by Susan Hatler
I’d seen the frame he’d made for Chelsea, a light and satiny thing that was classic and simple. This frame was magical, an obvious compliment to a Megan Wallace painting.
“How did you know? I mean you carved this frame without even knowing I’d choose to enter this painting in the contest.”
Brian gave me a sly look. “No. I knew.”
Dino called out, “Your time is up. If you do not want to be disqualified you must step away now.”
I dashed backward as did Brian. He handed the classic painting off to Janine, who’d rushed up to make sure we had time to get the paintings switched.
We stepped back and Janine squeezed my hand. “Jackson sends his best wishes.”
I let Brian take one of my shaky hands. “How is he?”
She smiled. “Recovering well.”
“That’s good.” I smiled, relieved.
The clock chimed loudly and applause sounded throughout the room. The press started to take pictures again and I found myself bombarded with flashing glares that left little dots dancing on the edges of my vision.
Susannah announced Chelsea’s name first and when she called my name, Brian helped me to the stage. The easel that held my painting was to my right and Chelsea was to my left. My legs were so shaky I could barely stand in my heels.
The covers came off the paintings and I heard gasps from the audience. My heart sank. Sink or swim, I’d entered my heart in this competition. It was too late to enter the other painting and I didn’t want to, anyway. If the judges preferred Chelsea’s work, so be it.
“Tonight, the judges will make their decisions here on stage!” Susannah announced.
I turned my head to look at my painting. It was the Boboli Gardens at dusk. A man and a woman stood in the garden, leaning toward each other while rioting flowers spilled their way off the painting. The flowers and butterflies led the way down a path. The butterflies’ bodies were actually whales and dolphins and in the center of the flowers were tiny blue moons. In the side of one bench set on the garden path was a miniature Inn at Blue Moon Bay.
The man and the woman held hands in that painting and from the very top of the frame the dying sun beamed down, sending a carpet of purple dusk over the garden.
My eyes went to Chelsea’s painting. It showed a street filled with tall stone houses, cobblestone streets, and colorful flowers in boxes. Behind the buildings was Blue Moon Bay. A Classic Italy mixed with our little town. Exactly what I had expected her to paint.
The judges drew closer. Cesare poked Antonio in the ribs and they bent closer to look at my butterflies and flowers. “Look, how unusual.”
Chelsea gave me a malicious smile. “My goodness, Megan. So original!”
The way she bit it out made it sound like an insult. Well, so what if it was? My painting was original. I could look at it with pride and joy and know I’d painted something that mattered to me as an artist and a person.
Antonio murmured something. Dino bent closer to look at a small corner of my frame and then he looked back at the painting. I couldn’t read the expression on his face at all.
Cesare walked over to Chelsea’s painting. I heard him say, “Very elegant and spare.”
Spare was hardly a word anyone could use to describe what I’d done. Piero joined him at Chelsea’s painting as did Antonio. Antonio frowned and then walked back to my canvas. Dino walked between the two, his eyes finding something in each before comparing them again.
“Oh, I didn’t see that before,” Dino said, and bent his dark head closer to my canvas.
Chelsea lifted a brow. Her mouth formed a smirk as Antonio’s forehead took on a mighty big frown as he studied whatever Dino had noticed on my canvas.
Finally, the judges stepped back to discuss their findings on the other side of the stage.
Susannah announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I know you’ve been dying to get a closer look, so while the judges step away and discuss their thoughts, please feel free to discuss yours.”
Time stretched out like taffy. A strange but welcome calm dropped over me. It didn’t matter if I won. It didn’t matter if I lost either. Not right then. What mattered to me most was when the audience surged forward they surged forward to get a closer look at my painting. Mine.
“Look, the blue moon!” Olivia pointed to a flower.
Another woman exclaimed, “It’s the sea painted into that shoe!”
Their voices rose toward me. Triumph hit. So what if Chelsea got the grand prize? I now felt like a professional artist. And that made me feel like a winner.
Susannah cleared her throat and tapped on the mic. “The judges have made a decision.”
Brian’s gaze got mine. He winked at me, a proud smile stretched across his handsome face. I blew him a kiss and then shimmied my shoulders just to shake a breath loose.
Susannah handed mics to the judges as they stopped next to the paintings. Piero stepped forward and I heard Chelsea let out a happy-sounding sigh.
“Antonio, Cesare, Dino and I have so much love for the art gallery our beautiful mother left to us, may she rest in peace. Thank you to the good people of Blue Moon Bay for holding this competition in your newly renovated library. We are very excited to declare the winner tonight.”
“Thank you!” Chelsea stepped forward, her smile blinding and one hand lifting in the air, even though they hadn’t called her name yet. . .
Piero stared at her a moment before bringing the mic back to his mouth. “It is my pleasure to announce the winner of The Best of Blue Moon Bay competition . . . Megan Wallace, artist! Custom frame by Brian Watts. Congratulations, Megan!”
Cesare stepped toward me and handed me a certificate. “Ms. Wallace, we are delighted at the unusual and wonderful paintings you entered in this contest. We are looking forward to seeing more of your work hanging in the gallery this entire year!”
Thunderous applause sounded out across the room as I stepped forward and thanked the judges. I held my certificate face-out toward the audience as camera flashes went off.
Chelsea made a noise and I saw her gawk at the judges and at me. She went to take a hasty step back, but her heel caught in the hem of her dress. She fell backward, landing in a seated position right below her canvas, which promptly toppled forward and bopped her on the head.
Ouch! That had to hurt. Someone removed the heavy frame and placed it back on the easel as I stood there, crying openly, and not caring who saw me doing it.
Antonio stepped forward and handed me a prize.
“Thank you so much.” I took it, sniffling, as I looked at the small gold plated-easel with a paintbrush cleverly forged onto it so that it looked as if an invisible painter were hard at work. I held it high and more applause rang out.
“Congratulations, Megan!” Susannah cheered into the mic, before handing the mic over to me.
“I . . .” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Susannah, judges, and everyone here tonight. I especially want to thank Jackson Davis for making the first two frames for me in this competition. He’s an amazing woodworker and he went far above and beyond to help me. Brian Watts . . . I can’t thank you enough for making the third frame for me, for all you did for me tonight, and for being the rock by my side. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
A loud whistle pierced the room. Chuckles ensued and I had a strong feeling that was Wendy’s whistle, loud and clear.
I inhaled deeply, tears filling my eyes. “Mostly, I have to thank my Aunt Bea for teaching me to paint as a girl, for teaching me how to love art, and for giving me the desire to go to Italy because I’m headed there now!”
I knew I should say something else but I was stunned and giddy. High on emotion and victory. So, I waved to everyone and then leapt off the stage. Olivia and Brody met me at the bottom of the stairs, and hugged me tightly. Wendy muscled her way through the crowd and her arms went around me. I started crying again and I knew my mascara was probably hanging off the point of my chin but I couldn’t seem t
o care, not even when the press started shouting at me to smile and then began yelling questions at me.
“How does it feel?”
I looked over at the reporter. “Amazing!”
How else could I have described it? It was amazing.
Charlie and Luke managed to get past the ring of bodies. Charlie handed me a huge bouquet of roses, long stemmed and crimson, and I buried my face into the velvety soft petals, my tears giving the blooms a little water.
Brian got through the crowd. He pushed past our friends, caught me up in his arms, and spun me around. Then he kissed me. Right there, in front of everyone. And they all faded away.
The crowd. The press. The judges.
They just faded away until Brian and I were the only two people in the entire world. I knew tomorrow would come too soon, so I gave in and kissed him back with everything I had.
Chapter Thirteen
The week flew by and before I knew it Friday arrived. I’d be flying to Italy first thing Monday morning, and I was beyond excited. Breaking up with my cottage and stuff turned out to be a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I didn’t even know I had so much stuff until I started going through it, trying to decide what I could take and what had to go.
Thankfully, Wendy agreed to let me store some stuff in the inn’s attic. I’d chosen which clothes I had to have and which I could get rid of. I decided to pack away my beloved dishes for storage because I doubted they’d make such a long trip safely and I’d done a thousand other things I’d never thought I’d have to do, and I wasn’t finished yet.
Olivia, Janine, and Wendy were at the cottage with me, helping me pack. Janine carefully wrapped a lovely tea set with sheets of newspaper. “It’s going to be so different without you around. We have to arrange a girls trip to Florence to come and see you,” she said.
“Yes, please do.” I looked up from the pile of dresses I was going through, setting aside a plum colored frock before I stood up. “All of you have to come see me, including Charlie. I wish she didn’t have to go back to L.A. to film so soon after the contest.”
Wendy stood on a stepladder to reach the highest shelves in the living room and all of the objects on them. She smiled down at me. “Charlie was sad to go, too. You should’ve seen the PDA between her and Luke after you left the library. Woo, baby. As for Italy and a girls trip, I’m sure she’d love that and I’d love that, too.”
“Count me in.” Olivia wrapped a vase with crumpled newspaper and set it into a box. “I’ve always wanted to go gallivanting around the Italian countryside. It sounds so Under the Tuscan Sun.”
“I loved that book,” I said, smiling. I headed for the kitchen to make a pot of tea and stopped in the doorway. Suddenly it hit me hard that I was leaving. And in just a few days, too.
When the tea was ready, I loaded a tray with cups, sugar, and lemon. Then I added the last of the sugar cookies I’d made the day before. There would’ve been fewer cookies leftover if Brian had been here, but he hadn’t come over—not since he’d helped me pack the heavier stuff the weekend before.
The fact that Brian wasn’t here bothered me a lot, but he’d been avoiding me. The girls and I took seats on the floor—since the chairs and sofa and everything else were already gone—and started to have our tea and cookies.
“I know I’m packed, but I still can’t believe I’m leaving,” I said, staring at each of my friends. “I’ll be on my own adventure in Italy. Finally.”
Olivia munched on a cookie, then lifted her teacup to me. “You deserve an adventure, Megan. You’ve always taken care of everyone else. It’s about time you got to do what you love.”
“I never mind taking care of my friends and family,” I said, quietly. I thought of the promise I’d made to my aunt last year and hoped she was looking down on me and smiling. “When Aunt Bea was at her sickest, she would still sit up in bed and ask to see the paintings I made for her. I’ve needed the courage to go after my dreams for a long time now. I’m happy to finally get the chance, but you guys had better come visit me because I’m going to miss you.”
And I was really going to miss Brian.
I glanced over at Wendy. “How is Brian? I haven’t seen him all week.”
Wendy set her cup and saucer aside and sighed. Olivia had probably heard the tension in my voice, because she busied herself with pouring another cup of tea and then stared at the floor. Janine gnawed at her bottom lip and avoided my gaze.
“I’m sure he’s just busy at the inn,” Olivia finally said, making an obvious excuse.
Janine nodded so vigorously her blond hair tumbled around her face. “Yeah, that has to be it. He must be busy working.”
“Or, not.” I raised my brows. I pinned my gaze on Wendy. “How is he? Really?’
Wendy broke a cookie in half and bit into a piece, obviously trying to evade the question. I waited. She finished the cookie slowly. I lifted a brow.
Janine straightened suddenly. “I broke it off with Cody.”
Wendy’s shoulders sagged with relief, but mine tightened.
“You did?” I asked.
Janine handed me a cookie. “I did. But he’s not accepting it very well. I told him that I was happy to support what he likes, but that I like certain things, too. Like Shakespearean plays, for example. And while that might not be something he likes that doesn’t make my choice any less valid. He said he didn’t understand what I was talking about. I reminded him that he fell asleep in MacBeth, even before it was intermission. I told him it was over. He claims he doesn’t accept that. But, whatever. It’s over. I have needs, too.”
“Good for you,” Olivia cheered. “You deserve a guy who’s as into you as you are into him.”
“Is Brian still into me, Wendy? Just tell me, please.”
She topped off her tea. Then she added sugar and lemon.
I tapped a finger against the hardwood floor. “Wendy, is he okay?”
Finally, she got the hint that I wasn’t going to change the subject.
“He hasn’t been himself,” she said, reluctantly. “I haven’t talked to him about you or anything. But he’s withdrawn. It reminds me of how he was when our parents left us . . .”
“Oh, no.” My heart sank. I knew Brian had some serious issues with abandonment, but I was still here and he had already checked out on me. My eyes watered and I really didn’t want to have a breakdown in front of the girls on our last night together.
Janine pulled out her day planner. “I vote we start planning this girls trip to visit Megan. Is Florence anywhere near Rome, or that place where all the celebrities go to hang out on yachts?”
“You mean Portofino?” Olivia asked as she stood and started taping another box shut in her usual highly organized and efficient way. “I think so.”
We all stood. Janine carried the tea tray back to the kitchen, while Wendy put the dresses I’d set on the floor into a heavy garment bag. I tucked a few of my treasured knickknacks into paper and said, “Janine’s right. We need to start planning your trip now.”
“We should all try for autumn. Isn’t that when all of the tourists are gone? Kids are back to school and all of that?”
“I have the Pumpkin Festival in October, don’t forget.” Olivia raised her finger in the air and then reached for her purse. “September would be great, though. I’ll open my calendar and we can all share our best dates. Once we secure a week, then I’ll start organizing things like train schedules and excursions while we’re there.”
“That would be great,” Wendy said, clearly trying to fake pep in her voice. “I’m sure Megan’s place is going to be too small to hold us all. I’ll be in charge of looking through the vacation rental listings.”
I felt tears welling up. “You’re really serious? You’re coming to Italy to see me?”
“Why wouldn’t we be serious about it?” Wendy asked.
I wanted to tell her because her brother claimed to love me, but hadn’t mentioned a word about coming to visit me. I wond
ered if I could convince her to drag Brian along.
Olivia pushed the packed box across the room by the others. “Well, I have to get going. I have some paperwork to get done tonight for a client.”
Janine stood. “I’ll go with you.”
Wendy checked her watch and made a face. “Time for me to go, too. I have an early open house tomorrow.”
They all hugged me and I started crying again, but I laughed even as I cried. It was going to be so hard not to have such good friends around me. I’d really miss them.
The door closed behind the others and I stood there for a moment, staring at my rapidly emptying house. Brian hadn’t mentioned coming to see me. I knew he was hurting and I couldn’t stand being the one to cause him pain.
I had to go to the inn and see him and since I was leaving in just days I had to go right now.
I walked into the lobby just in time to hear an older man, who was obviously aggravated, exclaim, “You have to do something about that bird, Brian. It’s decided it’s a crow!”
Brian stood behind the welcome desk, looking as handsome as ever. I could see that he was both exasperated with the man, but also trying not to laugh. “Oh, it’s not a crow at all, Mr. Jenkins. It’s a parrot.”
Mr. Jenkins’s chest puffed up below the plaid polo shirt he wore. He yanked at his ears furiously. “I know it’s a parrot. You know it’s a parrot. But the bird thinks it’s a crow.”
Brian scratched his chin, but stayed perfectly calm. His gaze found mine and I gave him a tentative smile then headed for the coffee bar so he could finish handling the parrot-crow crisis.
Brian took out a pen and paper from beneath the desk. “Could you explain what you mean when you say the parrot thinks it’s a crow?”
Mr. Jenkins yanked on his ears a little harder. Judging by how low his lobes hung that might have been his lifelong habit. I poured coffee and added sugar, while Mr. Jenkins said, “It’s taken to walking the hallways at night quoting that morbid poem. You know, the one with the crow in it? Also, it’s stealing.”