The Widows' Gallery

by Marilyn Baron

  She parked and helped Isabella out of the car.

  “I can’t wait to show Daddy my new clothes. When did the lady say they’d get here?”

  “Probably within the hour. And I can’t wait until you show Daddy your new clothes,” Abby agreed, her heart in overdrive.

  “When can we play again?”

  “Well, let me talk to your Daddy. You still have to view your portrait. So as soon as Miss Jane finishes it, I’ll call and we’ll make a plan.”

  “Goodie.”

  Abby strode purposefully up the pavement to the front of the house and pressed the doorbell several times, hoping to annoy Tack.

  Tack came to the door, barefoot, in ripped jeans and a snug T-shirt, holding a paint brush. Abby’s eyes bulged. He looked much more tempting than the butterscotch ice cream sundae she’d just half eaten, but she wasn’t going to think about his body.

  “What are you doing here? I told Isabella to call and I’d pick her up.”

  “I was meaning to ask you the same thing. Hidden Cove Drive? Seriously? You live down the street from me, and you forgot to mention it? You forgot to mention that you live in a mansion? You forgot to mention you were dropping Isabella off to spend the day, too—but I entirely loved the time with her, by the way.”

  Tack must have expected trouble was brewing. “Isabella, go find Grandma. She has your snack waiting. I need to talk with Miss Abigail, alone.”

  Isabella skipped down the foyer, the long black-and-white marble foyer, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults.

  Abby tried to tamp down some of her anger, or at least dial it down to simmer, but she wasn’t succeeding. She reached over and pulled Tack over the threshold by his T-shirt and out the door.

  “Okay, buster, start talking.”

  “What do you mean?” Tack placed the paintbrush at an angle by the door.

  “Nice touch.”

  “What.”

  “That paintbrush. Let me guess. You like to do your own painting.”

  “I’m not a slug. Just because I can afford help doesn’t mean I can’t work around my house. I like working with my hands.”

  Abby recalled just how much he liked to work with his hands. Which brought back flashes of Tack’s large hands on her breasts, driving her out of her mind.

  “You led me to believe you’re some poor captain of a ship that’s about to go under if you don’t save it. Dressed in your overalls and rubber boots. And you live with your mother, but you failed to mention your mother lives with you. In a mansion. And that your poor motherless daughter doesn’t wear mismatched clothes because she can’t afford them but because you have no idea how to dress a child.”

  Tack took a step back. “Wait a minute. I never told you I was poor. You jumped to that conclusion.”

  “I should have known when you took me to that swanky restaurant. I thought you’d spent your last paycheck paying for those fancy clothes and those Italian shoes and that expensive meal, you bastard. You made me feel sorry for you.”

  Tack laughed.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me you own that restaurant.”

  Tack looked down sheepishly at the paved driveway. “I’m an investor.”

  “Tell me this, Tack Garrity. How did you make your money?”

  Tack rubbed his chin. “I have a gift for making money. But I can see where you might have misunderstood my circumstances.”

  “Misunderstood?” Abby screamed, beyond control. “Misunderstood? You flat-out lied to me, Tack. And then, and then—” Abby paused to catch her breath before she could speak coherently. “Then you drop your daughter off, unannounced, and expect me to take care of her all day, as if I have nothing else to do. Who does that?”

  “You said you liked kids. I thought that would make you happy.”

  “You were using Isabella to get to me. Well, it worked. She got to me. The only problem is that I can’t stand the sight of her father.”

  Abby turned away and then circled back. “And when you said you knew Louis at Harvard, was that a lie, too?”

  “Of course I knew Louis. I knew him very well. Lobster Cove is a small town. But we went to Harvard together, and we did a lot of business together.”

  “And were you ever planning to tell me that?”

  “Eventually, once you got to know me.”

  “And, you played me. I took you on a tour of Longley House because you implied you’d never been there before, that you wanted to see how the other half lives. You’ve probably been in that house dozens of times.”

  Tack averted his eyes.

  “Look at me, Tack Garrity. Why would you lie to me?”

  Tack folded his arms and tapped his foot on the pavement. “Simple. My wife married me for my money. In fact, she got pregnant under false pretenses so I would have to marry her. So I promised myself I’d be careful next time I—”

  “Attacked a woman in your BMW?”

  “Was attracted to a woman. And you may as well get your story straight. You weren’t exactly fighting me off.”

  Abby groaned, remembering how desperate she must have seemed in her eager response to Tack’s advances. Turning to leave again, she reconsidered. Swirling around, she slapped Tack with the full force of her rage, right in the face, leaving a reddening imprint of her hand across his cheek.

  Tack grabbed Abigail, pulled her roughly toward him, and kissed her until she lost her breath. She tried to escape from his arms, but he held on tight and drove his tongue into her mouth.

  “I hate you, Tack Garrity,” Abby said, struggling to break free.

  “You don’t hate me,” Tack whispered, pausing for a breath before he kissed her again, putting his whole body into it. “I’m sorry about last night. I never meant it to happen that way. I just couldn’t help myself. I came on too strong.”

  “Do you always take what you want?” Abby, breathless, fought with herself not to grab onto Tack to taste him again.

  “Abby, please. You don’t understand. I care about you. A lot. More than you know. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone in a long time. I can’t explain last night. I can only say I’m sorry.”

  “Stay. Away. From. Me. I don’t want to see you again. You’re dangerous.”

  Abby broke loose from Tack’s grip, strode to her car, started the engine, and peeled away to the sound of Tack calling her name.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Calm down, Abby,” Natalie said. The women were positioned around the kitchen table. Abby was shaking, and her teeth were chattering.

  “What happened?” Victoria asked. “Where’s Isabella?”

  “I dropped her off at Tack’s house.”

  Jane rearranged the flowers Tack had brought the night before. “I thought you didn’t know where he lived.”

  “I didn’t. But I found out when I had the clothes I bought for Isabella delivered. And guess where the lying son of a bitch lives? I’ll tell you where he lives. He lives right down the street from us at the end of Hidden Cove Drive.”

  “Does he live in a guest cottage or something?” Jane asked.

  “No, he lives in a mansion bigger than Longley House, and apparently he’s richer than God.”

  “How can that be?” Natalie asked.

  “We’re neighbors?” Victoria chimed in.

  “Yep. And all this time I thought he was a poor boat captain, doing his best to make ends meet and support his daughter. I am furious. I could tear him apart. I never want to see him again. Oh, God, I’ve gone and fallen for him. Shit.”

  “Don’t cry,” Natalie said. “He’s not worth crying over.”

  “Look, you don’t have time to even think about Tack Garrity,” said Victoria. “Our opening is in less than two weeks and we have a month’s worth of work to do. So let’s get to it.”

  Victoria grabbed Abby’s hand and led her into the gallery space. The others followed.

&nb
sp; “And now, we have a surprise for you. While you were gone shopping, we were busy beavers, and we got a lot accomplished.”

  Victoria opened the door to the gallery and swept her hand before her.

  “Oh, my God. When did you do all this?”

  “Today, while you were gone. Aidan and his entire team finished the space and supervised the move-in of the furniture. Voila! The Venus Gallery.”

  “It’s amazing. It’s just how I pictured it. We can move in the artwork right away.”

  “First thing in the morning the trucks are scheduled to arrive with all the artwork, framed. Aidan and Ethan will help us hang everything, and Joshua will be here, too. He wants to set up a Skype call with Benjamin, the camp survivor, so he can see the recovered painting. He’s very frail. He has agreed to sell the painting to the Uffizi, and they have agreed to let him take possession for a while before he turns it over to them. Joshua just wants you to see the look on his face when he sees the Portrait of Venus again.”

  “Wow. Just wow. I can’t believe you all did this while I was out wasting my time with Tack Garrity.”

  “It wasn’t a waste of time,” Natalie reasoned. “You loved spending time with Isabella.”

  “That was a fantasy. Isabella is not my child and can never be. I will never have anything further to do with Tack.”

  “Let’s sketch out where we want to put the framed artwork,” Jane suggested, “so we’ll know where everything goes in the morning.”

  The team of friends went to work deciding where the pieces would be displayed. After a while, they ate a light dinner Chef had prepared.

  “I’m beat,” Abby said. “I think I’ll go up to bed.”

  “Abby, it’s only eight p.m.”

  “I’ve had a hard day. I just want to sleep.”

  Jane nodded. “I’m going to get Ethan to move the paintings in my studio down here tonight so we can get a jump on tomorrow. I think Abby has the right idea. Maybe we should all turn in early.”

  “Can’t,” said Natalie. “Aidan and I are going out to dinner.”

  “Should we wait up?” asked Jane.

  “That’s a big no,” Natalie answered. “What about you, Victoria?”

  “Well, Joshua wanted me to stop by the Sea Crest Inn, where he’s staying, so we can talk about the portrait. He says hot chocolate is their specialty and that they have a Swedish cook who makes fresh Danish and pastries every morning.”

  “Right,” said Natalie. “He wants to talk about the portrait, in his room at the Inn. And why would you be sampling the Danish and pastries unless you’re planning to stay over and have breakfast in the morning?”

  Victoria blushed. “They also have fireplaces all over the Inn. And a beach.”

  “Two more good reasons to spend the night with a man you hardly know,” Natalie teased, countering with, “but don’t be too late in the morning. We have to get an early start.”

  The doorbell rang. Natalie went to answer it. When she returned, she wasn’t smiling.

  “Trouble’s at the door. With a capital T. And his name is Tack Garrity. Should I send him away?”

  Abby shook her head. “No, let’s get this over with. The sooner I get rid of him, the better. He’s like an albatross around my neck.”

  Natalie came back with Tack. Instead of leaving them to settle their differences in private, the women gathered around Abby in a show of solidarity.

  “We need to have a conversation,” Tack stated. He looked at Jane, Natalie, and Victoria and then directed his remarks to Abby. “Do they need to be here?”

  “I have nothing to hide from my friends.”

  “All right, then. The clothes you bought Isabella were delivered.”

  “Did you like them?”

  “That’s not the point. I’m sending them back to Hazeltine’s.”

  “What does Isabella think about that?”

  “Isabella threw a tantrum, and she’s not talking to me. Reminds me of her mother. I just want you to know that I’m returning the clothes you bought her. You spent thousands of dollars on my daughter. That is over the top.”

  “That’s when I thought you were poor.”

  “Well, I’m not poor, and I can’t allow you to do that. I can afford to buy clothes for my own child.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “And, if I were poor, do you know how crushing that would be to my manhood?”

  Abby glanced down at the bulge in the front of Tack’s jeans. Apparently he was in a constant state of readiness. “It looks like your manhood is still intact.” The girls giggled. “Why are you going to take away your daughter’s pleasure? She loved trying on the clothes. She loved the idea of wearing them, and now you’re taking them back? Can’t you at least let her keep some of them?”

  “I thought you’d be stubborn. That’s why I brought this.” Tack pulled out his checkbook and scribbled the amount of the purchase on a check, then signed it. He handed the check to Abby.

  “I’m not going to take your money,” Abby said.

  “And I’m not going to take yours, so it seems we’re at an impasse.”

  “We’re not accomplishing anything here, and I’m very busy. Let me show you to the door,” Abby said, stomping out in front of Tack and slamming the study door behind him.

  “She’s got it bad,” said Natalie.

  “Really bad,” agreed Victoria.

  “But they’re fighting,” Jane pointed out.

  “That’s what people do when they’re in love,” reasoned Natalie.

  ****

  Abby looked out at the ocean and toward Martin Lighthouse from her bedroom window. Dressed in her pajamas and fuzzy slippers, she cinched the bathrobe tighter around her waist to keep from shivering. Damn that Tack Garrity! From her position at the window, she could see Tack’s house, all lit up. How could Isabella understand what was happening? They’d had so much fun picking out clothes. She could imagine the little girl’s tearstained face when her father said she couldn’t keep the outfits. She knew Tack loved his daughter, but the man had absolutely no idea how to raise her. She needed a mother’s loving guidance, and she had no mother. All she had left of her mother was that turquoise tutu. If Tack didn’t exert some parental control, she would be wearing the tutu to her senior prom and her wedding.

  Thinking about Isabella brought tears to her eyes. For years she and Louis had tried to have children. First the regular way, then the fertilization route. And still nothing. Now Louis was gone, and all the plans they’d made, all the dreams they’d spun, had disappeared with him. When she met Tack and Isabella, her heart had swelled and she had taken the child in, and now she couldn’t bear to let her go. And as much as she didn’t want to think about Tack, she couldn’t stop thinking about him—his kisses, his hands, his mouth on her breasts, his powerful body invading hers. Memories of their coupling in the car were keeping her up at night, keeping her tossing and turning and panting. She wanted to feel his hot breath on her face and his wet mouth on her lips. And she wanted to feel him inside her again.

  Frustrated, she closed the drapes and burrowed under the covers. Her last thoughts before she drifted off to sleep were of Tack.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abby woke refreshed and ready to seize the day. Dealing with Tack last night had been exhausting, but today was the culmination of her dreams for the new gallery. All the planning and hard work was about to pay off. She dressed in a pair of straight-legged jeans and pulled a blue-striped linen Eileen Fisher top over her head. Then she put on a pair of socks and sneakers and went downstairs.

  As usual, Chef had laid out a scrumptious spread, and she was starving. She took a plate from the table and filled up on the buffet—eggs, bacon, waffles, the works.

  Her housemates drifted in, one by one, yawning.

  “Up late, girls?” Abby asked eventually. “Or in early?”

  None of them would meet her gaze.

  “That’s okay. Just because everyone in this room
had sex last night but me…”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t want to have sex with Tack,” said Victoria. “Personally, I wouldn’t throw him out of my bed.”

  “That’s enough talk about sex and Tack Garrity, and don’t mention either of those two thoughts in the same breath again, at least not in my presence,” cautioned Abby. “Have the paintings arrived?”

  Natalie did a sitting version of the happy dance. “Delivered as promised. We had them unload the crates in the gallery. We checked that the frames were all to your specifications. They’re all ready to be hung. And may I just add that I think Tack Garrity is very well hung.”

  “No, you may not,” said Abby. “Keep your opinions to yourself.”

  “Just sayin’,’” Natalie answered, fairly skipping into the gallery ahead of Victoria, Jane, and Abby.

  The four ran around the room like delighted schoolgirls, stopping to inspect each painting.

  Ethan, Aidan, and Joshua were standing by with hammers and picture hooks, a hot-looking cavalcade of men, ready to be directed. She was sure if she called Tack he’d rush right over with his toolkit, too, but this was her life, and Tack wasn’t a part of it.

  Abby glanced at Ethan. “Let’s start with your paintings. The ones you brought from South Carolina and the ones you’ve painted of Lobster Cove since you arrived.”

  The guys ambled over to Ethan’s stack of paintings and, consulting their plans, started hanging the artwork.

  “Ethan, you are just brilliant,” Abby gushed. “I knew when we saw your paintings they would be perfect for the gallery, but the new scenes of Lobster Cove are magnificent.”

  “Thank you, Abby. I love it here in Lobster Cove. The people are so friendly.” He stared at Jane like a lovesick puppy, and Jane’s adoring look mirrored his. Abby would be surprised if they hadn’t slept together. They certainly spent every waking moment together. Jane might have been a virgin when she met Ethan, but Ethan was a real charmer. It wouldn’t take much convincing or courting to get Jane to shed her inhibitions, along with her clothes. Her new clothes. Natalie had taken Jane shopping for a new wardrobe, as well as to Hair’s the Thing, the beauty shop on Main Street, to get a new haircut and a makeover. After that, Plain Jane was nowhere to be found.