Free Her Last Letter by Nancy C. Johnson Page B

soon, but I am.”
    “Is anything wrong?”
    “Wrong? Oh, you mean my mother? No, she’s fine. They’re all fine. No, my sister’s getting married, and at first I didn’t think I’d be able to make it, but I did. The wedding’s tomorrow. You want to be my date?”
    Before I could answer, he continued. “I’m kidding, of course. It’s that whole church, morals thing. You know, married woman, single man. My family is so not with it. I don’t give a damn, but they might.”
    He had me laughing now.
    “Oh, Josh. So, which sister is it?”
    “Amy.”
    “Well, give her my congratulations.”
    “I will. Say … do you have a minute? For that drink, I mean.”
    “Would you believe I’m in Denver?”
    “You are? No. Why?”
    “A good reason. A big solo exhibition at a mall.”
    “I see.” Then sounding happier, he said, “That’s great. Are you done for the day?”
    “No. No, it doesn’t start until tomorrow. I set up tonight after the mall closes.”
    “Which mall?”
    “I don’t think you’d know it. Vista Meadows. New, kind of classy, I guess.”
    “No, I don’t know it. But I’ll be going to the airport on Sunday. I have some business in Denver. Maybe I can stop by.”
    “Well, I guess you could,” I said, hesitating, “but I won’t have much time to talk. I’ll be busy trying to sell.”
    “Then maybe I’ll buy something. I haven’t seen anything you’ve done in a while. Are you expensive?”
    “If I don’t sell anything Saturday, the prices could get a lot lower by Sunday.”
    “You’ll sell. Maybe I’ll buy the whole bunch.”
    I smiled. “I don’t think you have to do that. Maybe just do a lot of gushing about my work in front of the customers, pretend to be an art critic or something.”
    “I certainly will, but actually I can’t guarantee to make it. I have a few things to take care of on Sunday, so don’t count on me.”
    “If you’re there great, if not, some other time.”
    “Yeah.”
    I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and felt as if we might drift into dangerous territory if the conversation continued. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Josh. I probably should call the mall and do some last minute-”
    “Gwyn?”
    “What?”
    He was silent, then cleared his throat. “Have a good time tomorrow. Enjoy yourself. You’ll do fine.”
    After we hung up, I made a list of questions to ask the mall people, just to reaffirm what they’d told me before. I’d get over there by eight tonight, before the mall closed at nine, look at the layout, plan how to set everything up, then get started.
    Unfortunately, by the time I drove over, the sleet, still heavy-and now made worse by the addition of wind-had glazed the roads and made them icy. The van didn’t handle as well as the Jeep, a stick shift, enabling me to downshift quickly when needed, and I had my reservations about the quality of tread on the tires. The van slid at every corner even though I was barely moving.
    To make matters worse, a line of traffic grew steadily longer behind me. A truck, its headlights flooding the interior of the van, loomed inches from my bumper.
    I could see the mall lights up ahead on my right as I began to ascend a small hill. The rear end of the van swished right, then left. I clutched the steering wheel, willing my foot off the brake. The truck faded back.
    I pulled into a well-lit area of the immense parking lot and stopped to take a breather. According to my instructions, I was to go to a loading dock marked B-7, where I could back the van inside, shielded from the weather. I’d impressed upon the mall people that I couldn’t unload my paintings and panels unless they were well protected. They’d assured me everything would be fine.
    But, of course, I couldn’t find B-7. The way they’d spoken, I’d assumed it would be easy to locate. But there weren’t any markings of any kind outside, or else the dark night and inclement weather had erased them. I parked the van as