“I will.” Just as soon as she got up the courage to tell them what had happened to their dreams and her hopes. Lots more calls lay ahead of her today.
The agent paused, staring at Carly longer than she had at any time earlier. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not professional, but I can’t help staring at you because you look so familiar. I know we’d never met. But you have such a distinctive look. So polished yet edgy. Should I know who you are?”
Carly never knew how to answer that particular question. Should a person recognize her? As if it was her responsibility to make an identification for the questioner. “I did some fashion work years ago.”
“Magazine?”
“And other things.”
For instance, Vogue. W. A stint as a Victoria Secret’s model. But not going there. She knew the woman would go home and Google her. And then she’d know.
The insurance agent smiled. “Let me see what else I can find out for you. In my business I meet all kinds of restoration specialists. Of course, insurance might not pay for all of it.”
“Not my biggest problem at the moment.”
“That must be nice not to have money issues.” Again, the agent sent her a probing speculative glance Carly rebuffed with a shrug.
“So, thanks for the information about cleanup services. With tomorrow being Sunday, I suppose I’ll have to wait until Monday to get someone out.”
“No. Professional water-damage restoration experts are available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
“But what about my things? I need to make certain things don’t get trampled before I let people in.” She glanced around vaguely, her eyes unable to focus on anything in particular because of the sheer number of possibilities. “There’re pieces of jewelry scattered everywhere, for instance.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. You should probably hire a security person until you’ve had a chance to retrieve those items. But don’t wait past tomorrow morning to call the remedial people in. You might be held responsible for creating a sidewalk hazard.”
Carly glanced out the front window, half obscured by the plywood boards the fire department had put up to discourage looters. Beyond those windows, water still drained from under her door into the street.
After the agent was gone, she waded through the shop, picking up a necklace here, a bracelet there. She laid them out on a dry area she found under a tarp. Within half an hour she had collected one of a pair of amethyst earrings, several silver bracelets, leather purses that had been protected by the tarps, and a half a dozen necklaces. But working alone and moving carefully made it a very slow process. After an hour it was clear that it would take more than her solitary efforts to salvage the dozens of items hidden beneath the dirty slush. She needed help. But who?
Not her aunt Fredda. With her asthma, she shouldn’t be in this environment. Jarius would help, but it seemed to need a woman’s delicate touch.
That’s when it hit her that she hadn’t renewed a single friendship in the three months since she’d been home. She’d come with a dream and put all her energies into bringing it to fruition. The fact that she had no friends suited her. Less distractions. Less need to make explanations. Less … everything.
Disheartened and growing worried, she scraped a chunk of ceiling off a table and hitched a hip on it to rest. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine back twenty-four hours to the bright bazaar quality this space had been. Swirls of color and textures and shapes and scents filled her memory. She loved the scent of pear, clean and spare and bright and ripe. Her stomach crimped at the thought. Pear. She hadn’t eaten yet.
She glanced at her phone. 11:03. She’d work until lunchtime.
The knock on the front door surprised her. Prepared to tell another curious person that, no, they weren’t open. And, yes, there had been a fire. Duh!
Through the glass in the door she could see a young man in a white jumpsuit and reversed blue baseball cap waving at her. She went to the door but didn’t open it.
He didn’t seem at all worried about that, yelling through the door, “Hi there, ma’am. I’m with CowTown Fire and Water Disaster. We’ve been hired to clean up next door. Mind if I talk with you?” He pulled a card from his pocket and pressed it to the glass.
Carly’s gaze went from wording on the business card, past his shoulder, to the van parked next door where the words COWTOWN DISASTER: FIRE, WATER, AND HAZARDOUS MATERIAL RESTORATION stenciled on the side.
She unlocked the door.
The man came in. “How are you, ma’am? Are you the owner?”
Carly nodded.
He did, too, and held out his hand. “I’m Cody. I’m sorry about what you’re going through here.” He glanced around. “Looks like you had a really nice place.”