Rock Solid

by Lisa A. Olech

  Emily shrugged. “It seemed to me Joe started sniffing around the week after the funeral.”

  Trixie’s mouth dropped open. “You really must have quite the opinion of me. I didn’t start dating Joe until almost two years after your father died. He did come by a week after the funeral. Your father had put a non-refundable deposit on a timeshare he couldn’t begin to afford, and Joe, out of the goodness of his heart, gave the money back.”

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so slimy. “That was kind of nice,” Emily said, sheepishly.

  “He knew money was tight. He’s on the town council, so he knew when I missed the tax deadline on the shop. He offered to write me a personal note, but I said no. That’s when he started booking appointments for haircuts and colorings he didn’t need. I swear the man would have me wax his eyebrows to give me the extra twelve bucks if I’d let him.

  “I should have told you about Joe and me, and I’m so sorry you had to find out the way you did, but you’ve been struggling so much lately. I’ve seen how hard things have been for you. You didn’t want to move back home. I don’t blame you. After Chicago, Stoddard, New Hampshire, is about as quiet as you can get. I understood what a sacrifice it was for you to give up your beautiful apartment and move back in with me. I felt so guilty about it. I didn’t want to add my relationship with Joe to your stress. I was trying to break it to you gently.”

  Emily covered her face with her hands. “I still might need therapy.”

  Trixie wrapped her arm around her and laid her head on her shoulder. The room got quiet. “Your turn.”

  “I can’t talk about Max. Not yet.”

  “It might make you feel better.”

  Em ran her fingers through her hair and gave a slow shake to her head. “Nothing’s going to make me feel better.”

  “Can I just say I’m stunned? Devastated. How could he have fooled everyone? I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I want to strangle him. Oh, and my beautiful little statue, my pride and joy? I’m using it as a doorstop.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t push aside his talent and skill because he screwed things up. Regardless of the rest, Ma, his work is still his work, and it’s still amazing. Don’t be one of those people.” Emily’s rush into defense mode surprised her.

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re away from him. He’d have dragged you down too. On the news this morning, they showed a bunch of people clearing out of his studio. Like fleas jumping off a dead squirrel.”

  Emily hated hearing the studio was in jeopardy. She felt bad for Max, but that didn’t mean she forgave him. It didn’t mean her pain was lessened or softened. She still loved him, God help her, even with a shredded heart.

  “The nerve of showing up on my doorstep after what he did to you.”

  “What? When?”

  “Yesterday. He wanted to know where he could find you. I had no idea where you’d gone. Of course, even if I’d known, I wouldn’t have told him.”

  Emily swallowed the painful lump in her throat. “Ma, can we not talk about this anymore? Please?”

  Trixie squeezed Emily’s shoulders. “Of course, sweetie. I didn’t fall for his ‘I’m in love with her’ crap, either.”

  Emily shot her mother a look. “He said he loved me?”

  “You don’t believe him, do you?” Trixie gawked at her like she was crazy. “The man’s a professional conman, baby. If his mouth was moving, he was lying.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wednesday evening Emily was scheduled to attend the end of semester show at Stoddard. The past few days had been surreal. She’d thanked Suzanne for all the tea and moved back to Trixie’s Monday night. After their conversation, she felt as if Max was going to show up again at any moment. Thankfully, he didn’t.

  Emily had received a phone call from Margo Abbot regarding her show. She was very enthusiastic about featuring some of Emily’s work and offered her a wonderful opportunity for the months leading up to it. “I run an artist’s cooperative and we have an opening for an artist in residence this summer. It doesn’t pay much, but you’d have room and meals and studio space. You’d be required to lead several demonstrations and a few hands-on workshops for our guests, maybe teach a class if you’re interested. You can visit our website, and I’ll e-mail you some more information.”

  “Yes, please do. I’m very interested.”

  “We’re pretty remote. But being stuck out in the woods together gives our artists a chance to soak up each other’s creative energies and focus on their work.”

  “Remote,” for once, didn’t sound like a prison sentence. It sounded like the perfect escape where she could work and disappear for a while. Distance was a good thing, right? She snapped up Margo’s offer.

  By Wednesday evening, all the details were set. Emily planned to leave on Friday. She’d already started to pack. She’d been on edge for days, fearing Max would show up. After she jumped out of her skin when the UPS man knocked on Trixie’s front door to deliver a package, Em knew this was the best idea. She couldn’t keep looking over her shoulder and finding any excuse to run the tiniest of errands, parking her car in odd places, trying to keep one step ahead of him. As difficult as it was, she was forcing him from her mind. Hell, she hadn’t thought of Maximo once…in the last ten minutes. That was progress.

  Walking into the exhibition hall, what Emily wasn’t prepared for was her reaction to seeing her piece again. She couldn’t escape its passion or the memories of that night with Max.

  The impact of seeing it punched the air from her lungs. Tears threatened, but she refused to allow them to fall. She’d shed enough over her foolishness. She’d make it through tonight, disappear into the woods for the summer, and decide what to do with Steel Ribbon when she returned.

  People arrived for the show. The hall was soon packed with student artists, professors, friends, and families. Classmates exchanged hugs. Everyone was excited to see and be seen. The walls were covered with artwork, and three-dimensional art stood scattered throughout the crowded room. It was a wonderful display of every genre and level of talent found at the school. And with finals over and deadlines met, the mood of the majority of the students was one of relieved celebration.

  Trixie would be by after she closed the salon. She warned Emily she was bringing Joe along. Now that the cat was out of the bag and they didn’t have to hide their relationship, Joe wanted to spend as much time as he could with her mother. The town was abuzz. Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

  “Emily! Great sculpture.”

  “Jagger! Zee!” Emily hugged her friends Jagger Jones and his wife. Zee was an amazing portrait artist. She’d been in some of Emily’s classes at Stoddard, and Jagger Jones was still a favorite model at the school. “How are you two? I haven’t seen you all semester. I heard you were moving to London.”

  Jagger slipped an arm around Zee’s waist. “The sooner the better, right lovey?”

  Zee grinned at Jagger. They were such a sweet couple. It made the ache in Emily’s chest twinge.

  Jagger kissed Zee’s forehead. “Go on, spill the beans.”

  Emily frowned at the two of them. “What beans?”

  Zee blushed. “We’re expecting.”

  Jagger blurted, “Twins.”

  “Wow.” Emily felt punched again. Suzanne, Cynthia, now Zee? “There must be something in the water here in Stoddard.”

  Jagger beamed. He puffed his chest as if he was the first male to ever impregnate a woman. Zee laid a hand on his chest. “We were going to wait until the end of the year, but the thought of moving all the way to London with two babies doesn’t sound like fun. So Jagger’s mom is on her way from Australia, and she’s going to help us pack up and be ready to move by the end of next month. That way we’re all settled in before baby A and B arrive.”

  “Wow, babies and London. That’s incredible. Congratulations.”

  “We’re still working on wonky names. Kinda a family tradition now.” Jagger grinned his crooked grin at his wi
fe.

  “No, if they’re girls, we’re naming them after my grandmother, and if they’re boys, after your father. We agreed, no more crazy names. We’re not naming our babies Mac and Tosh Jones.” Zee shook her head at Emily. “We’ll let you know where we end up. You have to promise to come for a visit.”

  “Absolutely.” Emily hugged Zee and Jagger.

  The room was warm and hummed with activity. Emily spoke with several people about her work. She received some wonderful comments and was congratulated by several of her professors for a job well done.

  Emily paused to take a drink from her water bottle when she saw him. Max entered the gallery space at the south end. Even rumpled and sporting a day’s growth of beard, she spotted him the minute he came in. He stood at the entrance and scanned the room.

  A war of emotions raged through her. Anger, anguish, hopeless longing. The pinball of feelings made her head spin. It was too soon. She wasn’t strong enough yet to pretend his presence didn’t throw her. She knew there was a possibility of him showing up tonight, but she’d hoped he’d forgotten. He hadn’t. He was there. Emily couldn’t face him. Time for her to leave.

  Just then, another guest stopped to compliment her. Emily thanked the woman and excused herself, dodging her way through the crowd toward the north exit. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her fear. He’d spotted her.

  Into the hallway and through the busy corridor, she made her way out of the building. She couldn’t leave, but if she could avoid him long enough, he’d get the message. She cut back around the building and…

  “Emily?”

  Her heart leapt in her chest. How the hell had he gotten in front of her? “I told you to leave me alone.”

  Sooty smudges ringed his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Why did you send back the check?”

  “Why do you think?” Emily couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “It made me feel cheap. I don’t need your damn money.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I didn’t mean for you to feel cheapened by it. You earned it.”

  Earned it? “How did I earn all those dollars, Max? By breaking pieces off your statues or by being your whore?”

  He jerked back as if she’d struck him. “No! What? You were never my whore! How could you say that?”

  She held up a hand to stop him. This wasn’t helping. “I appreciate your signing off on my paperwork, but keep your money. I don’t want any part of it. Please, just go.” She turned away from him.

  He caught her arm. “I’ve been searching for you and calling for four days. I’m not leaving until you listen to me.”

  His hand on her arm wasn’t rough or demanding. It was gentle and far more dangerous. It was a tender plea that reached into her tattered heart. If she didn’t hear him out, he’d find another time, another place. Emily didn’t think she could bear it. She didn’t move. She kept her back to him. God help her, she couldn’t look at him.

  “Em?”

  She sighed. “Say what you have to say.”

  “Will you look at me?”

  “I can’t.”

  His hand dropped away. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t come close to apologizing for all I’ve done, but you have to know how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt anyone. This whole business started as a gag. My great-great-grandmother and Michelangelo. High school sweethearts. Florence High School, Class of 1490. It was a stupid joke we told in my family. Some reporter compared how solitary and driven I was to the great artist, one of my idiot brother’s told the family tale, and the next thing I knew it had made it into the New England Journal of Art article. It mushroomed from there. I didn’t take it seriously. It was too ridiculous.

  “There’s a reason I’ve been alone for years. I am solitary and driven when I work. More like anti-social and obsessed. That’s why my marriage failed. I’m no good with people. Never have been. I have no patience. No filter for what comes out of my mouth. My art was my way to speak to the world. It was my way to communicate, but all of a sudden the media wanted to hear this fantastic story. I denied it all, but they wouldn’t let it go. I just wanted them to leave me alone, so I pretended I didn’t understand English. It worked. It worked too well. The persona took on a life of its own, and I let it. It was easier to pretend than fight it.

  “But then I met you. It was like you breathed new air into my lungs.” His hand was back on her arm.

  Emily shivered at his touch.

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I thought, at first, you were enamored with Maximo, not me. That’s why I pushed you away. I wanted you to want me. The real me. Not Vega. But the more time I spent with you, the more I realized how much I wanted you. You were beautiful and strong. You were so much stronger than I was.

  “I can’t tell you how many times I started to tell you the truth. Something always interrupted me and then the moment was gone. So, I tried again, and again the words died on my tongue. But I was falling in love with you. I had to tell you the truth. I had to tell the world the truth. I didn’t care about the consequences. I couldn’t hope to share my life with you if I was living a lie.

  “Beverly Lavender did me a favor. It wasn’t how I wanted it to happen, but it’s almost a relief now the truth is out. No more worrying that someone from Ohio will cash in on their fifteen minutes of fame and expose me. But not telling you—having you find out the way you did. I never wanted that. Not that it changes the facts. Not that it makes any of this less painful, but to see the hurt on your face…” His hand stroked up her arm. “I never wanted to hurt you, I swear.”

  Emily hadn’t realized she was crying until a tear splashed onto her chest.

  Anguish and regret filled his voice. Max continued to stroke her arm. “The last few days have been a nightmare, my family is bullshit, the press has been ruthless, the studio is disintegrating, and I’ve lost most of my commissions. But the only thing I cared about is you, finding you and trying to make it right. I had to explain, to somehow make you understand how sorry I am that I hurt you. I love you, Emily, with all of my heart. I’ve loved you since the first moment I looked into those beautiful green eyes. I love your energy and your incredible passion. I love that it’s making me crazy trying to figure out what flower you smell like. I never imagined I could feel like this about anyone. I love you so much.”

  He turned her around. “I have no right to think you’ll ever forgive me, but I pray you’ll try to understand.” He tipped her chin so she looked at him and whispered, “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”

  Emily stepped back, breaking their connection and closed her eyes. His explanation grated against her. The wound was too deep, too raw. She didn’t know if she would ever forgive him. Her trust was gone. She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I can’t. I don’t want to see you again. It’s too damn hard.” She shook her head and stared at his boots. “I’m leaving town in two days. Please don’t look for me. Don’t try to follow me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Months had passed since Maximo had seen Emily, and yet, a day—hell, an hour had not gone by without him thinking of her, loving her, and kicking himself for destroying the best thing that ever happened to him.

  His life barely resembled what it had been before the world learned the truth about the great Maximo Vega. He’d lost everything. His employees had walked away. Make that ran away. To try to soften the blow of his betrayal, he’d given them all a generous severance so their families wouldn’t suffer because of his deceit. He’d closed the studio and sold all the equipment to pay off his vendors and suppliers. Every single commission had cancelled, deposits repaid. Daniel Bruce of The Bruce Gallery wouldn’t even answer his calls. His family was still speaking to him, but as far as the art world was concerned, Maximo Vega was dead.

  He ended up moving into an old factory building near Manchester and setting up a makeshift studio where he
could work. Dante helped him move.

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “I have work to finish.” Max wheeled the last of his marble supply into his new workspace. “I’ve been scouting cheap gallery locales. I think I have enough pieces for a small showing, as Max Vega this time. If I can sell off some of these abandoned commissions, that will keep me going. Otherwise, the money should last about six months if I don’t eat.”

  “I wish I could stick around and help you.” Dante slipped a hand truck from under a wrapped piece.

  “No, we’ve been over this. You need to stay as far away from me as you can. I’ve convinced everyone you knew nothing about the deception, and that’s how it’s going to be. The new job is set. You’ll do great. You’re going to love Arizona.”

  “What about her?” Dante unwrapped the moving blanket off a stunning piece of pink marble carved in Emily’s likeness. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No.” Maximo stared at the piece. It was his favorite. Even more than Implorare, this sculpture was his love letter to her. It was his “Em.” Somehow, in this simple pose, he’d captured all her incredible passion as well as her laughter. It was everything he loved about her in that sliver of time when she was his.

  “Give her some time.” Dante shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe she’ll come around.”

  “I doubt it. She was pretty definite about never wanting to see me again.”

  “Did you check out the website I sent you about the fresh artist’s show at the end of next month? They have her listed as one of their featured artists.”

  “No.” Max ran a hand through his hair and moved a crate of heavy tools against one wall.

  “Why not?”

  He turned to face Dante and put his hands on his hips. “Because if I know where she is, I’ll have to go. She doesn’t want to see me, remember.”

  “It’s a shame. You were happy there for half a minute. Walking around the studio grinning like a fool. You really loved her.”