by Jill Winters
"Sure, sure," Billy said, still zeroing in on the word "work." What had he meant?
"The reason I'm calling is that I am interested in commissioning you for a mural at my gallery." What!
"A street mural," he explained. "Of course, I'm sure you're busy with many of your own projects, but would you have time this week to meet with me at the gallery? I could tell you more about what I have in mind."
For a moment Billy remained speechless. This didn't make any sense—how did he know about her love of painting? Had Seth told him to call her? "I'm sorry, Mr. Dappaport, I'm confused. Could you back up here?"
"Oh, of course, I apologize," he said with a chuckle. "It's just that when I get excited about a new artist, I tend to forget myself. You see, I became a fan of your work at the jubilee this past weekend. The cakes you decorated were nothing short of breathtaking. The detail was nearly flawless—it blew me away. Everyone was talking about it, you know."
Clutching her stomach, Billy swallowed a hard lump of surprise. "Thank you, thank you so much. But... well, you realize that those images weren't original? I mean, that wasn't really my work—it was a very loose recreation of Renoir's Les Grands Boulevards."
"Oh, I know, of course, but you really made it your own!" Dappaport enthused. "It was quite delightful—I really fancy your flair for muted emotion. You turned Renoir's vision into a vague hallucination, as though his strokes were washed by a silken hand."
Stunned, Billy's mouth curved open; she wasn't sure what to make of the strange compliment. Still, excitement struck her, as well as the pressing need to ask if this was all a joke. How could sheet cakes have made such an impression?
Then again, she sensed that Mr. Dappaport wasn't exactly married to the mainstream. From his clothes to his affected accent, he seemed more than a bit eccentric. They talked briefly and set up a meeting for the following day. When Billy hung up her cell, she smiled into the cold air—grateful for this unlikely chance, and for unconventional people like Greg Dappaport.
* * *
That night, in the spirit of tempting fate, she told her parents about the street mural. She didn't have any of the details, and maybe it would be a lemon of a job, but she was excited and she wanted to share her news with the people she loved most. It was too bad Corryn had begged off on dinner tonight, because it would've been fun with her there, too.
"I still don't understand," Adrienne said, rinsing a plate and handing it to Billy, who set it in the dishwasher. "This Mr. Dappaport is going to pay you to paint on the street?"
"It's a kind of mural," Billy said, explaining the concept to her mother yet again.
"I don't know. Painting on the street? Sounds pretty strange, doesn't it, David?"
Billy's dad shrugged. "I don't know, the street seems as good a place as any."
Rolling her eyes, Adrienne murmured to Billy, "Ignore him." David remained clueless at the coffee grinder, while Pike Bishop ambled around the kitchen. "Also, I don't know if I like the idea of your being outside all that time. It's freezing this time of year."
"It's not freezing. Besides, I'll be wearing long sleeves and a smock, plus I have my coat in case."
"What, that beat-up old green one that looks like it's been through the trenches?"
"I give up," Billy mumbled, burying her face in her hands, as David interjected to ask who wanted lemon peel in their espresso.
"I'll have lemon peel," Adrienne replied, "but no espresso. Just put the peel in a cup of tepid water." Billy's head shot up at that bizarre order, and she glanced over at her father, who looked equally bewildered. "Caffeine retains water and depletes calcium," Adrienne explained in the supercilious, health-conscious tone that had become her regular voice.
Sighing, she turned to Billy and said, "I'm sorry"—gee, she didn't sound too sorry—"but I don't like this whole idea. Working for some strange man, painting on the street—what's wrong with getting a real job? Where you work in an office like a normal person?"
Please, what was normal? Everyone had their own way of doing things, including her parents. Adrienne had tinkered in all different kinds of jobs over the years, while David had remained steadfastly loyal to three basic things for the past forty years: Adrienne, fishing, and his software company—in that order.
"Look, Mom, this is a real job. This is a chance for me to paint my own mural and get paid for it. Don't you get how exciting that is?"
"Okay, relax, relax. I'm only trying to take an interest." An interest in making me crazy? "Well, do you at least know how much he's paying you?"
Struggling to control her frustration, Billy replied tightly, "I told you, we're discussing it tomorrow."
As Adrienne rinsed the steel pot she'd used to boil root vegetables in fat-free, sodium-free chicken stock for dinner, she sighed. "Fine, Belinda. Do what you want. Don't get me wrong; I want you to be happy. I know you like to draw, and that's nice, but... I just don't want this to interfere with your finding a real job."
Ech. The term "real job" was really starting to grate on her nerves. "Look, I went to see Kip Belding today; he said he'll call me if something comes up. In the meantime, this might be a huge opportunity." There was no way Billy was telling her mom about the job opening in the infectious-disease ward of Tuck Hospital. Adrienne would just tell her to wear a gas mask and suck it up (figuratively speaking)—and find an eligible doctor for Corryn.
"Well, I, for one, am very proud of you, honey."
Startled, Billy looked over and saw her father smiling at her. "Whatever mural you paint, I know it will be beautiful. You really have the eye." With that, David carried his espresso into the family room.
Billy nodded after him, looking fondly at the kitchen door he'd just exited, then glared back at her mother. "Take a lesson," she said, and left Adrienne alone with the dishes.
* * *
Twenty minutes later David was reading in his chair, while Adrienne and Billy were sitting cross-legged on the floor, filing cruise pictures into old photo albums. There was something implicitly sad about photo albums, but her mom was addicted to them. She would always say they would be something for Billy to show her grandchildren someday—and there was something implicitly sad about that statement, too, but nobody seemed to see it but her.
Now, as Billy flipped open one of the soft-covered binders, a gentle puff of dust floated up into the air, and images of dauntingly dated moments in Cabot family history stared back at her.
"How's Mark?" Adrienne asked casually, though her gaze was pointed.
"Fine," Billy said simply, though, in truth, she hadn't talked to him recently enough to confirm that. She'd tried his cell a few times that day, but each time she'd heard a recorded message saying the number was currently "out of the service area." She figured he would call her whenever he was finished with work.
"By the way, don't forget about our cooking class," Adrienne said. "It starts this week."
Hitting her hand to her forehead, Billy said, "That's right! I'll remind Corryn, too."
"Oh, don't worry, I already left several messages on her machine."
As Billy flipped to the midsection of the album, she came across pictures of her aunt Penelope with her parents—pictures she'd never seen. She'd seen Penelope smile before, but gentle, kind smiles, not the radiantly happy expression that she wore in these photos. "Mom, what are these from?" she asked, as she turned the page and found more of the same.
"Hmm..." Adrienne said, pausing for just a moment. "Oh, those were from a summer vacation your father and I took about twelve years ago. We rented some cottages on the coast of Maine."
"Really? Where was I?" Billy said, not recalling the trip.
"You were at sleepaway camp, remember? The Sisters of Sacred Heart Camp for Virtuous Teens?"
"Oh... right." How could she have blocked out that rollicking good time? "So Aunt Penelope went with you and Dad?"
"Actually, she invited us," Adrienne said, as she shuffled through the stack of cruise photos in her han
ds. "Oh, wait. Now I remember. She brought a man with her."
Just as her mom said that, Billy flipped the page and found two photos of Aunt Penelope holding hands with a tall, broad-shouldered man. In one picture he was squinting and holding his hand up to shield the sun. In another he held a fishing pole and smirked at the camera. Billy studied the second photograph, seeing something familiar in the man's face.
And then it clicked....
Holy shit!
No cap—a salt-and-pepper beard, instead of a gray one—but it was him. Her aunt Penelope had been holding hands with the late Ted Schneider!
Chapter 13
"Mom, who is this man? Billy asked, because she knew only his name, but had no clue how he'd fit into Aunt Penelope's life."
"Yes, that's him," Adrienne said, leaning over to look at the photo Billy was holding up. "That was the man Penelope brought with us on vacation. It was her boyfriend at the time. Or whatever one would call it. Personally, I'd call him a no-good lothario. Remember him, David?"
"Hmm?" David mumbled, ensconced in his book.
"What was the name of that man Penelope dated about twelve years ago?"
"Which one?" he asked, turning the page.
Rolling her eyes, Adrienne echoed, "Which one? Practically the only one." Then she glanced at Billy. "Aunt Penelope barely dates," she added gratuitously. "Probably why she has never married."
"I know, I know," Billy said impatiently, tired of her mother's obsession with Aunt Penelope's love life. She knew Adrienne loved her sister, but for some reason she acted more judgmental than proud of her. Aunt Pen was a self-made woman—independent and successful. Sometimes Billy really had to wonder what her mother's problem was. "So she dated this guy, and what happened?"
"Ted!" her mother exclaimed, just remembering. "That was it; his name was Ted. Pen was crazy about him."
"How did they meet?"
Adrienne paused to consider that. "You know, I can't remember. Oh, wait, they might have met at the hardware store, believe it or not." She shrugged. "Anyway, I suppose they hit it off right away." Billy resented the way her mother said "suppose"—as if she had trouble picturing her reserved older sister dazzling someone. Maybe Billy was reading into it, though, because she'd always adored her aunt. There was just something inherently warm and comforting about her. (Once again, Adrienne could take a lesson.)
"Well, were they serious?" Billy asked, still confused and a little anxious.
"Yes, at least Penelope thought so," Adrienne said. "But after only a couple months, he left."
"What do you mean? Where did he go?"
"I don't know what happened. To be honest, Penelope never seemed to want to confide in me about it." Shocking. "But after Ted left, she seemed to give up on men altogether—and as you know, she never married."
"Yes, Mother, I think we all know that," Billy said.
"Anyway, even though Penelope didn't talk much about it, I could tell she was just devastated. Remember, David?"
David was somewhat zoned out, with his book resting on his lap. "She was better off without him," he said simply, as though further analysis was silly.
Adrienne softened then, and spoke with more genuine sympathy. "It's true. He obviously didn't appreciate her."
God, Billy couldn't believe this; it was just too crazy. Aunt Penelope and Ted Schneider? Not only had they been involved, but the relationship had apparently been a turning point in her favorite aunt's life, and she'd never even known.
"Oh, David, do you remember that night all four of us went to that new restaurant and Ted got into a quarrel with our waiter?" Before David answered, Adrienne turned to Billy. "It was a little uncomfortable. I remember now—we were having dessert, and Ted got angry because he found some chopped nuts in his cake after he'd specifically asked the waiter if the cake had nuts—of course, I don't know why he was surprised. If I recall, it was some really rich, heavy layer cake with everything but the kitchen sink thrown in." Jeez, how the hell did she remember that? Her mother had issues. "I remember Pen was worried, too, because he didn't have anything on him in case of an emergency."
Billy swallowed hard as Adrienne closed the photo album in her lap and set it aside. "Does Aunt Pen ever talk about him anymore?"
Shrugging, Adrienne said, "No, but I wouldn't expect her to. She probably thought he was her last chance." Billy rolled her eyes at that; no, that was obviously what Adrienne thought. Tsking, she added, "I told her not to sleep with him until she had a ring on her finger, but maybe she didn't listen."
"Hey, do you mind?" David said, obviously irritated. "This is my sister-in-law you're talking about."
"Sorry," Adrienne said, making a guilty face of regret. "I shouldn't have said that." No kidding, but what else was new?
Anxiousness fluttered in Billy's chest, and she felt agitated, wanting information that she knew was out of her immediate grasp.
"What's wrong?" Adrienne asked.
To tell or not to tell, that was the question. Or it was a question; Lord knew there were many others. What had really happened between Ted and Penelope? Why had he left her? Where did he go? And why would someone who was obviously conscientious about his allergy, even back when he was dating Pen, suddenly be so careless as to eat something at the jubilee that contained nuts—something that Georgette had specifically warned him about? It just didn't make sense.
But something kept her from divulging anything to her mom. At least for now. She didn't want to tell her about seeing Ted at the jubilee, or the fact that he'd died there, until she knew more. Besides, it was really none of her mother's business. If it was anyone's business, it was Aunt Penelope's.
* * *
"Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?" Billy said, sitting on the rose-colored silk of her aunt's settee. Pen's library was a testament to her elegant taste, an ornate yet beautifully cozy blend of colonial dark-wood furnishings and assorted antique pieces. Small brass lanterns were fixed to the walls, which were high and lined with colorful hardbacks.
Pen's eye for colors and interior design had always represented the kind of creativity and artistry that Billy admired. She might think she got her artistic side from her aunt, but actually her mom was creative, too. Among her sideline careers over the years, Adrienne had designed jewelry and greeting cards, dabbled in flower arranging, and even tried creating custom-made welcome mats for a while, but none of those pursuits lasted too long. Adrienne had always been much more interested in her family than her work.
"Don't be silly," Aunt Pen said now, sitting across from Billy on a pale green armchair with rose embroidery that matched the settee. "I'm always happy to see you. You know you can stay here whenever you want, honey."
Billy smiled. "Thanks," she said, feeling tempted, as usual. Aunt Pen's house was a perfect sanctuary, like one of those big, shadowy old houses seen in movies, where there was always a study and a fire in the fireplace.
She'd come with Pike to Pen's house after leaving her parents' because she couldn't stop thinking about what Adrienne had said: that Ted Schneider had not only dated Aunt Pen over a decade ago, but very possibly broken her heart. Now she sat across from her aunt, who was a soft, full-figured woman with short hair colored light brown. Billy spent the next hour chatting about innocuous things—i.e., her life—and the whole time she was trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of Ted Schneider. Then debating whether she should even bring it up at all. Finally she bit the proverbial bullet and told Pen about the pictures she'd seen in Adrienne's photo album.
"Oh... yes. Ted," Pen said calmly, and just a bit plaintively. "We weren't involved long, just a couple months, but still I really cared about him."
Billy nodded, suddenly feeling furious with Ted for leaving, even though she had no idea why he'd left. "What happened?" she asked gently.
Pen shrugged. "Even now, I'm still not really sure what happened. We were happy. I mean, I thought we were." She reached for her china mug and sipped the tea she'd set down
for them. "I never really wanted to talk about it—at least not at the time, because I was so upset, and..." Her voice trailed off momentarily, but Billy could guess why Pen hadn't wanted to talk about it: Venting was not her style. Very reserved by nature, Pen had always been more of a listener than a talker.
Except that now it seemed that she wanted to talk. And Billy couldn't help feeling flattered that she would be viewed as a confidante. "It was really strange. I cared about Ted so much, and in some ways I felt like I really knew him. But..." She sighed, sitting back against the armchair. "After he left I thought about it, and I realized there was so much I didn't know."
"What do you mean?" Billy asked.
"Well, he told me once that he'd grown up around here, but he didn't like to talk about it. I never pressed, because I figured he'd open up more in time. Then, after he was gone, I wished I had pressed, because it might've explained things more."
"Explained how?" Billy said, confused. She didn't want to tell her aunt about Ted's death yet—okay, in truth, she didn't want to tell her at all—because she didn't want Pen to get upset. Billy was hoping she would be able to gauge better what she should tell Pen once she learned a little more about how the relationship with Ted had ended.
"You see, Ted used to get these ominous phone calls at his apartment. I don't know if they were hang-ups or what, but at first he'd just make light of it, joke it off and try to distract me so I'd forget. Finally I told him I was getting concerned and I needed him to be honest with me. That's when he told me that he owed some people some money, but that he didn't want to get me involved."
"Who did he owe money to? A bookie or something?"
Pen shrugged. "Wish I knew. He said he didn't want to talk about it, and stupidly I didn't press. I figured he'd tell me the details when he was ready. But I did offer to loan him the money." She blushed then, shaking her head and putting a soft-looking hand to her cheek. "I know that must sound crazy, but at the time I cared about him, and..."