“You’re incredible, son.” Maybe even more incredible than Kayla’s portrait.
“Hey, Dad. Sorry to wake you.”
I waved his apology away and watched my granddaughter suck hard on her bottle. “Won’t be long before she’ll put on some baby fat, and you’ll toss her around like a football.”
“She’s already gained five pounds,” announced the proud father. “You should’ve seen her in the beginning. Teeny tiny. I was scared to hold her. But the nurse showed me how.”
He was right about one thing: I should have seen her in the beginning. I let that go. “Glad you were a quick study.”
“Me too. Although Colleen actually did all right in that department.”
“How’d you meet her?”
He looked thoughtful, a smile came, and for the next ten minutes, I listened to how the girl had made Ian feel welcome at his job and after hours too. How he was blown away the first time he’d heard her sing. How pretty she was. I started to wonder and worry if she’d left town with a piece of his heart.
“So how are you feeling about her now?” I dared to ask.
“That is a complicated question, Dad. And I’m basically a simple guy.”
Simple? I disagreed but once again kept my mouth shut. Claire insisted I had great intuition about people, but all I ever really did was listen.
“Colleen thinks, and maybe it’s true, that she’s the next big discovery, the next Taylor Swift. They don’t sound alike—Colleen’s got more country twang—but she’s really, really good.”
I emitted a low whistle.
He cocked his head. “Yeah. She’s aiming for the stars.”
“And what are you aiming for?”
“Me? What are you talking about? I’m aiming to take care of Tina Faith. It’s a full-time job, and I’m the dad.”
“Single dads can often use some help. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’ve already gotten some help from you and Mom. Thanks for watching her. And...and for making this party. I’m glad the grands and all the relatives know about my daughter now. I want Tina to have family around her.”
“And the family wants you and Tina around them too. Nearer.”
His face closed up tighter than a knotted shoelace. “I’m doing fine where I am. I-I can’t even drive up to this house without starting to shake. You don’t know. You weren’t there.”
But I was with him now just as I’d been with him in the early days. I knew the story and what he’d gone through, but it seemed my son suffered flashbacks especially here. “So tell me about it, Ian. Just take your time and tell me what it was like.”
I listened to his memories and wondered if we could ever get together in the future without discussing the day of Kayla’s death. Would we ever simply enjoy watching a game, grilling a burger? What would it take for the wounds to scab over?
“...And then Mom showed up. She ran to the ambulance, the doors slammed in my face, and they took off. Someone led me to the sidewalk. The cops were there. And Sarah—Mrs. Levine. I felt sorry for her.”
I did too, after speaking with her husband. But Ian didn’t know about that. “You felt sorry for her? That’s interesting, considering she’d been driving the car.”
“She’d thrown up and couldn’t even stand. Sitting on the curb, she kept praying for Kayla, sometimes in Hebrew.” His face lit up for a moment. “Remember way back, Danny begged me to listen to him practice for his bar mitzvah? I didn’t understand a word, but he needed an audience, so I did it. That’s why I recognized the language.”
I hugged the two of them, son and granddaughter. “You’ve got some big heart, Ian. I love you. I’m proud of you. Never forget that.”
He squeezed my arm and turned away, but not before I saw the pain etched on his face. That girlfriend of his was happily chasing dreams while my son was running from nightmares.
Chapter 38
CLAIRE
The holidays came quickly, and I didn’t dread them quite as much this year. Judy hosted Thanksgiving, which helped. I wouldn’t have minded preparing the feast, but in Judy’s house, Kayla’s empty seat wasn’t as prominent as it was in mine.
Ian seemed to enjoy himself, teasing his grandmothers, joking with his younger cousins, discussing sports with his granddads. His sweet demeanor had returned. He was relaxed with everyone except me.
The baby provided a loving distraction for us. I, for one, was thankful for that distraction which took some attention away from my situation with Jack, who still lived at the Marriott. We pre-arranged to arrive at Judy’s in one car. No point in rubbing salt on that unhealed wound at holiday time. I could feel my mom’s eyes on us. Watching. Evaluating. Hoping for the best. I kept a smile on my face and tried to appreciate the blessings I had instead of what I had lost.
I especially wanted to reassure Ian that he’d made the right decision in keeping the baby and that I truly understood she was not a substitute for Kayla. Tina had her own unique personality, voice, and behavior. I adored her for herself and had a hard time sharing her with the rest of the family. Now that she was in daycare, I didn’t get to see her as much as I would have liked. Ian, however, wouldn’t be budged, and I backed off.
I handled Thanksgiving, but navigating Christmas and New Year’s in an empty house made me cringe. I’d tried to make the place cheerful—wreaths, tree, candles, and whimsical Santa figures—for the sake of Ian and Tina’s visits. And of course, gifts! Piles and piles of presents for Tina and Ian grew under the tree. I should have remembered that a baby’s greatest pleasure came from tearing up all the wrapping paper! My camera never paused; I had wonderful entries for the new album I’d started the day of the baby shower.
Christmas cards and letters began to arrive, sometimes filling the mailbox so tightly I had a hard time retrieving them all. And that was why I almost overlooked the large square envelope sporting the university’s return address, but definitely not from the registrar’s office. I slit the envelope open and pulled out a beautiful invitation to a champagne reception honoring Dr. Cristoforo Colombo. I’d lost track of his status, but it seemed his three-year stint as Visiting Professor of Fine Arts was ending.
In appreciation for his dynamic leadership...increased prestige of the department in the greater community...
Yada, yada, yada…
Without a pause, I reached for the phone. Mom would love an event like this. Any talent I had came through her genes. And Judy? She’d want to tag along. As for me...Well, I guess I needed to thank the man for his encouragement. My work was now so damn good my husband lived at a hotel. I would have laughed if I hadn’t wanted to cry. Jack and I weren’t enemies, but we weren’t best friends anymore either. I guess he didn’t trust me, and without trust...well, forget about rebuilding a solid relationship.
I blinked hard at the invitation, an old flush of guilt racing through my body. Still there, still haunting me. Yes, I wanted to see Colombo again. The real reason? To test my own reaction to the powerhouse. Had I been the one sending out signals? Or had I reacted to his? I felt secure knowing I’d be safely ensconced in the crowd.
“Holy smokes, this place is packed,” said Judy as we entered the overflowing galleria. “It’s a good thing you made me dress up.”
“It’s a good thing we took you shopping is what you really mean,” I said, eyeing my sister’s simple but elegant attire. A sequined, rose silk top over a classic knee-length black silk skirt, dark hose, high heels, the ensemble was perfect for her petite frame.
“Now we fit in with all the lovely butterflies in the garden.” I noted the women in their cocktail dresses and evening gowns, the men in tuxedos. “The press is here too,” I said, nodding toward a guy with a camera. “The event is for the art patrons and supporters.”
“I guess the arts are thriving in Houston.”
Judy was right. The city boasted a wonderful theater district, symphony orchestra, opera and ballet companies. But I was interested in the art scene, and I
was in the right place.
“I recognize some of my old classmates.” As we made our way through the room, I waved, said hello, but didn’t stop to chat, thereby avoiding another round of condolences. “Let’s keep walking.”
“You go ahead,” said my mom. “I want to browse the exhibits. Maybe I’ll buy something. After all, that’s what this shindig is all about...besides honoring the professor, of course.”
“Enjoy yourself. We’ll catch up later.” I’m sure Mom barely heard me as she’d already stopped to study a contemporary piece. “She’s in her own world,” I said to my sister. “That didn’t take long.”
“You should talk! You’re exactly like her.”
I chuckled. “Maybe a bit.”
Judy and I continued to stroll, viewing the exhibit and accepting an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter. “I think your professor has created a real buzz,” Judy said. “I can feel the vibe in the room. I bet the school is sorry he’s leaving.”
I shrugged. “He...he did make an impression on me. I’ll admit that, but...maybe the university will attract someone else of his caliber next year.” Next year. What would I be doing then?
“Clara! Clara, is that really you?”
I’d drifted away for a moment, and he’d caught me by surprise. With one glance, however, I knew Colombo hadn’t changed a bit. Still full of energy and charisma, still more handsome than a man had a right to be.
“Clara. So good to see you. And of course, your beautiful companion.”
“Clara?” muttered Judy into my ear. “And you must be the professor.” She raised her decibel level and offered her hand. “I’m Clara’s sister.”
“Excellent! So you will convince her to return to the university. You have the power to do that.”
He looked at me again, his eyes assessing what normal mortals didn’t see. “You are finally where you belong, Clara. You have come back to life. Delicate, but strong, no? So...it is time to make art again.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Judy with airy grace. “She knocked us out some weeks ago with her art.”
“So I was right! Again, I was right.”
The man actually raised his arms in victory. I almost laughed at the picture he made. And he wasn’t finished.
“Clara, Clara, with the eyes and the heart and the talent. Special, special talent. You must paint. You must create. You have no choice.”
Someone called his name, and with a cheerful “Ciao, enjoy, enjoy,” he spun on his heel and was gone.
“Whew!” said Judy. “He’s the president of your fan club. To him, you are an artiste personified.”
She had it right. Colombo brought drama in his wake, but he was a sensitive and passionate man—who believed in me. I could see now that he’d been driven only by my work and potential. To the professor, I was merely a talented student who he’d wanted to encourage. But I’d eaten up his praise like a teenager with a crush and convinced myself his interest was as personal as professional. Which had made me late getting home that day. Seemed he was cleared on the flirting indictment, but I was guilty as charged on the lateness one. Lord help me, I was such a fool. A simpleton who should have known better. And whose daughter had paid the price.
“Time to find Mom,” said Judy. “It’s getting late.”
“I think she’s found us,” I replied as my mother approached.
“Have you seen what these students have produced?” she began. “Watercolors, oils, hand-built ceramics, wheel-built ceramics, life drawings, weaving—can you believe weaving?” She paused for breath. “I’m having such a grand time I may take a course myself. It’s been too long between canvasses.”
“You go, girl!” I said. Mom’s brown eyes sparkled like Kayla’s used to whenever her enthusiasm rang true. I blinked and looked aside. “You go too, girl.” This time I whispered.
“And you’ll come with me.”
“No promises, Mom. We’ll see, we’ll see.”
“At least that’s not a no,” Judy said.
“I’m counting on a yes. But now I’m going to the portrait exhibit. Right there on the left,” said Mom. “Let’s all go.” She set out, and we watched her disappear without waiting for us.
Judy and I looked at each other. “What’s gotten into her?” my sister asked.
“Maybe she and Dad should get out of the house more often.” Or maybe Mom was too tired after working at Barnes Construction. Seventy years young was still seventy years.
“Frankly, I think she’s happy out and working with you. The cruise was great. Did you see them all lovey-dovey—”
Our mother’s scream interrupted us, a primal cry ringing through the large hall. “That’s my granddaughter! Ooh, oh. Claire, Judy....”
We ran. Totally clueless. Mom pointed, and I looked up and saw what she saw. I looked up and saw...Kayla. Girl with Secrets. It hung on the wall as though it had a right to be there, with a small “not for sale” sign taped beneath.
Don’t faint. Be strong. Be strong. But oh, my God, words of comfort for my mom were beyond me as I stared at Kayla. My precious Kayla, standing before me exactly as I’d remembered painting her. Beautiful to me, of course, but there was something else as well, something beneath the depiction that made it glow with heart, soul, and truth. I could see—finally— what Colombo had seen: the ephemeral quality of an adolescent girl’s coming-of-age. The wonderment within.
I heard my sister speak, loud words, soft words. I couldn’t understand much. Something about the not-for-sale sign....
“Forget the stupid sign, I’m buying it!” My mom’s declaration. “No one else would dare. Now, where is that crazy professor? What is going on here?”
A lioness. I turned my head and snapped a mental picture. The Grandma Roars. Later...later, maybe I’d sketch her.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” I whispered, looking at Kayla once again.
“Oh, you idiot,” said Judy. “It’s fantastic.”
Electrical charges continued to zap me, the initial jolt at seeing the portrait giving way to shock waves. I wondered if Jack had felt the same undertow when he saw the soccer portrait at our anniversary party. Had he been overwhelmed and breathless like I was at this moment?
“The two of you need to sit down,” said Judy. “And recuperate.”
“I’m fine, but Mom has a point. We just can’t help ourselves to the picture.”
My sister’s mouth tightened. “Hang on, and I’ll drag the honoree back here by his fancy lapel if I have to.”
“Way to go.” Sometimes Judy’s terrier qualities served a good purpose.
Mom couldn’t take her eyes from Kayla. Neither could I. “This one’s coming home with me,” she said. “Daddy will love it too. And no arguments.”
“You’ll get none, Mom. The big portrait’s still in Kayla’s bedroom, leaning against the wall. After Jack’s reaction, then Ian’s...” I exhaled. “I seem to make things worse, not better.”
Her hugs were just what I needed. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Jack’s a good man—even though I want to shake him hard right now. You and Jack...I think you’re sort of slip-sliding around each other, not dancing to the same beat. You’re each walking your own paths in your own time.”
Alone. Her observation was painful to hear. It reinforced what I’d already figured out. Instead of sticking together, we’d gone our own ways. I’d shut Jack and Ian out in order to lessen my own pain. My own guilt. They may have abandoned me, but I was the one who’d been so critical and stubborn I’d forced them out, putting us all in a position of trying to survive alone.
“I-I think Jack and I—and Ian too—had better work it out together and quickly, or...or it won’t matter anymore.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“He’s been at the hotel for eight weeks, Mom. With no indication of coming home.”
“So join him there. Show him what he’s missing.”
I patted her arm. Sex games weren’t the ans
wer. “He wants me to be the woman I was before Kayla died. But that’s impossible. Inside, I’m not the same.”
On the other hand, some of the real me had to be around. I certainly wasn’t still hiding in the house. I worked, painted, volunteered, jogged, cooked, loved. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted my family back! Jack and Ian and little Tina. And Kayla, in our hearts. Her joyous spirit cheering us on.
I’d messed us all up, so I had to fix us. I had to take the lead in healing my family. In healing myself. In getting rid of the guilt and pain. I wanted to be whole again.
“More later, darling. Here comes your outrageous professor.”
“Good grief. He’s got an entourage with him.”
“Clara, Clara, Clara. You have found me out. Discovered my secret, no?” The guy beamed like a little boy who’d discovered the last cookie in the jar. He turned to the group and thrust his arm toward Girl with Secrets.
“Magnificent, yes? And this is the artist, Signora Clara Barnes, from this very city. The best student of all. But then tragedy strikes, and Clara disappears. Not another class did she take. But this...this beautiful work I kept for her, hoping for her return.”
An artist and a storyteller. “I think we should set the record straight, Professor. In real life, I’m a hands-on decorator. I furnish homes, design window treatments—”
“And is that not art, Clara? You select the color...just so, just right, and the proportions for each piece, and most important, the light! The sun. You must know where it rises and sets. Where is it each hour? All the elements must be considered because, Clara, every room is a canvas. Do you not see that? You have been an artist all your life, and now, you are branching out. Brava, brava!”
Yes, he had an audience, a cadre of followers, but I didn’t care. I kissed him. And watched him blush. A unique happening. “Grazie, Signor. I needed to hear that.”
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