The paintings were positioned so close to each other that their connection by the red thread trailing off the edges of the canvases was apparent. Each painting had a tiny puzzle piece hidden within the scene. The pieces were in two different shades of red. I’d spent a lot of time measuring the painted heart holes to create puzzle pieces that would fill the holes in both characters’ chests.
A final painting hung above the dozen others. In that one, the boy and girl were reunited as adults. Each of their heart-shaped holes had been filled with two-toned red puzzle pieces.
My heart was whole again. Or very nearly. I could say goodbye to this part of the journey. I went to give Charles my answer.
Before the clock struck seven, people were waiting outside for Charles to unlock the gallery. I paced the large area where my art was on display. I was so nervous.
"You ready?" Charles asked, halting my circuitous pattern around the room.
I drew a deep breath and nodded.
He signaled to his assistant and in moments, an influx of sound filled the space. I stepped off to a quiet corner and observed as people examined my work. It was surreal to hear people gush about my use of color or technique or speculate what feeling I was trying to convey. A flutter of pride in my achievements began to overtake some of the nerves.
"Why are you hiding in the corner?" a voice asked from beside me.
I turned and grinned at Beckett. "You made it," I exclaimed, giving him a hug.
He squeezed me tightly. "I told you I'd be here."
I stepped back, and my fingers went seeking a strand of hair to play with. Unfortunately, it was all tied up in a knot against my neck. "I know. I just..."
"I understand. You look beautiful by the way." His hand brushed my cheek.
"Thanks."
The silence between us was just beginning to get awkward when my parents showed up.
"There's my girl," Daddy said as he gave me a big hug.
Mom waited her turn.
"Would it be possible for the lady of the hour to give us a personal tour," Beckett asked.
"Of course," I said and looped my hand through the crook of his arm.
As we moved around the room, I explained the pieces to them and answered their questions. I noticed little red stickers dotting some of the price cards, indicating that the pieces had been sold. Hopefully by the time the night was over, I'd be able to put a dent in my huge hospital bills.
Experimental treatments weren't covered by my parents' health insurance policy, so I was swimming in debt. There weren't enough pieces in the show to eliminate my debt completely, but I'd put enough in there to get rid of almost half if everything sold.
We'd finally made our way to the focal wall, but we had to wait to approach it. Once the crowd moved on, we stepped up to it. As much as it pained me to sell the creations, I knew it was part of moving forward and would be a huge help in paying off the hospital.
"What does the red dot mean?" Dad asked, pointing to the price card.
"It means the piece sold," I explained.
"You sold this?" Mom asked.
I nodded.
"But it's you and Dawson," her tone was confused, “your story.”
Though the faces weren't really visible in the paintings, anyone who knew us would be able to recognize us in the creation.
"I know. And at first, I planned to just have it on display. But once I hung it up in here, I realized that our story isn't over, so I don't have to keep these reminders of what was. I have faith in what will be."
I hoped.
Beckett remained silent as he examined the paintings. Mom and Dad moved on while I stayed behind with Beckett. He pointed to the mountain painting.
"Me?" he asked, indicating the man near the red thread.
I nodded. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, a sheen in his eyes. "Don't be. Maybe my thread is tied to someone out there too."
Beckett moved in the direction of the door. “I’m going to get going. I knew you were talented, but I never imagined this.” He held his arm out, indicating my work. “You have a gift. I’m sorry I didn’t nurture it or even acknowledge it.”
♪ A Bad Goodbye by Clint Black and Lisa Hartman Black
I gave him a sad smile. I wouldn’t say it was OK that he didn’t, because it wasn’t. “Thanks for coming tonight,” I said.
“No problem. And remember, I’m always here if you need anything.” He pulled me into his arms.
“I know.” I squeezed him back briefly, then pulled back.
He turned and walked away. After he’d gone a few steps, I called, “Hey, Beckett.”
He looked back at me.
“Find your thread.”
He chuckled and headed out of the gallery.
And I went to go mingle. I loved talking about art with other art lovers. Time flew quickly. My parents were gone. There were still a lot of people milling about when Charles brought a distinguished looking man over to meet me.
“Isabelle, I’d like to introduce you to Paul Smith. He has been searching for an artist to do a commissioned piece for him. When he reached out to me, I knew you’d be perfect.” Charles patted my shoulder and walked away to speak with someone else.
“Nice to meet you, Isabelle,” Paul said as he shook my hand. “I have to say that I love so many of your pieces. I’m a little disappointed that your Fate’s Thread collection has already sold. I had my heart set on it. My wife loves that legend.”
“I’m honored that you thought it worthy enough to give to the love of your life,” I answered
“I’ve actually been looking for someone to create something special as a gift for her. Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming in a few months. I’d love to surprise her with art created just for her. Maybe even a series of works like the Fate’s Thread collection,” he mused, cupping his chin as he thought it over.
“I’d be happy to discuss some options with you. We could tell your love story through a series of paintings or sketches,” enthusiasm made my voice pitch a little high.
Paul reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. Give me a call next week, and we’ll set something up.”
I glanced down at the card. “You came all the way from California to look at my work?”
“When Charles Strong tells me that he has an artist I need to meet, I listen. That man knows his stuff. Speak of the devil,” he teased as Charles rejoined us.
“Isabelle, I hate to steal you away, but I need to speak with you in private,” he said urgently.
“OK. It was wonderful meeting you, Paul. I’ll be in touch.” I shook his hand and followed Charles through the crowded room back to the studio space I’d been using.
Charles shut the door behind us. His face was a mask of seriousness.
“Is something wrong?” I couldn’t imagine why he’d need to speak with me in the middle of the show.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I think you should sit.”
My heart jumped in my throat as I took a seat.
“I know you were hoping to use the money you made tonight to help pay down your hospital bills,” he started.
“Yeah. I mean, I know that I don’t have enough listed to even cut the debt in half. But any amount paid off would be a relief. I’ve accepted the fact that I will probably always owe that hospital money,” I joked.
“I know you have a few pieces that were here for display purposes only,” he hedged.
“They’re not for sale, Charles. They mean too much to me,” my voice was thick with emotion.
“I know that. And normally, I wouldn’t have even entertained the offer… But, it’s a really good offer. I think you have to at least hear it. The money is ready to be wire transferred to your account as soon as I give the approval.” He tucked his hands into his pockets.
“If it will ease your conscience, you can tell me. But I don’t think the amount will make a difference.” In fact, I knew it wouldn’t.
It was a good thing I was already seated. My knees knocked together. That kind of money would help tremendously. One hundred thousand dollars plus money from the other sales would almost eliminate my hospital debt completely.
“Which piece?” I whispered.
“Love in Paris,” Charles answered.
That piece meant the most to me. My heart hurt over the impossible decision.
“When do you need an answer?” I whispered.
“He didn’t say. But he seemed very anxious to have it shipped right away. I’m sure I can ask him to wait until tomorrow for your decision,” Charles said as he put his hand on the door knob.
“OK. I definitely need some time. And if it’s all right, I need a few quiet minutes before I come back out.” My eyes burned with the effort of holding the tears in. I had to compose myself before I could go talk to people about my work.
“Take your time. I’ll cover for you,” Charles said as he came back and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.
After he walked out, I buried my face in my hands. I’d be a fool not to accept the offer. But it was my most prized piece. I poured so much of my love for Dawson into that painting. That trip to Paris was very special—my first trip out of the country.
My eyes swam with tears.
What if even considering selling a piece of our history was a bad omen? What if all the memories I currently had of him were all I would ever have?
I mean, there was no doubting our love for each other. But being together wasn’t a sure thing. Dawson still doubted if it was good for me to have him back in my life. So, far I hadn’t been able to convince him that our love could survive anything.
One tear slipped out. How was I going to choose between an important symbol of my past and trying to brighten my future?
The scrape of a shoe moving across the tile, snapped me out of my endless cycle of questions. Without lifting my head, I said, “I just need another couple of minutes, Charles,” my voice trembled on the last word.
The door clicked closed softly behind me. I sighed in relief over being left alone in my indecision. My relief was short-lived as a warm hand landed on my shoulder. Charles must really have needed my answer.
Dejectedly, I picked my head up and slowly turned around, a plea for more time on my lips.
The words froze in my throat as my eyes took in the person behind me.
Chapter 18
Dawson
“Why the long face, flutterby?” I asked as my thumb flicked away the moisture marring her beauty.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked as she launched herself into my arms.
“I’m here for your big debut, of course. Sorry I’m late. There was some weather in the Midwest we had to fly around.” I grinned at her.
“What about the concert?” she choked out through her tears.
“I rescheduled it for next month.” I shrugged.
“But the venue was booked, and your fans were so excited,” she rambled.
“Our fans are getting a treat. Merry Melodymakers did us a favor and performed tonight in our place. I recorded a message for them to play for the fans, explaining why I had to bail on them. Bas and his band also hooked us up with an alternate venue next month and let me borrow their plane,” I gave the full explanation so she wouldn’t have to ask.
Her fingers ran across my cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re really here. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
I lowered my face to hers. My mouth covered her soft lips, kissing her deeply, kissing her like my life depended on convincing her of the depth of my love because it did. That first taste of her was better than I remembered. Though I’d kissed her last week, this kiss was different because I was different.
When I pulled back, we were both panting. “Do you get kissed like that in your dreams?” I asked with a teasing smirk.
“When you’re in them, yeah,” she admitted, red staining her cheeks.
“Well, I promise you aren’t dreaming. I’m really here. And I’m not going anywhere. Well, I am going somewhere. In a couple of days, I’ll have to go back home. But I’m not turning my back on this second chance we’ve been given. To hell with my stalker. I’ll hire more security. We’ll figure it out. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I kissed you goodbye last week. I can’t live without you. If I can only have one thing in my life that matters, I choose you.”
My hand cupped the back of her head. Her eyes searched mine, looking for sincerity. After what felt like an eternity, her lips spread in a smile.
She smacked me on the chest. “When did you know you were coming here tonight?”
“A couple of days ago,” I admitted slyly.
“You sneaky rascal.” She shook her head.
I shrugged. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You made me send you a selfie, knowing you’d see me in person.” She smirked at me.
“Couldn’t give it away. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“It’s the best surprise I’ve had in a long time.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to mine.
My hand slid down her back, pressing her tightly against me.
“As much as I’d love to stay here and do more of this, you have an adoring public out there,” I indicated the gallery beyond the door.
“Yeah, and I need to go find Charles,” she murmured against my lips.
“Oh yeah?” I asked as my fingers moved up into her hair, plucking out the pins that secured it up in a sophisticated bun. As the knot unwound, I ran my fingers through her soft locks. “There she is. My flutterby. You colored your hair,” I whispered. The elegant bun had hidden the pink tips now decorating her blonde tresses.
♪ In A Different Light by Doug Stone
She shrugged. “I thought it was time to get back to me.”
“You’re beautiful. I love you so much. Now let’s go find Charles. The sooner you appease all your fans, the sooner we can have a proper reunion,” I said, giving her butt a squeeze.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and escorted her out to the gallery floor. Charles noticed us and started making his way towards us, a huge grin on his face.
“I’ve thought about it,” Izzy said as he reached us.
Her body trembled, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. With a shaky voice, she said, “You can tell the buyer I’ll take the offer.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“That’s wonderful news. I’ll give him a call after I introduce you to someone,” Charles exclaimed.
She looked helplessly at me. Her face was a mosaic of sadness, excitement and regret.
“Do you mind, Daw? I know you just got here, but—” she started.
“You go do your thing and wow them. I’m going to admire my girl’s creations,” I said and gave her a quick but fervent kiss.
She followed Charles over to a group of men in suits. I watched her for a moment. She was so animated as she discussed her work.
A few people glanced at me, but no one approached. Perhaps the suit was a good disguise.
I stepped over to a painting that looked oddly like the photographic puzzle on my kitchen table. The angle was slightly different, but it was from the same day. Whoever my stalker was, she’d been in Paris and took the photo of me and Izzy.
Izzy’s painting of that day was beautiful. I could still recall the smell of the flowers and fresh cut grass. I could still feel the weight of her in my arms and the pressure of her mouth on mine. And I remembered the day she showed me the painting. I was awestruck.
Charles interrupted my musings, “I didn’t really expect her to take the offer to sell it. She was so adamant about having it here for display purposes only.”
“What?” I was confused.
“Yeah, she said this was her most prized piece and she couldn’t bear to part with it. But the offer was really too good to refuse. This sale will go a long way in helping her
pay off her hospital bills,” he told me.
Izzy was parting with a painting she loved because she needed the money. But it would break her heart to let it go.
“What was the offer?” I asked.
“A hundred grand,” he said.
“Tell whoever made the offer that she got a better offer,” I said.
“But she has plans for the money. No one else is going to flat out offer that much for an unknown artist,” Charles argued.
“Someone will. Someone has. My offer is one hundred and fifty grand. But don’t tell her yet. I want it to be a surprise,” I said.
“That’s perfect. You’re a good man, Dawson. I’m glad she has you. It seems she’s finding her passion, her muse now that you’re back in her life. The focal piece she created for this show is by far her best work yet. I’ll make sure I get you guys a set of prints of the canvases. She’ll want them later,” he said.
“Thanks. And thanks for believing in her and her gift.” I rocked on my heels, anxious to get back to Izzy.
“Isabelle is easy to believe in. You make sure you always do it. She deserves the best. Make sure she gets it,” he said sternly.
“Yes, sir. Now, do I need to fill out any paperwork for the Eiffel Tower painting?”
“Follow me and we’ll get it all wrapped up.”
♪ Something to Believe in by Poison
After a couple more hours, the show was done. About seventy-five percent of Izzy’s pieces sold. And she’d made several connections for commissioned pieces in the coming months. I was so proud of her.
Joe drove us back to her place and bid us goodnight. It took all my willpower to not devour her in the car, to only hold her hand in mine.
As the door closed behind us, she did an excited spin. She was completely giddy, and the emotion was contagious. Watching her realize her dream was even better than reaching my own. My heart soared with pride and love.
“I can’t believe they really liked my work. Liked it enough to buy it. I think I finally understand how you feel when someone buys your music,” she gushed.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 68