“Do you think she’ll be all right?” I asked.
“Of course not,” said Jackaby. “I think she will be dead. Generally speaking that falls outside the realm of all right. I do not, however, think she will be any worse for our absence.” He stepped into the front room and pulled on his multicolored knit cap.
“I still feel dreadful,” I said. “I wish I could do something. Jenny had been giving me some good advice about . . .” I looked at Jackaby, swimming in his bulky coat with the ridiculous hat stuffed over his messy hair, and decided not to go into the details of our conversation. “Well, anyway, she was being rather kind, and reminding me that fortune favors the bold.”
“That’s nonsense,” said Jackaby. “Fortune favors the prepared. Unless you’re talking about the Fates, in which case fortune generally favors Zeus. Were you talking about the Fates?”
“No. We weren’t talking about the Fates. Never mind. I went and botched it, that’s all—not that you helped anything this morning with that teacup business. I know you might think it pointless, but I just wish I could fix it. It’s bad enough to bungle things professionally and . . . well . . . romantically. It would be nice if I could at least get a friendship right.”
“I don’t think it’s pointless,” said Jackaby. “I don’t think it’s pointless at all. I think it’s a marvelous sentiment.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Atonement and reconciliation after an argument demonstrate strength of character and bolster the atmosphere of the workplace.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Mostly I just wanted her to feel better.”
“And mostly I just want to be sure you don’t come to me to discuss your romantic entanglements. I much prefer that you remain on comfortable terms with Miss Cavanaugh. Although, should she ever be unavailable,” Jackaby said earnestly, “I want you to know”—he put a hand gently on my shoulder—“that Douglas is an excellent listener.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Please do. In the meantime, try not to dwell on Miss Cavanaugh. She has more going through her metaphysical mind than you or I could ever fully comprehend, and in the end she must cross certain mental bridges alone. She needs time more than she needs flowers or kind words right now. When we return, you can regale her with glamorous accounts of tracking a bloodsucking murderer, maybe even tuck in a few rousing tales about digging up rocks, and I’m sure everything will go back to—well not normal, but whatever it was before.”
Jackaby might have had the social graces of a brick, but I did feel fractionally better. The least I could do was take Jenny’s advice, and try to be bold on my little adventure. Today was about investigating my very own mystery, about helping unearth historic discoveries, and, admittedly, just a little bit about seeing a really sweet boy who made me feel sort of wobbly inside. I picked up my valise and pulled open the bright red door.