by Amy M. Reade
“I don’t know yet. I’ll think about it,” I promised Mum.
My mother ended up spending the night. She couldn’t bring herself to leave, she said, because she was having such fun with Ellie and because she wanted to fuss over Sylvie a while longer. Coincidentally, she had packed overnight bags “just in case” and left them in the car. Sylvie and I exchanged knowing glances, having expected Mum to do just that.
The flat was full, warm, and happy that night. Three generations of the Dobbins family, plus Seamus, enjoyed a delicious meal, then Mum, Ellie, and I watched a movie. Ellie fell asleep midway through it. As I lay down with her later, I realized that I hadn’t thought of James even once during the movie. I had become so used to having him at the flat, watching movies and sitting in front of the fireplace, that I thought I would miss him terribly, but I didn’t. Perhaps it was because there were so many people around.
As I tried to sleep, though, thoughts of him crowded into my mind. How I wanted to see him again. Silent tears fell again, but thankfully they weren’t as fierce as they had been last night.
I dreamed of him. We were walking hand-in-hand through Princes Gardens. I turned because I heard a noise, and there was a man rushing toward me. James yelled at me to run, and together we ran until we found ourselves trapped in a dark alley near St. Giles. A body was lying on the ground. It might have been Neill, but I couldn’t tell because it was facedown. I jerked my head around in desperation, looking for an escape. I could hear the footsteps of the man from Princes Gardens thudding closer and closer behind us. I caught a glimpse of another person standing in the shadows, but I couldn’t make out who it was. James was bellowing something in my ear, but I couldn’t understand the words. A moment later, the man from the Gardens ran up to us. He grabbed my sleeve and James reached for my hand as it was pulled from his. We separated in the darkness. . . .
I awoke with a start, in a cold sweat and panting. My eyes were moist. It took me a second to realize where I was, and I peered over at Ellie to make sure she was still sleeping. I wondered if I had made any noise while I dreamed. When my heartbeat finally slowed and I felt composed, I sat in bed listening to Ellie’s regular breathing and the silence of the flat.
It didn’t take me long to fall asleep again after that. My dream still tingled in the back of my mind, but I tried my best to steer my thoughts away from it, focusing instead on the spectacular lochs of the Scottish Highlands, where I had spent so much time as a child on holiday and where I wanted to take Ellie before returning home.
But I didn’t forget the dream completely. There was something about it… something that bothered me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
When I woke up again, Ellie was still sleeping. I made a pot of tea and sat at the kitchen table while it steeped, my head in my hands. Part of me wanted to forget the dream, but part of me wanted to search it until I figured out what I was missing.
And it didn’t come to me. At least, not right away.
The next several days were a maelstrom of activities. I wanted above all else to stay busy—not just for Ellie, but for myself, too. I knew the busier I was, the more likely I would forget about James, and maybe I would even stop missing him so much. But when I wasn’t chasing Ellie around the park or talking with her as we walked the streets of Edinburgh or looking through a textbook while Ellie sat nearby reading one of her own books, my mind was consumed with thoughts of James. A couple of times, I took out my mobile phone, intending to call him, but each time I stopped myself just in time and put the phone away.
My mother ended up staying in Edinburgh for almost a week, and spending time with her helped me keep my mind off James, too. Twice we drove out of the city, visiting the seaside and the small villages dotting the Scottish countryside. There were so many charming places to visit. Ellie was delighted, and I rediscovered places I hadn’t been to since I was her age.
When it came time for Mum to return to Dumfries, we were all sad to see her go. Even so, I was content with my decision to remain in Edinburgh. As much as I would have scoffed at the notion when I first arrived in the city, I enjoyed all the time I was spending with Sylvie.
And Seamus too, of course. Though there were moments when I was unsure of Seamus—when I remembered his hurried “transaction” on the Edinburgh street with a man I didn’t recognize, when I pondered the questions he had so intently asked Sylvie about the break-in at our flat just after she arrived at hospital—I mostly trusted him and enjoyed his company. I still wondered whether Sylvie had told him that I knew of his past, or when she would decide to break it to him.
As the days passed and winter turned to spring, the weather began to turn from foggy, blustery, and chilly to sunny, warmer, and glorious. Trees were in bud all over the city, softening the ancient buildings with showers of white, pink, and yellow petals. Ellie and I delighted in visiting our favorite places with the patina of spring glowing all about Edinburgh.
It was on one of those beautiful days when we ran into James. He was coming out of a pub around lunchtime when Ellie and I were walking by.
He stopped short in the doorway of the pub; the person following him out the door bumped into him from behind. After apologies by both parties, the man continued on his way while James stood on the sidewalk, fiddling with the lapel of his sport coat.
“Hello, Greer. Hi, Ellie. It’s good to see both of you.”
Ellie answered first. “Hello, James. Why don’t you come to our flat anymore?”
James’s face flushed, and he looked down at his feet. I was almost amused, waiting to hear his answer. “Uh, well Ellie, I… I’ve been very busy, and I know your mum waited a long time to be able to spend time just with you.”
That seemed to satisfy my inquisitive little girl, and she turned her attention to a double-decker bus driving past. Puffing out his cheeks and releasing his breath slowly, James looked at me. “How have you been?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“How are Sylvie and Seamus?”
“They’re fine, too.”
“I miss Seamus’s cooking.” He let out an awkward laugh.
I nodded, unsure of what to say next.
“How’s work going?” he asked.
“Work’s fine. I’ve been doing lots of research in museums around Edinburgh.”
“Any word on, uh, Neill? You know, what happened that night?”
I glanced down at Ellie. She still hadn’t asked about her father. “Nothing yet. I’m sure the police will tell me as soon as they know anything.”
“Have you two eaten lunch yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you want to join me?”
I pointed to the pub he had just exited. “Didn’t you just eat?”
“No. Too crowded in there. I’m going up the street.”
Before I could answer, Ellie chimed in. “Yes! I’m hungry!”
I gave James a grim smile. “Okay. We’ll join you.” I most certainly did not want to join him for lunch, but I didn’t want to suffer a barrage of questions from Ellie if I refused.
The three of us walked in silence to a nearby café. James held open the door, and Ellie and I ducked under his arm. A fleeting memory of his arm around my shoulders skittered across my mind, but I shook it off quickly.
Lunch was an uncomfortable affair. Ellie didn’t seem to notice. Her legs dangling from the chair, she was absorbed in coloring the pages the server had given her when we sat down. At first James and I didn’t say much, but finally I thought I would go mad in the silence.
“Mum came to visit recently. She was thrilled to see Ellie and to satisfy herself that Sylvie’s healing well.”
“She sounds great. It’s a shame I didn’t get to meet her.”
Now what?
James spoke next. “I’ve been working on a great new exhibit on impressionism. You’ll have to come by and see it. I know you love the Scottish impressionists.”
“Sounds
interesting.”
He gave me the details about the exhibit and told me the opening date. “At the cocktail party the night before the exhibit opens, we’ll have several modern impressionist artists, as well as curators from two other museums. Perhaps you’d like to meet them.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Oh? Do you have plans?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”
Another uncomfortable silence. It was finally broken by the server bringing our lunches. Ellie picked at hers, despite her earlier insistence that she was hungry. I was finished eating in no time, and waited a bit impatiently for her to push her plate away. James seemed overly interested in the food on his plate, staring at it intently. I couldn’t wait to leave the restaurant.
When we emerged from the café into the sunshine of Edinburgh, James smiled and kissed my cheek. “Thanks for lunch,” he said.
I smiled. “Thank you.” Then, turning to walk in the opposite direction, I muttered under my breath, “That was awful.”
“What was awful, Mum?” Ellie asked, her voice seeming much louder than usual.
I glanced behind us and wasn’t surprised to see James watching us. Had he heard Ellie? I sighed. It didn’t really matter, did it?
“I didn’t like my lunch, that’s all,” I told Ellie with a smile.
CHAPTER 22
Ellie and I had just finished reading a story, and I was settling down to watch television when my mobile phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was the police.
“Dr. Dobbins, we have some information for you about the flat where your ex-husband was staying with Ellie.”
“Yes?”
“We still don’t know who rented the apartment, but we found some items that we were hoping you could shed some light on.”
“Such as?”
“Was Neill a painter?”
“No. Neill never showed any interest in art. Why do you ask?”
“There were a lot of painting supplies in the flat. They were in a large box in one of the closets.”
“Maybe they were Ellie’s. Maybe he bought them for her to play with, since she didn’t go to school.”
The officer sounded doubtful. “These were an adult’s tools. They’re too big for a child’s hands.”
“Maybe Neill’s girlfriend?”
“We haven’t been able to find out anything about a girlfriend,” the officer replied.
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t help. I’ll ask Ellie if she remembers anyone painting. Is there anything else?”
“We found the passports belonging to you and your daughter.”
“Wonderful! We can go back to the States as soon as all this is cleared up.”
“You can go back now if you’d like.”
“I need to see this through to the end before we go. To ensure that Ellie isn’t in danger anymore.”
“We’ll be in touch as soon as we know more about the night your ex-husband died.”
“I have a quick question. Was there anyone else at the scene that you remember? I mean, besides me and James and Neill?”
“ The onlookers, but our officers talked to most of them, and they’ve been cleared of any suspicion. I’m not aware of anyone else in the area.”
After I hung up, I thought about the dream I had had about the night Neill died. Why had my subconscious conjured a person lurking in the shadows? Was it possible someone had really been there? Could I have caught a glimpse of a person and didn’t register it at the time?
When I tucked Ellie into bed that evening, I tried to find out more about the painting supplies. “What sort of things did you do at the flat when you were staying with Daddy?”
“Played.”
“Did you ever paint?”
“No. But sometimes that lady did.”
I gripped the sheets a little tighter. “What lady?”
Ellie screwed up her lips, her characteristic thinking-hard look. “I don’t remember her name. But she painted.”
“What did she paint?”
“Pictures of outside.”
“Were they pretty?”
Ellie shrugged.
“Was she nice?”
“She never said anything. Just painted.”
“Do you know her name?”
Again the scrunched-up mouth, then Ellie said, “No.”
Another dead end.
It was a good thing we got outside during the nice weather, because it quickly changed to rain, which fell steadily for the next several days. I only heard from the police once, when they called to tell me they had spoken to Beatrice and she had no idea why Neill had suggested contacting her before he died.
I had almost forgotten about the opening exhibit cocktail party James had mentioned, but then I got a text from him.
Would you like to go to the cocktail party for the new exhibit?
I took my time answering his text. I still hadn’t decided whether to go. I was torn—if I went, would I wallow in self-pity afterward, wishing James hadn’t decided to break off our relationship? Would I be angry? On the other hand, if I stayed home, would I regret it? Would I wish I had gone to meet new people and show James that I was perfectly happy without him?
I decided to go.
When the evening arrived, I was nervous. I spent way too long trying to decide what to wear, finally settling on a navy blue dupioni silk dress with a wide sash, flared skirt, bateau neckline, and scooped back. I paired it with navy suede pumps and simple gold jewelry, and pulled my hair into a French chignon. Seamus whistled as I checked myself in the mirror next to the front door one last time before leaving the flat.
“James is going to take one look at you and beg for forgiveness,” he said.
Laughing, I thanked him and Sylvie again for watching Ellie for the evening and left for the waiting cab. I smiled to myself, pleased that I had taken so much time and care to dress. Was Seamus onto something? Did I really want that from James?
I thought the answer was yes.
At the museum, several groups of people stood in the atrium, talking quietly, sipping champagne and nibbling on appetizers that were being passed around by tuxedo-clad butlers. I accepted a flute of the sparkling citron-colored champagne, then nodded greetings to several museum employees I knew as I made my way through the throng in search of James.
I found him talking to a man near the reception desk. He glanced over at me, then did a quick double take, his eyes widening. I smiled to myself.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.” I suddenly felt shy.
“Have you met any of the artists here?”
“Not yet. I’ve only talked to you.”
He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward a small group of men and women. He introduced me to everyone, and we talked for several minutes. They were all artists whose works were being featured in the new exhibit or elsewhere in the museum. Several of them asked me about my work and the research I had done on Scottish impressionists.
“Aye, that McTaggart was a wonder,” one man said. “He had a vision, and his hands just followed what was in his head and his heart.” As much as I agreed with him and could have talked about McTaggart all night, the conversation in this small group was slow and ponderous. Not surprising, really, since many artists approached their art in the same manner.
The talk of impressionists, and McTaggart in particular, had me thinking again. And the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that faked painting had something to do with what had happened to Neill. And to me and Ellie, too.
James suggested we leave early and get a drink. We went to our favorite pub and slid into a booth.
“We couldn’t really talk the other day with Ellie at the table,” James said. “How have you been?”
“Fine. And you?”
“You know, busy at work.”
&
nbsp; Our conversation continued in the same stilted manner as we talked about Seamus’s painting, a new exhibit at the Scottish National Museum, and several of James’s co-workers.
Finally, our safe topics had been exhausted, and we fell silent. Both of us looked around the restaurant awkwardly until our server brought our orders. We ate in silence until James set down his knife with a loud clink and announced, “I’ve missed you.”
I must have betrayed my surprise, because he continued in a rush of words. “That shouldn’t take you unawares. Of course I’ve missed you. I didn’t leave your flat that last time because I wanted to. I left because I couldn’t bear the thought of the pain if I stayed. I was devastated.” He spread out his hands. “I didn’t want us to stop seeing each other. I’ve had an awful time of it, Greer. I just didn’t want to feel this way, or even worse, later on.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it when I realized I didn’t know what to say.
“Do you understand why I had to make that decision?” he asked.
I nodded slowly. “I think so. But you know the old saying, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Don’t you agree with that?”
“I do. But that doesn’t really apply, does it? We’ve loved and lost.”
“But why did we have to lose each other?” I blurted out without thinking.
He put his hand over mine. “Maybe it was a mistake.”
“Maybe what was a mistake?”
“Maybe we should stay together for now.”
“But you’re right—it is going to end someday, when Ellie and I go back home.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. But you have a point, and I confess I’ve been thinking the same thing for these past days. Why should we both be miserable now, while you’re still in Edinburgh, when we can postpone the misery until you leave? A complete turn-around from what I felt not long ago, but I’ve missed you so much.”