’t get rid of a single thing here