A knock on my office door sets my heart to racing. “Yes?” I brace for whoever it will be—including Finan.
It’s one of his crew guys. Young, dreadlocked, reeking of pot and patchouli. “Hi, Ms. Clarke. Just brought the mail in from the ferry and there are some big boxes here for you?”
“Oh! Yes! Thank you …”
“Geordie.”
“Right. Sorry. Geordie. I’m the worst with names.” I slide my feet back into my heels, straighten my blazer, and follow Geordie out of my office into the mail area. A wheeled parcel cart supports four waist-high rectangular boxes. “Ah, so glad to see they shipped these correctly.”
“What are they?”
“Artwork. My mother’s photographs. From all over the world.”
“Wasn’t your mom, like, a—”
I flash him a deadly look.
“I’ll just unload the mail,” he says, unzipping the Canada
