by West, Cara
As Betty spoke, she'd been uncrating canvases, but now her hands faltered and she slid to the floor, her legs stretched before her.
"I've tried so hard not to cry around Sandra. But, Megan, it was as bad as you can imagine."
Megan went over and pulled Betty into a hug. "Tell me as much as you feel like telling."
"They were angry—like Nate."
Megan made a sound of surprise. "I thought Nate had managed to hide his anger."
"It's not something a person can disguise. But at least he wanted to get beyond it."
"He already has," Megan said.
"I don't know if my children will ever be able to. Joe took it best, but then, he's the youngest. He's still in college and likes to think of himself as tolerant. But I could tell it shook him. Acceptance is always easier in the abstract."
"What about the girls?" Megan asked, already dreading the answer.
"They... I could tell they felt the most threatened. They closed ranks and told me I'd hurt them terribly. They said they weren't sure they even knew who I was anymore."
"That's similar to Nate's feelings. It's just the initial shock. They'll come around."
"I don't think so. They acted—" Betty swallowed "—disgusted. As if I'd committed a crime. Finally they said I could come to their houses, but... they both made it clear Sandra wasn't welcome." Betty took a steadying breath. "I told them if Sandra wasn't welcome, then I wouldn't be visiting. Sandra protested, but I stayed firm."
Although Betty seemed calm, her tone remained bleak. "Kenny's wife won't even let me see Trey and Sarah. She said... she said I would be an evil influence on them."
"Did Ken, Jr., agree with this?" Megan asked sharply.
Betty shrugged. "He didn't contradict her."
"Oh, Betty." Megan hugged her again. "I'm so sorry."
"The whole thing went even worse than I'd feared. After we left, Sandra said she would set me up in a separate place. That she'd pay for everything so I could keep painting. She said she wouldn't see me anymore, if that's what I wanted."
Megan studied Betty's face. "And how did you respond?"
Betty's eyes flashed. "I told Sandra I was through letting my kids dictate my life. That there was no way I was deserting the first person who's loved me for myself alone. Who hasn't taken me for granted. Who's been willing to sacrifice her happiness for mine."
"Good for you," Megan said, her own spirits rising.
Betty's chin came up and she sent Megan a level gaze. "I didn't tell them about my paintings. I didn't tell them about you, either. They don't have any idea that you're going to exhibit me."
Her lips quivered for a moment, then she said, "You see, I'm not sure I can trust them, Megan. The divorce is final this week, and I was afraid they might report everything to their father."
"You were probably wise," Megan said soberly.
"Still..." Betty's expression seemed to turn inward. Her face became as desolate as Megan had ever seen it. "Still, it's very difficult to lose the people you love."
The second conversation had a happier resolution. As Nate recalled it one evening over dinner, his face reflected a newfound peace.
"I felt I needed to talk to my father alone. I'd considered having you there, but decided against it. After I got there, my stepmother, Diana, graciously made herself scarce."
"Was talking to Warren difficult? I know you haven't..." Megan faltered.
"...haven't shared much with him over the years?" Nate smiled ironically. "That seems to be the theme of my life these days. Actually, once I began, it didn't go badly. It was the oddest thing. He didn't act that surprised."
Megan thought for a moment before nodding slowly. "I guess when you live with someone intimately, it'd be hard to hide your feelings completely."
"He'd thought at the time it might be his fault." Nate grinned at Megan. "Which he admits led to sexual insecurities. He says that's one reason he became unfaithful. Although he doesn't try to absolve himself from blame."
"Like father, like son," Megan couldn't help teasing. "And both of you have such notorious reputations."
"You know, I like the man." Nate seemed surprised at the statement he'd just made. "He has more generosity of spirit than I'd given him credit for. He was very sympathetic to mother. And also to me. We—" for the first time in the conversation, Nate hesitated "—discussed my childhood. He says he realizes he wasn't there for me. We didn't go into it. But, well—" Nate blinked rapidly "—there was a moment... when we couldn't say anything, but we both knew what the other was thinking."
Nate shook his head as if to clear it. "He's happier than I thought. I guess all these years I'd seen him in my mind the way he was with mother. They fought constantly."
"Warren seemed content the last time I saw him."
"Diana wouldn't put up with his running around. She's a feisty lady. And he wouldn't jeopardize their marriage by doing so. I suspect he's been faithful in the ten years they've been together."
"Didn't you think your father was capable of fidelity?"
"I wasn't sure either one of us was capable of it."
Her look met his. "And how do you feel now?"
He laughed, then shook his head as though still amazed by the answer. "As if fidelity was as natural as breathing.''
"Maybe the Kittridge men just take time to mature."
Nate grinned. "That's a kind way of putting it, sweetheart. But you know, I think you may be right."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
''OF COURSE, we must ask the question, 'Is she a naif or a true primitive?'..."
Everything was going as well as could be expected, Nate decided as he wended his way through the knots of people.
"Her use of space is surprisingly architectural... a retreat I feel from the deconstruction of perspective..."
The gallery had filled up considerably in the past fifteen minutes, and Nate found some of the overheard comments mystifying.
"The blues have an opaque resonance."
''Frankly I find her reds jarring. And obvious sexual references."
"But, darling, I suspect that's what she intended..."
The sparkling wine, a West Texas vintage, was now flowing freely, and the assortment of hors d'oeuvres were disappearing with regularity from the serving trays.
"Just who is this painter Betty? And why does she sign just the one name?"
"Damned if I know. But the food's not bad."
"Try the stuffed jalapeño..."
Sam and Jenny had arranged the catering, and they'd ordered foods with a Southwestern flavor.
There were, among other things, lavish displays of peppers, chips and salsas, along with chili con queso and miniature tamales.
Spearing one as a tray sailed past, Nate popped it in his mouth. As he did so, he navigated toward one of the archways to secure a vantage point for seeing two of the rooms. He nodded to the sleek older couple who were threading their way toward him.
"I think Megan's outdone herself," Diana said when they reached him. "Tomorrow she's going to be the talk of Austin."
"Yeah, but what will they be saying?" Nate asked.
Diana shook her head. "It's too soon to guess."
"I'll tell you one thing," Warren said. "I've got my eye on three of Betty's landscapes."
Diana took her husband's arm. "I've persuaded him to buy me Sunday in the Piney Woods with Nadine. Betty must have asked my East Texas relatives to sit for her. The painting's so touching, yet not sentimental."
"Betty doesn't lean to sentiment," Nate said, smiling.
"That's one of her strengths," Warren said. "Are any of these Sold signs yours?" he asked his son.
"Four."
"I can guess one of them."
The three surveyed the cluster of guests buzzing like bees around a painting hung yesterday. It was entitled simply Megan.
Megan had been stunned when it arrived. She'd only sat for Betty a couple of times, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, for what Betty had called preliminary sketche
s. That wasn't how Betty had chosen to paint her, however.
This was perhaps Betty's most formal portrait, and in that formality lay the painting's depth. Megan was shown seated on a settee in an elegant room wearing an exquisite gown of dark green velvet. So dark, in fact, that in a certain light it was as black as the hair that caressed Megan's creamy shoulders.
The scene had been rendered with meticulous care. No one could have guessed the room existed only in Betty's imagination.
Megan was as elegant as the setting, yet unlike the stiff formality surrounding her, she shimmered on the canvas, the luminescence of her skin delicately rendered. She'd been caught leaning forward slightly, one slender hand raised in a signature gesture. She was looking straight ahead and smiling as though something or someone had excited her. Pleased her. Who or what, the viewer would never know.
It didn't matter. Somehow, with oils and brushes, Betty had managed to evoke Megan's vitality, her energy and her joie de vivre. All Nate knew was that she'd captured Megan like a butterfly in amber. Frozen in the act of reaching out to life.
"The portrait's exquisite." Warren's voice sounded rusty.
"No more so," Nate said, "than the genuine article."
"The genuine article" and Betty were standing just beyond the foyer in the largest room of the gallery. They'd been there all evening, greeting newcomers.
The portrait of Megan might have had an imaginary setting, but the gown was real. Betty had persuaded Megan to buy it, saying this was her debut as much as Betty's. Now Megan wore it to great advantage.
The gown was made along classic lines with a rounded neckline and long fitted sleeves. The velvet material defined Megan's curves as it clung to her body on its way to the floor. And as the painting demonstrated, the material was textured so that it actually changed color when the light played across it, making a vivid contrast to Megan's fair complexion.
"She looks like Snow White in that gown," Diana decided.
Nate agreed, except this Snow White was in the bloom of womanhood and sensually exciting. Once, he'd hoped for a Prince Charming to find her. Now Nate wished he could hide her away in the forest. He might as well be all seven dwarfs rolled into one.
"There you are, Nate. I've been looking for you," Sandra said from behind them. Warren, Diana and Nate turned to include her.
"Warren, it's good to see you," Sandra said.
Warren took her hands. "You're looking radiant."
Sandra beamed. "It's a radiant night. Diana, what a lovely dress."
They bussed each other in friendly fashion before Diana looked down at the lemon silk sheath Sandra had praised.
"Don't you love it? I found it at Loehmann's on sale. I practically stole it."
They were chatting like old friends or family. In fact, the whole scene had a warm domestic feel. Nate shook his head in amazement.
After a few minutes, Diana spotted someone across the room she wanted Warren to meet. With a smile for Nate and a "It's been delightful seeing you again, Sandra, let's not be strangers," Diana moved off on her husband's arm.
Nate turned to Sandra. "Betty looks... transformed," he said admiringly.
"She does, doesn't she? I have to admit, Megan and I are pleased with our efforts."
They'd decided early on that simplicity would be their guiding principal. Betty wouldn't have suited being all gussied up. Nate knew it had taken them numerous expeditions, but they'd finally found Betty the perfect dress.
It was of deep maroon gauze with a cowl neckline and folds reminiscent of a Grecian robe. Her hair had been tamed into a soft bun with wisps of gray and brown escaping into a halo around her features. Her only jewelry was a pair of cascading earrings of garnet.
Nate thought how Megan and Betty made a stunning duo, both lovely, both radiant with accomplishment. Megan in the full blossom of womanhood, Betty with wisdom etched on her features, and a beauty that comes only in middle age.
These two extraordinary women were part of his life. He glanced around and noticed Sandra's rapt expression. Their looks met, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. When he realized that, he impulsively threw his arms around her.
She was startled for a moment, then settled against him happily.
Megan had given him many things, including his mother. He couldn't have imagined a better gift.
Taking another glance around, he spotted Sam and Jenny coming down the stairway. Jenny was speaking to Sam in a confidential manner. Sam stopped at the foot of the stairs. Jenny must have drawn his attention to Megan, because his expression softened with affection. He caught Nate's gaze, and his face went blank.
Nate cursed under his breath and deliberately swung Sandra away. He guided her toward Megan and Betty just as two more guests arrived, a third following a few steps behind them.
He felt Sandra tense. That along with Betty's tentative greeting alerted Nate that these might be two of her children. They'd received invitations, although Betty wasn't at all sure they'd come.
Nate studied the man and woman. The young man looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was Ken, Jr., and his judgmental wife. They'd better not be here intending to make a scene. But if they did, Nate was ready for them.
He moved forward and realized with a jolt that Ken, Sr., was the person behind the younger couple. He certainly hadn't been invited, so he must have prevailed on his son to bring him. He was dressed in a tuxedo and had a air of rationality. That was probably why he'd made it past the outside guard.
But something in Willard's eyes made Nate's hair stand on end.
Something...
Suddenly Nate knew...
Willard searched the area until he spotted Sandra. He drew a gun.
"You bitch!" He pointed the gun at Sandra and yelled at Betty, "This is what I think of the bitch you're sleeping with.''
Just as he pulled the trigger, Nate shoved Sandra to one side. He raced across the foyer without waiting to see if Willard had hit her.
For Willard hadn't waited. He'd turned and was pointing the gun at Megan. "And you—showing her perverted pictures!''
Nate lunged. A shot exploded in his ears. Megan sprawled in front of him. A staggering blow knocked him backward.
He heard Willard shout, "And you're last, bitch."
More shots. Movement. Screams and curses.
Nate stared at the white of the ceiling. When he tried to push up, he couldn't find the energy. His arms felt like lead. He turned his head.
Megan. Megan.
"Megan... did he hurt you—?" Nate gasped before the white turned black.
"NATE!" MEGAN RAISED her head to look for him. When she saw him on the floor, she crawled over and knelt by his side. The hole in his lapel was already seeping blood.
Ken, Jr., had reached his father between the second and third shots. Sam got there in time to deflect his aim. But they couldn't keep Willard from pulling the trigger one last time.
"My God, he's shot himself," someone shrieked.
"Betty," Sandra screamed, and ran to her fallen friend.
"It's all right," Betty said. "He hit me in the leg."
"Call 911! Nate's been shot," Megan yelled. His pristine white shirt was marred by a rapidly growing stain of red. "Nate, can you hear me? Talk to me, Nate. Is there a doctor?" she cried to the rest of the room. "Please, help me. Please! Someone!"
"Damn," an unfamiliar voice muttered over her head. "The bullet must have hit an artery. He's bleeding like a son of a bitch.'*
Larry appeared out of nowhere to kneel beside Megan. "Don't move him." His voice was rough. "We don't dare move him."
"Has someone called an ambulance?" she asked frantically.
"Risa's called. They'll be here any moment."
Even as he spoke, they heard the sirens. Within seconds, EMS technicians rushed through the door.
"Here! He's been shot in the chest." Megan gestured urgently, her hands coated with Nate's blood. Her dress was wet at the knees with it. "He's bleeding badly. Please—"
"I think this one's a goner," another voice muttered.
"No!" Megan cried, thinking they meant Nate.
"Okay, miss. Let us get at him. Is he conscious?"
"No." She scooted back, but not very far. Things were happening around her. She glimpsed policemen and heard more sirens. They barely penetrated her consciousness.
Her will was focused on the man whose life was seeping away on her brightly polished tile.
"Is he alive?" she asked despairingly as they worked over him.
"Yes," the female technician said tersely. She spoke to her colleague. "We need to get him to Brack stat."
They lifted Nate onto the stretcher and wheeled him out. His face was like chalk. He was unresponsive, his tailored tuxedo and white shirt mute testimony to his dire condition.
Megan recalled his putting the studs in that shirt only hours ago. He'd shrugged into his coat. She remembered admiring how well it fit his shoulders.
The room swam around her. She caught someone's arm to steady herself. "Please take me to him. I have to be with him. Where are they going?"
Jenny appeared at her side. "To Brackenridge Hospital. Come with me."
As Megan left with Jenny and Larry—Sam was staying to talk to the police—she was vaguely aware that Betty was being tended by another EMS crew while yet another twosome worked over a third victim.
Sandra, who was uninjured, was standing by a wall apparently in shock. Andrew and Molly rushed to her, and together with Risa, they began to work their way to the door.
"Wait," Betty called to them. "I'll go with you."
"Ma'am, you need to be admitted," said one of the ambulance crew. "You have a bullet wound in your leg."
"Well, then, get me the hell out of here, damn it!"
Somewhere on the periphery of Megan's consciousness, she realized that was the first time she'd ever heard Betty swear.
The ride to Brackenridge seemed like an eternity to Megan, although the hospital was only a few minutes from the gallery.
What if Nate regained consciousness on route and she wasn't there beside him? Would he think she'd been wounded? Would he despair?