Pentimento

Chapter 11 - Started smoking again

An e-mail from the board flew into her mailbox like a hand grenade. There had been several complaints from students and the board felt it was needed to have a serious conversation about her work. She sighed, almost emotionless. She felt it coming but she couldn't stop it. She wanted to leave but had no motivation to put that plan in motion. Students were dropping her class like it was a contagious disease and everyone knew it was because of her. She was a different teacher than they signed up for.

With a cigarette in her hand, she stood against a wall. It had been at least twenty years since she last smoked, but it was such a nice escape now. The cold air, the warm smoke, it all seemed fitting. While she tried to think about nothing and appreciate the moment, two low voices around the corner of her wall interrupted her.

"It's a hell of a risky move."

Desperate for any distraction, Rose pricked her ears. She wasn't proud of it, but eavesdropping was another bad habit she picked up since Marjorie left. Other people's problems were an addicting relief from her own life.

"If Evert says it's necessary, I'm on board. Honestly, I just want this thing to be over already."

"Don't we all. I'm not going to help him by the way."

"I assume Hilko is going to help him."

"Shouldn't one of us be there to?"

"Why?"

"Just to make sure?"

"Make sure..."

"Peter don't play dumb with me. I can't be the only one who thinks they are going to leave us hanging."

"They wouldn't."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"I can swing by the garage after I put the kids to bed."

"No, don't worry, I'll go. It's my day off anyway."

One man started walking away.

"Sebastian, they'll be there at one. They'll be quick. Be safe, all right?'

Rose was holding her breath like her life depended on it, because well, it probably did. The cigarette was now on the ground. In her hand, she held her phone. It was recording every word. When the men walked away, she sent it in a message to Marjorie. Her heart was racing. She felt no desire to smoke, nor to go back to her classes again.

The next day, Marjorie moved back into Rose's guest bedroom and at eight the next morning the kitchen island was once again taken over by her work.

"I put your coffee in there!" she said to Rose, who ran through the house like a whirlwind who hadn't decided where to go.

"You are the best!"

"I know. Have you decided yet?"

"I'm going for the "whatever happens, happens" approach."

Marjorie nodded. "Brave choice. Brave choice." She looked at the time, "now hurry! Or they'll fire you before you even get there!"

Rose nodded, looked at Marjorie for a last supporting glance and headed out the door.

When she returned to the apartment she felt like a different person. Administrative leave sounded worse than it felt. It felt like freedom, even if it would result in getting fired.

"For how long?" asked Marjorie.

"Don't know, as long as they need to proof that I'm bad at my job?" Rose said while she put her hair up in a bun.

"I don't believe you are bad at your job." Marjorie got Rose a blanket.

"I didn't used to be that bad. I used to be able to deal with how boring my classes really were, but I just can't anymore. They should have fired me already."

"So now what?"

"I'm sure I could do something else with my degree."

"You could become a psychologist?"

"Dear lord, no. I do not want to deal with other people's problems."

"What if you could choose anything in the world. What job would you like then?"

"Nothing." Rose dramatically put her hands up in the air.

"Bullshit," Marjorie called her out, "everyone likes something. What did you like as a kid?"

"I liked to go for walks, which doesn't pay much, I'm sure."

"What else?"

"I took painting lessons. A writing class once, that was fun. I liked art in general. But you know, not anymore, really."

"What do you mean you don't love art anymore?"

"I still like it. I guess. It's not the same though. I don't want to work with art."

"Why not?"

Rose kept quiet. She thought back to before Marjorie showed up, when she investigated art heists from her hotel room. She was surrounded by stories about tragedies, but the memories were fond. She had loved reading about art and looking at the pictures. And working with Marjorie was another level of fun she hadn't expected.

"I can't. That's my past. Nothing good would come of it."

Marjorie made a denouncing noise, and after a few seconds of overthinking, she started talking. "Okay, I hope you are listening to me. Rose," she looked her in the eyes, "your eyes light up when you get your hands on a picture of a pretty painting. I can't even imagine how happy you must look in a museum. Something bad happened when you were young. That changed your story, I get it. But Rose, I hope you forgive me for saying this. I don't think it changed you."

Rose stared at Marjorie, who looked down. Rose felt tears prick in her eyes, before Marjorie could look up to spot them, Rose leaned in to hug her.

"I wish that was true. I wish it was."