Twenty Four

A dolly with a squeaky wheel rolled by and stopped a few feet from her. She looked around to see a man adjust his load before going on toward the building.

Alone and frightened, Andrea debated what to do. There would be no way for her to continue. If only she hadn't unloaded so much she could perhaps rest a few minutes and drive herself home. Was it serious enough to ask someone to get her to an emergency room? No, she couldn't go to the hospital, especially out of town. She would have to deal with the predicament another way. If she could get help setting up the show, surely by the next day her back would be better. Her mother's back went out occasionally, and a few hours of rest was usually all she needed.

In the mean time, she had to find a way to finish unloading her van and set up the display. If Andrea's father had been home, he would gladly come to help; but her parents were in Pittsburgh for the weekend. Andrea looked around the parking lot at the other artists, busy with their own concerns. She didn't know any of them well enough to ask such a favor.

Slowly she straightened up and gingerly took a step. Every movement hurt, but she could walk. The obvious solution would be ticklish, but there were few options. She made her way carefully to the building and located a public phone just inside the entrance. Taking an address book from her purse, Andrea found the number for Trinity. She held her breathe, pressed the numbers and waited. When the secretary answered, Andrea forced the words.