Chapter Text
“No fight in me, I'm defeated
I know I'm fooled, I can't help it.”
Atlantis.
5th of January
Brooklyn NY
6:00 - 6:25 AM
Eli Whipp’s apartment
Eli Whipp found himself staring at his ceiling again, this is how he woke up now. Looking at his white and very old ceiling, counting the cracks and bumps, somehow he found comfort in that. It’s something he could control, counting things on his ceiling. Eli did this every morning, he would wake up at 6 AM on the dot and with the very early morning dawn he would start the count. It took him about 15 to 20 minutes every morning.
Eli lived in a studio apartment so there wasn’t that much ceiling to begin with, but once he was finished he would let himself get up and start the day. Eli’s place was small. His bed was tucked in one of the corners, it was just a simple mattress with a few sheets. After being away for so long, sleeping anywhere not on the ground was foreign. Eli’s apartment was nearly empty, if someone didn’t know any better - it looked like a squatter was living there.
There was his bed, it was perfectly placed in the corner, one side was brick which led to the off white wall that faced the street. There were a few windows on that wall, Eli faced the sun when it raised, he loved the natural sunlight he had for a few hours. Then a few feet away was a small couch, it was somewhat comfortable - there were more times of him falling asleep on the couch than on his bed.
In front of the couch and placed against the brick wall was his tv. It was small and crappy, he rarely used it, he didn’t even know why he still bothered having it. But somehow he never gave it away.
Then there was his front door and closet, where he managed to fit all his clothes in. There was another door next to it which led to his bathroom then lastly the kitchen, it was a small kitchen, but Eli didn’t care, there was a small table with some miss matched chairs and against the wall was his bookshelf.
It was big, probably the biggest thing in his apartment and the only thing he truly loved in his apartment, Eli even had two more boxes next to the shelf full of books because he ran out of room. He looked over to see his digital clock and phone on the floor next to his bed.
6:25.
Eli took a breath in and out and finally got up. Now he would go do his daily morning run, he would run by the river, it took two hours of his day, to run, stop and drink his coffee at the same coffee shop he was going to then run back. Eli did this everyday since he moved. That was 4 months ago, rain or shine forced himself to run. Once he returned home, Eli would read for another hour or two then nothing…
Eli got done with his morning at around noon to 1 PM, once he was done he did nothing. Eli had no reason to do anything. He couldn’t find anything to fill his time or busy his mind, he would sit at the kitchen table or couch until he felt his stomach twist in knots then he would finally let himself eat. He would eat twice a day. A coffee, a snack then dinner, you couldn’t really call it dinner or a meal. Eli never got his appetite back after his last tour in Afghanistan, Eli couldn’t even call it a tour because it was cut short…
Eli would spend this time. This time doing nothing - trying to remember the details that led him to the hospital and being honorably discharged. He remembers in pieces, but never can fully put it together. Eli didn’t know if it’s his brain trying to block the memory out because of how horrible it was or truly part of the explosion. The explosion that killed his friends, the explosion that made him stay in the hospital for months, that gave him night terrors, the scars.
Maybe it was the explosion that made it hard to remember that day. He remembers the pain in his back, it was the worst pain he had ever felt, Eli remembers he tried to move, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He couldn’t feel his legs, he felt the warmth of something on them. They were stuck. He would remember trying to yell for help, but somehow couldn’t. He remembers the moans.
That was the worst part, that’s what woke him up, he would have dreams of the men calling for help and him trying to get up and help but couldn’t. Eli would try and try again but it’s always the same thing, the next thing Eli knew he would be sitting up in a cold sweat in his bed.
It would take him hours to go back to bed, Eli often would be scared to go back to bed, the fear of hearing the pain like it was the first time. But no matter the loss of sleep, he would wake up at 6 AM. Years in training and in combat, Eli knew that it would eventually take a toll once he left the service but that was before the bombing, Eli tried his best to get through the day without a panic attack or people noticing his scars.
Eli did often wear long shirts and pants after he got out of the hospital, even if the weather would be hot, he would rather sweat it out then people stare at his legs or his arms. Which have significantly improved and now were faded scars, it was worse on his back. And his wrists.
That’s why he slowly withdrew from society, when he would go to his regular coffee shop during his morning runs it would be hard not to miss the tall Indigenous man with the perfect jaw and the sad brown eyes, when he would reach his arm out, the barista or bystander would see slowly healing cuts on it. The awkwardness and sadness in their eyes were noticeable and Eli would quickly retract his arm back into his sweatshirt and leave. Eli stopped when he moved to New York.
When Eli got out of the hospital he slowly lost his appetite, eating food was a challenge for him in the hospital because of the amount of pain he had been in. Because of that and running everyday, he became skinny which wasn’t as noticeable. He was tall and in good shape, Eli hoped it wasn’t noticeable. He didn’t actively talk to people or went out of his way to make friends, he was the lonely wolf destined to watch from the outside.
—
Greenwich Village
Cornelia Locke’s house
7:30 AM
30 minutes by car Northwest of Brooklyn
If traffic is good.
Cornelia laid under the sheets, they were white so some sunlight creeped though. Cornelia did this less and less, after her son died Cornelia buried herself under her sheets until she couldn’t breathe then pushing them off so she could gasp for the air waiting around the sheets. Cornelia wanted to feel her chest fill with breathe, her heart going at a stable rate now that there was oxygen. She somehow wanted to experience what it was like, having air leave and your chest slow down, she spent the last few hours of her son's life watching his chest slowly raise and fall and try to gasp for air. The loss of her only child…
Cornelia pushed the sheets away and took a deep breath, it had been almost 5 years since Thomas died. Cornelia’s mind led to next year, Thomas would be gone longer than he was alive, which of course is not fair. Her child would be forever 5, forever stuck. Cornelia pushed that thought to the back of her mind and got up, her weekdays started at 7:30. Cornelia had her morning routine down to perfection, shower - tea and a light breakfast - getting dressed and ready then out the door by 8:30. After years of trying to make the perfect hour routine she had done it. Cornelia made herself be on time for this 5 times a week, if not, she felt like her whole day would be off.
Cornelia would be at work at 8:50.
8:55 if traffic was bad but luckily her driver had found the perfect routine for Cornelia. Her driver - Charlie, was probably the closest person Cornelia had in her life. Cornelia had been estranged from her father when she got pregnant, so Cornelia left - Cornelia lived in the country, a few hours away from London on a beautiful estate with her parents. She missed the openness of it, and the complete darkness too. At night she could see thousands of stars, Cornelia could spend hours looking at them. But her mother had died from illness when she was 18, her father changed. He grew cold.
When Cornelia got pregnant, something shifted, Cornelia immediately knew she had to leave and never return home. She took a few bags and the small inheritance she had and left for New York, now she had a beautiful apartment, a successful art gallery and…
Her son was gone and she had no one, no one but for Charlie, he had been with Cornelia since even before she moved to New York. Technically speaking, he had worked for her father but truly only stayed working for him because he loved Cornelia as if she was his own daughter. Charlie was more than a driver to Cornelia, he was the only person there when her son died, and had to pick up the pieces of her.
Charlie would look at Cornelia in the rear view mirror each day when Cornelia started going back to work. Each day her face got the color back, a weaker version of her smile had recently returned, some of her old habits like when she was nervous or flustered Cornelia would tuck her hair behind her ears or bite her lip.
Laugher, that was the last thing Charlie is still waiting on. He hadn’t heard it since Thomas had passed. Cornelia’s laugh was loud, it was a good loud, it seemed to take over her body every time she laughed, when you heard it, it was contagious and you wanted to laugh. You wanted to know why this brilliant, intelligent, beautiful woman was laughing with her whole body.
8:50.
Charlie slowly stopped the black SUV in the alley, "We are here…” He said as he put the car in park.
Cornelia looked up from her phone, she didn’t even realize the car had stopped.
“That was quick,” She replied.
“What can I say, I’m good at my job…”
Cornelia smiled, "The best in the business!”
Charlie watched as Cornelia gathered her large tote bag, a laptop, changers, books and a planner then some room for some snacks. Charlie wondered how much that weighed.
“I’ll see you at 3:15 sharp!” Cornelia reminded Charlie.
She did this everyday.
“3:15” He replied.
Charlie watched Cornelia leave the car and quickly walked to the back door of the art gallery, tote bag over on one shoulder, key and phone in the other hand. He watched Cornelia open the door with the keys and waved back to give the sign that she is safe and he can leave. He nodded and started the car.
Cornelia watched the car leave as she held the door open, she watched as the car turned and finally went inside. Cornelia had owned and operated this art gallery after she moved to New York, she knew people who knew people who knew the previous owner who wanted to retire somewhere south. The gallery gained some attention when Cornelia started, no one knew of this beautiful British woman who was pregnant, single and had no family. But Cornelia was /
is
/ smart and used it to her advantage and gained a niche following within the wealthy art scene in New York. 5 years later, she is still here.
Cornelia walked through the backroom, which held desks for her employees, the staff bathroom and small kitchen then her office and storage for art. Cornelia turned some of the lamps that were placed in the backroom. Cornelia has 8 people working for her and they would arrive around the same time as her but the gallery is getting ready for a new show.
The American West…
Cornelia was always fascinated about it, the whole cowboy aesthetic, how America was at point the wild west and everything. Cornelia gave her staff the week off, it was always easier for Cornelia to plan the show and hire special art Installers. Today is the first wave of getting the art pieces, the next two days would be the artists dropping off their pieces and planning where to put them with Cornelia. All of them are Indigenous artists doing different forms of art, Cornelia rarely had favorite pieces that were showcased but this is a rare time.
It’s a painting, not a large one, the painting was small. A small canvas painted with oil paint, it showed a buffalo being surrounded. Something about it, Cornelia couldn’t explain it, there was something about it.
Cornelia dropped the tote bag in her office and walked over to the main room with laptop and hand in hand. The main room is a good sized space, the walls were a nice light tan and light brown wood flooring, there weren't any windows but the front door was a large glass door that brought in some natural sunlight then the front desk near the front door.
Cornelia bent down and placed her phone and laptop on the ground, Cornelia was in the middle of the room. She opened her laptop to start work, and the screensaver of her and her son lit up…
Cornelia remembered that day in great detail, it was a selfie of her and Thomas in Central Park, right before he died. It was early August, it was mid afternoon, Thomas had always loved Central Park. It was only 15 minutes by bus from where they lived so when the weather was nice, Cornelia and he would try to go every Saturday. Cornelia would sit on a park beach with the backpack Thomas forced her to bring every time, the backpack had a random assortment of books and toys. She would have another bag with snacks and other essentials.
But that Saturday…it felt different, Cornelia wanted to sit in the grass, she wanted to chase and hug Thomas so hard that he couldn’t breathe. That afternoon was slowly turning into dust, Cornelia had tuckered Thomas out, the pair found themselves laying in the grass looking up at the trees.
“Mommy…” Thomas said next to his mother.
“Yes Darling?” Replied Cornelia.
She turned her head to look at him while he spoke.
“I like you,” He said.
Cornelia laughed, she took her arm and pulled him to her filling up the space between them.
“You are very silly, you know that?” She asked.
He nodded and giggled.
-
The following Thursday at 2:17 AM Thomas took his final breath, Cornelia held his tiny hand and pushed through the cries saying it was okay for him to let go. She remembered the sound of the monitor as it flatlined, his hand no longer having movement. The sounds were what got her the most, the sound of him trying to catch his breath, the sound of flatlining. It’s something that you couldn’t forget.
Cornelia felt her eyes water, her cheeks red and her chest ached as she remembered that. Cornelia was told countless times in therapy that grief was non-liner and different for everyone, which is true but she felt like she would never escape this. Losing her son, she felt like how could someone just go back to being normal.
Cornelia wiped her tears away and took deep breaths.
It’s okay to feel like this, you are going to be okay. She thought to herself.
–
2:00 PM
Brooklyn NY.
Eli Whipp’s apartment.
Eli found himself on his bed, scrolling through the various job apps and postings. Since his move, Eli hadn’t really found a permanent job, he always would work at random with some places around his apartment. Like the convenient store down the street from him who would hire him for simple fixes or errands that the owner couldn’t do, the owner was an older man who didn’t have anyone - much like Eli. He got a good amount of money from the military for serving so long and being wounded and had disability because of the type of Injuries he sustained but Eli wanted a constant job. Maybe having consistency would help him get better and keep his mind. When he was in the hospital, they tried getting Eli to see the hospital therapist.
To see where his mental state was, which obviously was not good. But he would dance around the questions and get short responses, once he got out, they highly recommended him seeing one. A soldier who went through the trauma needed one to understand the PTSD and how to deal with it, but Eli refused. One of his fatal flaws is his stubbornness, he didn’t want someone to point out the obvious, of course he had all these issues. He didn’t need someone to him something he already knew, Eli wanted to work his own stuff out first. Which he hadn’t.
The night terrors, loss of appetite and more.
But here he is, searching for a job thinking that would cure a lot of it. Maybe he could find someone if he got a job, god knows the last time Eli Whipp went on a date, Eli paused - he had to think about it. When was the last time he went on a date, it must have been sometime between his second and third (his last) tour. He was thinking about the timeline.
He got to New York 4 months ago, he got out of the hospital 4 and half years ago, he was in the hospital for almost a year. His last tour lasted 3 months. That would make it about 6 years ago…6 years ago was his last official date, he wasn’t really surprised. Eli found himself kind of hard to connect to other people, he had been through experiences not a lot of people go through. Even before he joined the army, he found himself alone when he turned 18 without family, in the middle of nowhere Nebraska without a purpose.
That’s one of the main reasons why Eli joined the army, to have some sort of purpose, to give his life meaning.
Eli laid his phone down finally on the floor next to his mattress and closed his eyes, he just wanted to rest for a few minutes.
–
Greenwich Village
Cornelia Locke’s house
9:30 PM
Cornelia was in bed, her laptop on her lap, somehow she always fell into an internet wormhole before she went to sleep. Finding random articles that were suggested to her then filling into the wormhole, but tonight, she found herself looking at different Indigenous tribes by state. Cornelia wanted to know more about each of the artist’s history and where they came from, there were a few artists that had roots in the Nebraska/Kansas area, each tribe was alphabetical and categorized by state.
“Pawnee…” Cornelia whispered to herself, clicking on the Pawnee tab.
Cornelia somehow had read everything on the tribe and didn’t even realize she was up until well past midnight, which she rarely did anymore.
-
Cornelia woke up to the sound of her bedside alarm going off, she spared out her arm and slammed the alarm off. She still had her eyes closed, Cornelia rubbed her eyes and then looked over to see the time.
“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!”
—
Brooklyn NY.
Eli Whipp’s apartment.
Eli felt his body jolt up. His chest trying to catch breathe from the panic of waking up like this, he looked around seeing where he was.
Eli was still in his apartment…
He looked down seeing he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday, had Eli slept since 2 PM?
He left out a soft groan and forced himself to get up, when he got to his feet Eli looked outside. Cloudy. Eli could tell that these were storm clouds coming, if he did his run now, he would miss the storm by a few minutes, and he decided to take that chance. Eli quickly changed into his workout clothes; a long sleeved gray hoodie, black sweats and a very used pair of Nike running shoes. When he got to the street he started running his normal routine.
-
-
Cornelia barely made it to the gallery when it started raining, it wasn’t a nice light rain but a heavy winter downpour that would probably turn into hail soon. Cornelia ran to her office to drop her stuff and then rushed over to the front desk in the main part of the gallery. She didn’t notice that tall man who was dripping wet standing in the middle of the gallery.
-
-
Eli had made it halfway through his hour running when it started pouring, he thought he had more time. But Eli pushed on trying to find somewhere on his routine to stop at and stay there until it stopped running, he only had his keys and enough money for coffee so he couldn’t go home on the train or anything. Eli did remember that there was an art gallery, just 2 blocks up, he passed it everyday on his run, he remembered it because of how beautiful the doors were. It was opening when he started his run then the double doors would be slightly opened when he would run back.
Maybe he would be lucky and someone would be there. So Eli pushed himself to run the last 2 blocks.
When he made it, he looked through the doors, he couldn’t see anyone, he couldn’t see anything because of the rain. He pushed the handle of the door, it opened…
Eli had a sigh of relief and quickly got inside. When he was fully inside - there was a black rug, he quickly looked around to see the wooden floor, so Eli thought best to take his shoes and socks off and leave them on the rug. They were filled with water so Eli didn’t want to ruin the nice brown floors. Once he finished with his shoes, Eli slowly walked to the center of the gallery - leaving a small trail of water behind him.
“Hello!” He called out.
Someone had to be there, the front doors were open. Eli wanted for another minute and called out again, "Hello!” He said again.
He wanted again, a pool of water slowly started at his feet. After a few minutes, he heard movement…from the back, he saw a door in the corner, Eli was about to speak in the diction of the door when it swung open. Eli suddenly straightened up, his arms at his sides like he was ready to be given a command by a higher up. He watched as a woman raced out, he watched her, she had dirty blonde hair. She had nice black dress pants, a white business casual shirt and heels on, he didn’t say anything as she got closer because Eli thought she had seen him.
It’s pretty impossible to miss the tall man with water dripping from him but the woman walked right past him. The woman made it to the front doors, she missed something…
Cornelia looked down when she reached the front doors, she had the front door keys in her hand and ready to unlock them. She looked down, she saw the Nike shoes, they were soaked and resting on the rug - Cornelia continued to look at the floor as she floored the trail of water to the middle of the floor. Still at the front doors, Corneila turned slightly to look at the man who was standing in the middle of her art gallery. The pool of water at his bare feet was slowly expanding, her eyes started at the bottom, his black sweatpants, then she saw his arms that were tightly to his side. His gray sweatshirt was now a shade darker because of the amount of water, then Cornelia got to his face.
His face, there were no words to describe his face, his black hair was a little past his ears and seemed longer because of course he was soaked from head to toe.Cornelia made eye contact with him.
Eli’s eyes were a shade of brown brown, they reflected beautifully during the summer when the sun hit him. She had never seen eyes like his before.
“Um, hi?” Eli awkwardly said.
He still stood there, with his arms and legs tightly together.
Cornelia quickly snapped back.
Towels!
“Towels! You need towels,” Cornelia spited out.
Eli nodded in agreement.
Cornelia quickly walked back to the backrooms again to grab some, there were a lot because of the art installments. She would place them on the ground so the art or floors wouldn’t get damaged. Cornelia found them and grabbed a few then returned back to the front.
Eli was still standing in the same spot, he watched Cornelia enter again with towels in her hands and walk over to him.
“Um, here -” Cornelia started, she lifted the towels towards him.
“Eli…and thank you,” He replied, he finally raised arms to grab them.
Their hands touched as Eli tried to grab the towels from her, Cornelia’s hands were also cold. But for a brief moment he felt something. Cornelia’s cheeks suddenly got red when their hands briefly touched, Eli looked at her face and noticed. He quickly grabbed the towels from her and pulled them towards him, Cornelia felt embarrassed as she let go of the towels. She was blushing in front of a man she didn’t know.
She watched him put the towels over his clothes, I need to talk, Cornelia thought.
“Ah, I’m Cornelia…Cornelia Locke, I work here - actually no, um, I own this gallery.”
Fuck! She was word dumping to him.
“Eli…Eli Whipp,” Eli replied with.
He had finished putting the towels on him and put out his hand for her to shake it. She did. The handshake was slow, Eli and Cornelia stared at each other, but not the staring someone might think.
It was an intense stare, it was a slow motion world stopping, once in a lifetime kind of stare. The handshake stopped after a few seconds but neither didn’t let go, the moment felt like forever had gone by when Eli finally spoke.
“Your floor, I don’t want to ruin it…”
Cornelia and Eli finally let their hands go and Cornelia took a step back, she looked down seeing the small pool of water that was around Eli’s feet.
“Oh, yeah, of course, let me grab some things…feel free to sit,” She said, it was almost a whisper when she spoke.
Cornelia has some movement to the chair behind the desk so Eli knew where to grab a chair. Eli nodded as Cornelia slowly turned and walked away. He watched with the towels still warped around him, he watched her long hair then to her legs then to her back. Eli waited until Cornelia was out of the room, he walked over to the desk and lifted the chair up, he didn’t realize until now that the gallery was empty. There were a few paintings, Eli had guessed they were paintings because they were still in packaging and covered on the floor ready to be placed on the wall. Eli took the chair and placed it in the middle of the wall facing the double doors. To keep a lookout, it was still raining, Eli stupidly didn’t have his phone so he had no other option but to wait it out.
After 5 minutes or so, Cornelia returned with some more towels and another chair for her. Eli quickly sat up when she entered and watched her place the towels where the small puddle was.
“I apologize for that,” Eli said, standing up wanting to help.
“No! you are fine, these floors are old and I need to get them replaced anyways,” Cornelia said reassuring Eli.
Eli continued to stand as Cornelia walked over with the chair and placed it to him. He watched her sit and he followed.
There were some minutes of silence, Eli didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to do with hands. Cornelia watched him, watched him awkwardly place his hands together and rested them, Cornelia noticed that he wanted to stretch his legs out but didn’t. He kept them at a perfect 90 degree angle.
“Are you a military man by chance?” Asked Cornelia.
She was the first one to break the quiet tension between them.
“I was…” Replied Eli.
“My father was one too, of course that was a long time ago, he did the same thing with his hands when he sat down with people, he didn’t know what to do with them.”
“You’re not from around here,” Stated Eli.
He knew Cornelia wasn’t American because of the accent and the fact she said my father.
“I’m from London, while technically outside of London but it’s easier to say I’m London,” Cornelia explained.
Eli nodded, she was English.
“Where are you from? You from New York?” Asked Cornelia.
Eli was truly a man with few words, her father was like that too, people who experienced war seemed less talkative. More recluse than others.
Eli took a moment to reply, should he lie? Nebraska truly didn’t have appeal.
“I’m from Nebraska, there’s a lot of nothing there,” Eli said.
Something about Cornelia, he knew he couldn’t lie to her for some reason.
Eli spoke again,”How long have you been here?”
Cornelia took a breath and looked at the doors, Eli was looking in the same diction. Still raining…
“I moved here about 10 years ago, I knew some people here and wanted to have a fresh start from some stuff,” Cornelia said.
Cornelia held back the full truth, she did want a fresh start. One where she could feel safe with her son, there was nothing keeping her in London, her father and her had stopped talking because of the pregnancy.
“Do you like it here?” Eli asked.
He looked at Cornelia when he asked it, Cornelia shrugged. She loved her little corner of New York, her home, her work, her favorite restaurant but there were places Cornelia could no longer love anymore because of her son. Central Park was one, she had not been since Thomas died, or certain streets because of walks they would take or the area where he died. Too many memories.
Eli watched as Cornelia came up with an answer, when she did speak, she looked at Eli.
“Some, like all places, there’s certain areas I love and would love to spend my whole day at but there’s other places I know I could never visit again.”
That was the truth, Cornelia knew she could never visit some of those places again because of the sadness they brought. Eli somehow knew this, by the look in her eye and the way she spoke, something had happened to cause her this pain. It was the same pain he experienced, the memories hurt too much. Eli reached out his hand and placed it one of Cornelia’s.
Cornelia didn’t pull back, the weight and present of his hand brought comfort. Cornelia knew nothing about this man, Eli Whipp but he felt safe, that there was somehow a deeper understanding between. They did not talk for another 5 minutes or so, the silence was only broken but someone had walked in it.
“Cornelia!” A young woman called out.
Cornelia and Eli looked up at the same time, Cornelia jumped to her while Eli stood sitting.
“Josephine!” Cornelia called back, returning the same bubbly energy.
Eli studied Josephine, she was wearing a big puffy white rain jacket then a similar outfit to Cornelia with the black dress pants, and a black shirt and tennis shoes. She had a pair of black sunglasses on the top of her head, which confused Eli because of how it was still raining outside. Josephine also had a similar complexion to Eli,
she had to Native
, Eli thought.
He watched the two talk, Cornelia nodding and giving a little smile here and there. A few times of her looking over Josephine’s shoulder to look at him, the conversion was cut by two men coming in with a good sized statue covered in bubble wrap. Eli got up, he was mostly dry but now and removed the towels and placed them on the chair, he watched the men be directed by Cornelia and Josephine.
But he mostly looked at Cornelia, after 15 minutes of trying to decide where to put it. Cornelia and Josephine a few feet from one of the side walls, making sure the overhead light hit it perfectly. They thanked the men and they left. Cornelia walked to Eli.
“I’ll be right back,” She said, giving a one second gesture with her hand.
Eli watched as Cornelia disappeared into the back room once again. He didn’t even hear Josephine approach him.
“So, are you one of the artists?” She asked, her voice had a little pitch to it.
“A, no…” Eli replied.
“Oh! Cornelia’s whole thing this show is like showcasing Native artists and stuff, super cool,” Josephine told him, "I'm Josephine through!” She added.
“Eli,” He said with a small smile.
“Where are you from?” Josephine asked, which was a weird way to ask what tribe he was from.
“Pawnee,” Answered Eli, Josephine smiled and nodded, "Cheyenne,” Josephine responded with.
Josephine looked at Eli, scanning him.
“How do you know Cornelia?” She asked suspiciously, Josephine crossed her arms and started to tap her foot.
How do I know Cornelia?
Just then, the voice of an angel came.
“A new hire! Eli is helping me install everything!”
Cornelia’s voice ran out as she entered the room again with papers in hand. Eli and Josephine turned their attention to Cornelia.
“Today is Eli’s first day, hired him to do help with the old's and ends, yall know but the rain got him,” Cornelia explained as she walked over, "That explains the shoes,” Josephine said looking at Eli’s bare feet.
“Aa, yeah,” Eli said with an awkward smile, ”Here’s that paperwork for y’all Ms. Josephine,” Cornelia said, she put her arm out with paperwork in hand.
Josephine took it, “Thank you, and I guess I’ll be seeing you two later.”
Josephine took the sunglasses from her head and placed them on her face.
“I’ll see you later,” Cornelia told Josephine as they went into a hug.
Josephine said goodbye, Cornelia and Eli watched the young artist leave. Cornelia now turned her attention to Eli Whipp, he was a foot taller than her, even with heels Eli towered over her.
“Thank you,” Said Eli, “Do you want the job?” Asked Cornelia.
Eli raised an eyebrow and had a confused look.
“It’s 9 AM on a weekday, and you don’t seem to be in a rush, do you. Want the job?” Cornelia asked again.
Both knew Cornelia was offering Eli a non-existent job but Cornelia had her mind set, she would make something for him. She wanted him close.
“Why? You don’t know me?”
It was an honest question, they are strangers.
“Magic,” Cornelia responded, ”Magic?” Eli repeated.
“I believe there was something that caused me to be late to work today, that caused you to be rained on and had to come into my gallery…magic,” Cornelia stated.
“Magic then,” Eli said in a hushed tone.
He gave her a smile, an actual smile, Cornelia couldn’t resist. Something about him…