"You said your parents are the only ones who know about this?"
Michaela shook her head. "One of my doctor's also knows, although I didn't tell him the entire truth. I never said anything about the paintings, only that I feel tired a lot."
"You do?"
"Not really. Initially, I feel the weight, but then it becomes slightly comfortable. I have to adjust it a lot as you noticed. It's not like I don't know it's there, but it doesn't prevent me from doing anything. I wanted to find out if there was anything physically different about me. After the lightning strike, they performed a battery of tests I insisted on having, but everything came back normal."
"When you're painting these replicas, do you feel any different?"
"You mean, do I have psychic blackouts?" She laughed at the idea of such a Hollywood stunt. "Wake up and not know I've painted something?" She shook her head. "I am aware, but I'm also compelled to do the painting and to stay here until it's finished."
"Do you choose what painting to copy?"
Again, she shook her head. "The only one I chose was my mother's. Last year I felt as if I was getting a handle on things. There was no push from some outside source. I made the decision. Now I know I didn't make it. You were somehow involved."
"Do you think this will go on forever?"
"It started when I was struck by lightning. Not an experience I want to repeat. Barring that, I don't see a way of getting out from under the invisible cloak."
"And the paintings are superior."
That should have made her proud, but it didn't. "I guess all we can do is wait and see."
Day two of the Walk opened to even larger crowds than day one. The warehouse gallery was abuzz with people. The place had been completely redone, transformed into an artists' museum. Spectators, press people, a few high school students, tourists and year-round residents worked their way through the aisles. Michaela recognized most of the residents. There was a huge crowd around Zack's paintings and while she didn't want to display hers alongside his, Zack insisted. He said it was only fair that the public got to comment, even though neither painting was for sale and neither would be judged in the competition.
She saw Blythe coming toward her.
"Another great year," Blythe said. "I'm taking a moment from the food booth to view as much of the exhibit as I can."
Blythe volunteered to provide the food every year. She also took orders for her specialties.
"See any paintings you like?" Michaela said. "I'll have the artist set them aside for you. They go fast once someone purchases one."
"I like yours a lot. I remember your mom when she was that age. You look a lot like her."
"Yeah, but my jawline comes from my ferry captain father."
"He was a handsome devil when he was sixteen. And he looked better and better as time went by."
"Ms. Calvert, did you have a crush on my dad?"
"I wasn't the only one."
Blythe's laugh was a melody of sound suggesting there was a story there, but she wasn't telling it. She turned, heading toward another canvas. Michaela looked at the two paintings she and Zack had done. Her mother wasn't smiling in either of them, but her huge expressive eyes spoke to Michaela from the flat canvas.
Meandering through the aisles, stopping here and there to admire the works, Michaela smiled and nodded her approval of the assembled talent. As usual, there were a good number of paintings depicting vineyards, wine, and grapes.
Visitors to the island always asked about grape vineyards and when they discovered there were none, the second question was why is it called Martha's Vineyard?
Michaela didn't have to answer that question today. She had a printed brochure explaining the two main theories, that the island was named by Bartholomew Gosnold, an English explorer in 1602. He either named it for his daughter or his mother-in-law. Both women were named Martha.
Michaela stopped before a painting of an arbor with grapes trailing down its trellis. It was beautiful, serene and calming. It reminded her of her place on the island, one she'd visited before coming to the Walk. This painting had no sea or cove, yet it spoke to Michaela's emotions the way paintings should. Every painting said something different to the viewer, giving meaning to the phrase beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Moving on, she listened as patrons conversed with artists and with each other.
"This is art?" one of them said. "My five-year-old could paint better than this."
Michaela moved away. They were looking at an abstract from a very famous artist, but Michaela knew art was personal. You either liked it or you didn't.
"That painting of yours is spectacular," Jules Parker said when he stepped in front of her. He was a local artist who entered every year. He'd won at least two awards.
"Thank you." Michaela didn't add anything more. She didn't want to discuss the painting. But Jules's next comment squashed that thought.
"Whatever gave you the idea to paint the same woman as Zachary Cooper?"
Michaela had known that question would come from someone and she was prepared for it.
"We didn't plan it. It was Karma."
Jules eyed her suspiciously, dropping his chin and leaning back with arms crossed and one brow raised in confusion. "You're kidding?"
"Yes, I'm kidding," she said. "He thought he'd surprise me with a portrait of my mother. He didn't know I'd already painted one."
"But the detail, that scarf. And on both of them. It's like you two got together and painted them side-by-side."
Michaela laughed to cover the lies she was telling.
"Until I met him a few days ago, I'd never been in the same room with him, so no we did not paint side-by-side."
"Well, it's too bad your painting isn't part of the competition because it's clearly the best one here."
"Jules, thank you." She smiled demurely and went on to other canvases.
The Gay Head Lighthouse on a wintery day was especially moving. Michaela didn't know the artist, but she could almost feel the wind pitting grains of sand on her skin, smell the salt in the air. Other than Zack's, this was the best one she'd seen. Checking the corner of the canvas, she saw the initials V.G. Victoria Grant, she thought, remembering the name on the application form. She was extremely talented. Michaela wanted to meet her after the judging was completed.
"Doing my job?"
Zack's voice arrested her attention.
"Not on your life. I don't want to make the decision on which one is best. I've seen some really good entries."
"Me too," Zack said.
He looked happy, as if nothing they had talked about or experienced over the last few days fazed him in any way.
"Picked one yet?" She looked up, but kept her expression straight, so he couldn't tell how interested she was.
"I'm not telling," he teased. "You'll have to wait with everyone else for tomorrow night. And by the way, if Jim hasn't gotten an invitation in, will you be my date?"
Michaela felt the heat rise in her face. She was sure it was crimson if not Christmas red. Several retorts about Jim came to mind, but she forced them down. She would not address that issue.
"I'd be honored," she said, her voice low. "I have to be here early to see to all the details."
"That works, since I have to make sure the displays are ready." He moved a step back, then returned. "You know," he hesitated. "I've been to a lot of these shows. Not so much now, but at the beginning of my career."
Michaela wondered where he was going with this. She hoped he liked it. "It raises a lot of money for the Children's Art Project." She felt like she was defending it, although she didn't know what argument he was raising.
"This is one of the best shows I've ever attended. You've done a wonderful job organizing it."
Relief coursed through her. "It's a labor of love. But your comments sound like you're saying goodbye."
"I'll be leaving the island right after the winner is announced. I have to get back home. I'm glad we got
to meet. I'm still intrigued by the two paintings, but I doubt we ever find out what the forces were that had us doing the same thing at the same time."
"Neither do I," she said. Michaela's voice was barely audible. She felt as if Zack had slapped the breath out of her. They'd talked about the paintings, the forces that had her feeling as if a cloak topped her skin. He'd found her safe place and shared meals with her. Now he was telling her he was leaving as if they were only acquaintances. As if he'd come to the island to judge and was now really to resume the routine of his life. Michaela didn't understand.
"Let me go and view the rest of the paintings," Zack said. "I have to select the top five before the day is over."
Michaela watched him walk away. She felt as if she'd lost a good friend. He was an artist and she owned a gallery. The likelihood that they would meet again was high. The art world wasn't that large, and the best artists were often at the same gatherings. Of course, the setting wouldn't have the intimacy of the island or the warmth of the Bed and Breakfast in Blythe Cove.
Or his hands messaging her back, the warmth of his touch.
But seeing him again was bound to make her heart flutter. And she did have one more day.
The top five finalists' names was a heavily guarded secret. Zack offered to tell Michaela since she was the show's organizer, but she refused to accept any knowledge about them. She told him she wanted to be as surprised as the finalists were when their names were announced. And if anyone asked her, she could truthfully reply that she knew nothing.
Cheers went up when Zack made a short speech and announced the finalists' names. He'd done the judging and knew who the winner was, but the real winner of the show was not part of the competition. Everyone had said it. The side-by-side canvases had garnered press coverage and accolades from the entrants and guests alike. More than once, someone had offered to buy them. Both Zack and Michaela held fast to the decision that the portraits were not for sale.
The winner in Zack's mind was clearly Michaela's portrait of her mother as a young woman. Zack knew that the moment he pulled the frame from the box. It was an exquisite painting, with all the detail that made the portrait appear as if the woman on the canvas could speak from the frame, pull the scarf from her hair and extend her hand out into the room. It was the best work he'd ever seen. And there were so many questions surrounding it, surrounding Michaela, and himself. Clearly, there were forces that were unexplainable, and Zack was at a loss of how to handle them.
He had one more night on the Vineyard. Zack was leaving the Walk now and returning to Blythe Cove Manor. This was a night for the finalists. He knew how they felt. He'd been there, but they didn't need him around and he didn't want to hear any of the thanks-for-choosing-my-painting speeches or suggestions that he attend this event or that one.
He wanted to spend time with Michaela, but he'd already said good-bye. Truth was, he was getting too close to her. Something had happened to make them paint the same portrait. Neither of them understood it. The best thing he could do was return to his life. Go back to painting. There was no indication that anything like the two of them creating the same painting would happen again. But there was no indication that it wouldn't. This was virgin territory. The two of them were in it together and neither could explain or help the other.
And he couldn't do anything for Michaela and her invisible cloak. He wished he could. He wanted to, but like she said, there were some things that couldn't be explained.
Zack was surprised to see Michaela leaning against her SUV when he came out of the building.
"Are you leaving?" he asked, then realized it was a silly question, but he could think of nothing else to say.
"I'm on my way back to the B&B," she said. "I thought you might need a ride?"
"I have the car with me," he said. Jogging over to her, he asked, "I was going to go and get something to eat before returning. Are you hungry?" It was possibly their last time together. Zack wasn't really hungry. Sharing a meal with her would allow them to spend a little more time together before he left the Vineyard and all its mysteries behind.
"Starving," she said. "Get in, I know a place with great seafood."
Zack didn't hesitate. He walked around the back of the vehicle and got in the passenger seat. The sun had begun to set. Michaela drove competently and directly to a small restaurant that was miles away from the center of Edgarstown where all the excitement was taking place. The place had large windows overlooking the water and because of the full moon, reflecting off the surface, the scene was set for romance.
They ordered lobster and a bottle of white wine. For a while, Michaela looked through the windows at the water and the setting sun. Finally, she turned back to him. Zack wondered what she was thinking.
"Tell me something about you," he asked after sipping some of the wine. "I've read your bio, so I know what's public. Tell me something that's not other than the paintings."
She appeared to think about the question for a moment. "You know I grew up here on the Vineyard. I had a lot of friends, went to parties, finished in the top half of my class and went to college and then on to Europe. I like to cook, make pastries. While I was in Europe, I took a cooking course, so I could learn to make those wonderful breads I ate almost every day."
"I grew up in the mid-west," Zack said. "We lived in a large house and I was bookish, my parents' word. Other than wanting to play baseball and participating in hijinks with my brother, I did magic tricks."
"Really?" Michaela's eyes widened.
"If it wasn't for them, I'm not sure I would have made it through college."
"Do you still do them?"
He shook his head. "Not for years. I remember the tricks, but the execution takes practice."
"It must have been fun to see the surprise on people's faces when you did the unexpected."
"It was," he said. "It was equally good at getting me a date or breaking the ice with someone I wanted to get to know better."
Michaela laughed. "Why did you need that to break the ice?"
Zack thought she was probably wondering why he'd never done that with her. The magic trick she'd performed eclipsed anything he and his brother had ever done.
"I was shy," he said.
"Sure you were," Michaela said. "I can tell by how shy you are now."
They both laughed. When it died down, Zack leaned forward. "What do you do after tomorrow? Do you stay at Blythe's or move into the Painted Lady and create another masterpiece?"
"I don't know," she frowned. "Usually by now, my hands are itching to get paint on them, but while I've been busy and you've been here, I've had no time to even think about painting."
He let the comment of her thinking of him go. He was leaving the island and her.
"What do you think would happen if you just left the Vineyard? What if you didn't stay. You got on the ferry day after tomorrow and sailed back to the mainland?"
"I did that once. I couldn't concentrate on anything. All I did was think about painting and doing it on the Vineyard. In the middle of one night, I found myself sitting at Woods Hole waiting for a ferry that didn't leave for four hours. I knew I had to get back to the island as much as I wanted to take my next breath."
"And you painted once you got back here?"
"I painted the van Gogh."
"Starry Night Over the Rhone?"
"It took two weeks to get everything right. After that, I scheduled two additional weeks to stay on the Vineyard and paint if I was compelled to do so."
"Was there a time when you weren't compelled?"
"This weekend," she stared directly at him. "I don't know what will happen tomorrow after the Art Walk closes and all the canvases are removed."
"What do you expect?" Zack felt like a psychologist asking all these questions, but he was interested in Michaela. He wanted to know that she would be fine and healthy.
"I feel the cloak will tighten and I will be compelled to paint something. What, I don't know."
Zack was sorry he was leaving. He wanted to see how Michaela faired after everything went back to normal, at least normal for him.
For her, the abnormal would begin.
The ballroom at the St. Romaine was all glitter and shine when Zack and Michaela entered it. The finalist paintings had been moved to the stage that was set up in the front and dinner tables for the sold-out event stood ready. Miniature replicas of the finalists' paintings had been designed as centerpieces. The lights under the assembly gave a welcoming glow to the room.
"Wow!" Zack said. "You do set a striking table."
"Thank you. And your seat is at. . ." She gestured toward the front of the room.
"Table number one," he finished for her.
"Isn't it wonderful to be in first place?"
He laughed. Michaela liked the sound of that. She tried not to think that he was leaving the Vineyard tonight. She wished he'd change his mind, but she wouldn't ask. They really didn't know each other. Even if she felt like she'd known him for decades, they'd met less than three days ago.
"Excuse me," Michaela said. "I have to go and check out some details."
"Be my guest," Zack said.
She walked away, heading for the area behind the stage where her assistants were working. Zack seemed so cheerful and Michaela was smiling and holding her own in light of him. He looked great in his tuxedo. She nearly gasped when she came down the stairs at Blythe's and she saw him.
"Adrienne," Michaela said when she saw the hotel manager. She was backstage with two of Michaela's assistants. "What a surprise. I thought you'd be gone hours ago."
"Not tonight," she said.
The two women hugged each other. "I'm an invited guest." She stepped back and looked at Michaela. "You look lovely."
Michaela looked down at her gown. It was deep blue, her favorite color. The bodice had spaghetti straps and fit to the waist. Then it dropped in billowing waves to the floor. She stepped back, lifting her skirt to show her shoes. They matched her dress in color but were covered in some kind of glitter that made them shimmer.
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