Dr. Stud

“It is now,” Desi shrugs.

Scowling, I reach for my cell phone and text her. Our last message was days ago, but I was so busy traveling back and forth I just haven’t had time.

Where are you?

I stare at the screen for a couple minutes.

“Shit, she’s not even reading my text. Did one of you guys text her?”

“Joe, can you take a look at this?” comes Martha’s voice from the gallery door.

For a second, my name sounds strange to me. I must have gotten used to people calling me JoJo or Joanna for the last couple of weeks.

Joanna. It’s probably going to be a long time before anyone calls me that again.

“Hi Martha,” I smile as I walk over. Her eyes narrow as she looks over my outfit.

“That is an amazing outfit. Who did you?”

My mouth opens. “Um, well… It’s vintage. Just one of those things.”

Her raven-black eyebrows arch imperiously. “You don’t say? I’m envious.”

She’s envious? I marvel. Did that just happen?

“In any case,” she continues, snapping back to business, “I just wanted to say thank you for all your hard work in Willowdale. Holly couldn’t have been more impressed. I’m really moved by your dedication, Joe. It didn’t even seem like you wanted to go.”

“Oh, of course,” I breathe. “Whatever it takes, Martha. You know that.”

She presses her lips into a tight vermilion smile.

“That’s all right,” she finishes. “Send Didi to me, would you?”

“Happy to,” I gulp.

Martha turns on her heel and stalks away as I stumble back toward the receiving table.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Desi sneers. “Are you loopy? We just told you Didi isn’t here.”

“Nobody says loopy anymore either,” Hannah announces.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I answer sincerely. “She caught me by surprise and…”

“And you’re just used to picking up after Didi? Is that what this is? No matter which ball gets dropped, you go chasing after it?”

I fli

nch, startled at Desi’s sudden shift into attack mode. I’m not sure what to say, so I just begin unwrapping the paintings in front of me and sulk.

I don’t fetch balls, I tell myself. I’m not a Labrador.

And yet, I think that stings because there is a little bit of truth in it. Covering for Didi is second nature to me. I’ve been doing it since grade school. Probably since before grade school.

The truth is that Didi needs someone to fetch her. Something about her does kind of remind me of one of those red balls we used to use in gym class. The kind that seemed to bounce erratically, way higher and way farther than you would have predicted. One small nudge could send her veering completely out of bounds.

Her mother wasn’t very good at chasing after her. She had a hard enough time keeping track of herself. I’m not sure what happened to her father, but he wasn’t around. Maybe ran off. Maybe chased off. Maybe he never knew about her in the first place. The subject definitely had a skull and crossbones warning sign over it that never was to be spoken aloud.

Nobody assigned me this job to protect my friend, but I have always been happy to do it. I was happy to check her homework. I was happy to slip her a copy of mine when necessary. I was happy to sneak her home after curfew when she drank too much.