For the next few nights, Ephram would become nervous before going down to take over from Vince in the gallery. I tried to reassure him Teddy was very unlikely to show up there. “In fact, he’s probably gone back to wherever he lives.”
“What if that’s here because he moved here? What if he figures since I was an art history major I might be working at a gallery and starts checking them all?”
“You’re making mountains out of molehills,” I replied. “He was close to drunk, I suspect, and acting out as a result.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
By the end of the week, Ephram finally relaxed—to the point he was willing for us to go out dancing again. “But not back there,” he stated emphatically.
On that, I agreed. There was no sense tempting fate. I wasn’t even willing to try the clubs in the Qua
