Life Incomplete

Chapter 6

"Humph," Lingon said. It was their favorite phrase for showing displeasure. "You could get a different job. You could move to a different place. You could pretty well do anything, and you just stay here?" they said, gesturing wide at the view of Groban's home town from the hill behind the mill. Groban laughed up at his friend. Lingon always saw things as needing to be bigger to be better, and they were always chasing better. They were driven; Groban had to admit that for them.

        "I do actually like it here," he said.

        "I have no idea why," they said, dropping to sit beside Groban in the thick grass. They picked a flower and held it out to him. "Even the foliage is just weeds."

        "These are pretty weeds, though," Groban said, taking the flower. The stem was rough with stiff fuzz and the blue blossom reminded him of one of Lingon's paintings.

        "I gave Addy and Eliza my best portrait of that flower for their wedding," they said, smiling at the view as if seeing something more than what Groban could see. "My agent was so mad at me for not selling it."

        "Eliza loved it, I remember," he said.

        "People should love the art they have, don't you think? Art needs to be seen." Lingon looked over the view, studying how the light played on the buildings, and then they sighed. "Come on," they said, slapping Groban's knee. "You're going to be late."

        The sting of Lingon's fingers on his leg still tingled when Groban's eyes popped open to look around Bill and Susan's spare bedroom. He was in the basement, like the last couple of weekends in the city, and Rita had the spare room on the main floor. There was conversation and laughing upstairs, with footsteps walking around above where Groban had been sleeping. He checked the time on his phone and realized he'd forgotten to set his alarm for this morning. The three parents harassed him about sleeping in as if he was a teenager even though he was only running a half-hour later than he'd wanted to.

        Bill and Susan followed Groban and Rita to the storage facility. They were coming to finish the last of sorting and cleaning out for Thomas's locker. Then they would return the key and get their deposit back.

        "I think Susan will need help today," Rita said during the drive over. "You're okay to work on the locker yourself for the morning?"

        "Yeah, it shouldn't be a problem. I can close up and come help, too, if you want?"

        Rita blinked rapidly and squeezed her hand around his wrist. "I think the three of us can manage. It's more of a mom problem today, I think," she said. Groban took one hand off the wheel so he could cover her fingers and hold her hand on his arm a moment longer.

        He dropped her off at Thomas's locker and then drove to Addy and Eliza's. The locker was less than half full, now. Today the plan had been to tackle clothes.

        Groban shoved the boxes of clothes out of the way and looked at the line of wrapped paintings leaning in a stack against the wall. Lingon had given Addy and Eliza half of what hung on their apartment walls, and the rest they'd collected from other local artists selling in coffee shops and at small shows hosted by community centers. Addy and Eliza hadn't been into sculptures, but they'd loved beautiful paintings.

        He looked up Lingon's website on his phone and found the contact email address for their agent. A quick search online gave him the agency, let him know they were open on Saturdays, and provided a phone number. He called and gave his information and the request to the receptionist for who he wanted to speak to, and then he waited on hold.

        "Hello, Gabrielle speaking," she answered before the first song hit the chorus.

        "Hi. I don't know if you remember me, but –"

        "You're Lingon's friend, Groban. The one they called Groot, right?" she interrupted.

        "Yeah," he said, surprised she knew him.

        "It's good to hear from you. How are you? How's their family?" she asked. He didn't know how to answer.

        "I'm here in the city today with Rita, Eliza's mom. We rented a storage locker for the things from Addy and Eliza's apartment so that we had time to go through all of it."

        "Oh my mouth. I'm so sorry," she said.

        "We have all of the art from the apartment. Some of it was by Lingon, some of it wasn't. I don't really know what to do with it. I think everything is an original."

        "Oh. Um..." He could hear quick footsteps and then a door opening. "Do I have anything major this afternoon? Or is it just that meeting this morning?" she asked, her voice sounding distant because she wasn't talking into the phone. The answer was a murmur that didn't have any words in it.

        "Wait, it's okay. You don't have to –"

        "Yes I do," she interrupted. "For Lingon, I really do. The charity that they supported the most is having a benefit next weekend. All profits from sales will help people. Can you bring everything you're not keeping to me at one o'clock today? I'll call it a donated private collection. Anonymous donation. I'll make everyone hate me and change the floor plan if I have to for fitting in the extra artwork. Don't worry if it's not Lingon's. I'll take whatever you don't. One o'clock today will work for you?"