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Hannah started toward the building anyway. She had to at least try. She filled up the empty can with water from the nearest water spigot that the blood-drive organizer had pointed out, washed away the paint from the cement, and then dropped the empty container in the trash. Then she found the nearest bathroom and cleaned herself up before approaching the front desk.
The main receptionist of Glen Clinic stared with wide eyes as she gestured Hannah forward. Hannah looked down at her waterlogged clothes and tucked her paint-speckled arms behind her back and smiled.
“Can I help you?” The lady stood up as if Hannah were a threat.
“Yes, um, I splattered a guy with paint, and I think he works here. I was hoping I could apologize to him.”
Understanding trickled through the receptionist’s expression. “Ah, I saw him come inside. That was Jason. I wondered what had happened.”
Jason. His name seemed fitting. A little rigid. Conforming. He hadn’t even broken a smile when she had tried to laugh it off.
The receptionist looked Hannah over. “You must be doing the event outside.”
“Yep, and I have to get back to it. But before I do, where can I contact him? Does he work on this floor? I’ll bring him a new shirt tomorrow to replace his ruined one.”
“Jason is the assistant office manager on the fifth floor. I can get him if you’d li—”
“No, no,” Hannah said, cutting her off. The man needed some time to cool off... and to change. “As long as I know where he works, I can contact him another time.”
The woman nodded. “Anything else I can do?”
“Nope.” Hannah reached over and patted the woman’s soft skin. “Thanks for your help.”
The woman jerked her hand back in disgust before realizing what she had done. “Sorry, knee jerk reaction from working during germ season in a doctor’s office.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I tend to touch people when I talk.” She looked at her spotted hands and frowned. “Sorry, that never comes out right. I did wash my hands in the bathroom, but sometimes paint doesn’t come off for a few days.”
“No problem. Have a nice day.” The woman gave a nervous laugh and then pumped a few squirts of disinfectant into her hands and vigorously rubbed them together.
“Sorry again.” Hannah backed up, holding her hands out in front of her, and then turned when she heard the automatic front doors whoosh open.
What a day, and she had only just started.
When she returned to her face-painting tent, Gretel was waiting for her.
“There you are.” Gretel Marshall, the organizer of the event who had hired her, stepped toward Hannah. “A whole group of kids just showed up, and they’re all asking for you. Hurry.”
“Sorry, I had a little spill,” she said, “but that’s exciting.”
Gretel grinned and straightened her blood donor T-shirt. “Yes, well the kids have been very satisfied with your art. You’re quite creative.”
“Thank you.” Hannah beamed all the way back to her stool where a long line of kids waited for her, many of them from her PE classes.
“Miss Hannah, we’ve been waiting for you,” one of them called.
She could see the relief in their parents’ faces. “Sorry for the holdup everyone.” She looked at the first kid in line and smiled. “You made it, Adrian.”
He was a first grader who loved her class more than any subject in school. Most kids did—another reason why she etched hours out of her week to do some part-time work at the school.
“Hi, Miss Hannah.” He dropped his adoring gaze and bit back a smile.
Hannah squatted next to him and held both of his shoulders. “What would you like me to draw?”
He lifted his chin and met her eyes. “A dragon,” he said without hesitation.
She nodded and grabbed the black paint from her cart. “All right, then. Settle yourself in my chair and buckle up. You’re about to get a whole lot fiercer.”
She loved the feel of thick paint on her hands, especially when it dried and caked on her skin.
