"Turn around, Gus. There's nothing to see." Gus turns around, and Jack leans back against a table, still smiling at me before directing his attention to Gus, asking, "What's going on?"
"Something bad happened at the opening in Biloxi. One of the guards was attacked. A protester tried to spray-paint Abby's portrait. The guard tackled him. There was a knife and the guard was hurt. Jack, I need you." Gus turns and sprints back down the hall.
"Make sure every door is locked," Jack says to me, and squeezes my hand tight before he follows Gus out of the studio.
For the first time since all of this started, I feel truly afraid.
Chapter 26
ABBY
I walk around the studio to make sure all the doors are locked. The studio is secure, but the way the studio offices and house are arranged means that there are some doors that you can only get to by walking outside. I head to the back of the studio after grabbing my keys. I walk outside along the path to the cottage. I open the door and stick my head inside. Nerves get the better of me and I feel skittish. I'm ready to bolt like a spooked cat. I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me, but there's no one inside the cottage and no one on the beach. I pull the door shut and lock it before walking back to the main building. I let myself in, and lock the door behind me. It feels strange. This is a safe neighborhood. People don't do things like that here. The residents that stay year round are nice; many of them are artists like Jack - writers, sculptors, and painters.
As I head toward the conference room, I hear Gus speaking, "The guard was taken to the Biloxi Regional Medical Center. I've notified his family. This is going to make the rest of the southern half of the exhibition more dangerous. Once something like this happens, it spreads the hate. Kate called earlier. Since MOMA is the last stop, she needs to be in on this. The tour might need to be altered."
"To what?" Jack snaps. When I step into the room, I slip into a seat quietly. The blinds are drawn, making the room much darker than usual. "We set this up with Kate. It was supposed to - " He sighs loudly and pinches the bridge of his nose. His dark hair falls forward. I know he's thinking of the guard and the man's family. When Jack looks up, he glances at me.
"Everything's locked up. The cottage, too."
"Good," Jack replies. "Listen, Abby, I know you're pissed at Kate right now, but you need to keep an eye out for her. I don't want the picketers to hurt her."
I nod and stand. Before I leave the room, I lean in and hug him. When I'm on the other side of the door, I pull it shut and take a deep breath. I walk into the front office to find Cara. She's slim, in her thirties, with her dark hair slicked back in a high ponytail. She's wearing a suit, like Gus. The two of them are the only ones who wear suits.
"Hey, Cara," I say.
"Hi, Abby. What's up?" She's sitting at the front desk. We can't see the picketers from here, but we can see the press camped out, waiting for someone to walk outside.
"Cara, I'm watching for someone. If you see her, help her get inside as fast as possible. I need to run back to the cottage to grab my cell." She nods at me and I take off at a jog, my hair sloshing around my face as I move.
Since the doors are usually open, I don't have my phone in my pocket. I leave it on my nightstand. I want to text Kate so she'll know there are a bunch of nuts at the end of the driveway. When I walk outside, I run to the cottage. I grab the phone and notice that I missed a call. I check it quickly. I don't recognize the number, but there's a message. It's from Jackson. He wants to meet up with me and catch up. Now would be the worst time in the world to catch up. Another message plays after that. It's the from movers. Something's happened to my things and I need to call them. I hang up and take a deep breath. How did they find my things? I get the creeping suspicion that this a lot more serious than anyone thinks.
I text Kate quickly and shove the phone in my pocket, before locking the door. I intend to run back to the main building, but a reporter sees me. She steps from between the pine trees that are between the house and the studio and cuts me off. I nearly slam into her. A microphone is shoved into my face.
"Is it true that you consummated your relationship with artist Jonathan Gray before your marriage earlier this month? Is that why you left your church and married him? Did he make you an honest woman? Or did you entrap him?"
My eyes widen as I'm pelted with questions that I can't - I won't - answer. I push the mic away and run for the house. She chases after me with a camera crew on her heels. The others figure it out and soon they are all around the back of the house. I fumble the key, trying to unlock the door as countless microphones are shoved in my face. I can't see the lock. I feel my temper slipping. They hurl questions at me until I crack. Slowly, I turn and say, "I will answer one question and one question only. Then you will get off my property or I will have the cops take you off. Do you understand?"
The reporters roar to life, all speaking over each other. I manage to get the key into the lock. One question is heard above the rest: "Did you love him?"
Twisting the key, I say, "I've always loved him." The door opens and I back inside, slamming it shut and locking it quickly.
My heart is pounding. I hate it when that happens. When everything is good, the reporters act civil. When things are bad, they turn into vultures, all clawing to pick at any scrap of flesh they can get at. Damn. I try to shake it off, but my skin is still prickled with goose bumps.
I run my hands over my arms and feel the phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out. It's from Kate.
One word: "SHIT."
I run to the front just in time to see her car. People are chasing her up the drive-way, yelling at her. She blares the horn and keeps her hand there with a smile on her face. She stops in the closest parking spot and runs inside. An egg hits the door as it swings shut. More eggs are flying through the air and hit her car.
"Holy shit," Kate says so slowly that I can see all her teeth. She glances at me and says, "I'm mad at you about last night, so don't think that's over." Her finger is in my face.
I smack it away. "It's so not over." I release a slow breath so I don't strangle her. Kate is so prickly when she's mad. Prickly is a Texas word. In New York, she's just being a bitch. "Go into the meeting room. I'll be right in."
Kate gives me a don't tell me what to do face and turns her head toward the door. Her earrings swing as she works her jaw and goes in to see the guys. I'm glad that we're usually on the same side. I hate fighting with her.
I tell Cara, "Call the local police station and tell them that the press and the picketers are on our property and won't leave. Ask if they can come down and get them to scatter."
"No problem. I'll keep an eye on the door. I have pepper spray in my desk. It's there if you need it."
I thank her and invite her to come in with us. It's nice knowing that another person is watching out for us. I want to watch out for her, as well. Leaving her alone in the front makes me nervous. I wonder if we should lock the doors and shut down altogether until this blows over, but I can't do that to Jack.
I walk into the conference room and tell them that the press came around the back of the studio and trapped me outside.
"I talked to them," I say, glancing at Jack, knowing he'll be upset.
Gus tries hard not to react, but Kate flips out. She stands and presses her hands on the table, bending her fingers backward as she leans forward, yelling, "You talked to the goddamn press? How stupid are you?"
My mouth flies open to scream back a snarky retort, but Jack beats me to it.
"That's enough," Jack says, his voice rumbling like thunder. He's pissed. The look he gives Kate could kill a chicken. When he turns his gaze back to me, he asks more gently, "Are you all right?"
I nod. "Yes. They ambushed me out back. I couldn't get in because all the doors are locked." Jack's eyes hold mine and I tell him, "I told them that I've always loved you." Jack's brow wrinkles as he looks away from me. He pinches his temple with his right hand and takes a deep breath.
For a moment, everyone is silent. When the talking starts again, no one is yelling.
"It makes Abby look worse and Jack look better," Gus offers. He's staring at Kate, who's pacing the floor across from him. Jack stands at the head of the table with his thick arms folded and flexed across his chest. Jack glances at him, but says nothing.
Kate is chewing on the ends of her hair, thinking. Her eyes dart to the side and she looks at me. The soggy hair falls out from between her lips. Turning her head slowly, she looks toward the window. Everyone watches at her. "Did you hear that?"
Cara rushes toward the door, her eyes searching the room for a sound that some of us missed. I glance at her and the hairs on my neck stand up.
"Hear what?" Gus asks, and gets up from his chair. A second later, something smashes through the glass and tumbles across the floor before coming to a stop. It would have hit Gus in the head if he were still sitting there.
Heart pounding, I ask Cara, "Did you call the cops?"
"They're coming, Abby," she says from the doorway with worry pinching her face. Her jaw hangs open, staring at the broken window.
Jack swiftly moves across the room. The blinds were drawn, but that didn't keep the brick from coming through. It just made it harder for us to see it coming. The salty sea air rustles through the blinds. Jack rips open the shades. Every muscle in his body is flexed, ready to fight. I step toward him with my hand outstretched. I'm not sure what I intend to do, but I move all the same.
The blinds rip off in Jack's hand and the entire thing falls to the floor with a loud clatter. No one is there. No reporters, no protesters, no one. The glass is shattered, glistening in long sharp shards like crystals in the sunlight. The shattered bits spill into the room and glitter on the carpet.
Jack bends down and lifts the brick. He turns it over, and on the smooth side his fingers brush over the big black letters as his eyes narrow with rage.
There are only five letters on that brick, five letters that form one nasty word. I feel my throat constrict when I see the fat letters. They wanted me to see it. They knew we were in this room. Still, it jars me, making my stomach lurch like I'm going to be sick.
"WHORE."
Jack's eyes shift to me as he holds the brick in his hand. Kate is standing perfectly still. Gus says nothing. I walk over and take the brick from Jack and put it on the table. I've been taught since I was a child that words are only words, that they only hurt you if you let them, but that isn't true. Words can build you up and words can destroy a person. I pretend it doesn't hurt me. I don't want it to sink beneath my skin. I don't want to spend hours crying over what some hater thinks of me. I shouldn't care.
My finger touches the word on the top of the brick. I say, "It's only a brick. It could have been worse."
Chapter 27-28
Chapter 27
ABBY
Jack doesn't wait for someone to speak. He takes my hand and pulls me away. We leave the others behind and he speaks to me in the gallery. It's dark. There are no windows and no bricks in here. He grabs me and pulls me into his arms. Jack breathes hard, his hands stroking my hair like I'm hurt. "I'm so sorry, Abby. I don't want you to go through this. Let's take the next flight out. We can wait for it to blow over and come back after the eye of the storm passes." There's desperation in his eyes. He wants to protect me, but he can't protect me from this.