Canvas for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  Billy rolled his eyes. “That woman was a piece of work.”

  I pounced on this tidbit. “How so?”

  Billy shook his head. “They were together for a long time—well, long for Amelia anyway. A year? Year and a half? I don’t remember. Amelia was clearly in love with her, but Sara was a wreck. All she ever did was lie and cheat. Broke Amelia’s heart.”

  While it was reassuring to know that Amelia had at least one long-term relationship before me, I was stunned. I’d known she and Sara had been together longer than most of her other girlfriends, but I hadn’t known Amelia actually cared for her. Most of Amelia’s stories about her exes made it sound like they had endured for weeks at most. Amelia had withheld almost all details about her past with Sara from me, but from what she had told me about her before, I’d assumed their relationship had been mainly sexual.

  Sara had inserted herself into our lives last November when she assaulted me in the bathroom of a bar. She hadn’t hurt me badly, but she’d definitely scared me. She’d threatened me and my family and warned me off Amelia. I didn’t listen to her, and so far I hadn’t heard from her again, but her phantom still lingered at the edges of my relationship with Amelia. Amelia was reluctant to talk about her more than she already had. The only thing I knew was that they’d broken up and then Sara started sending mysterious and sometimes threatening messages to Amelia’s new girlfriends and to Amelia herself. She’d never gone further than that until she attacked me last autumn.

  I was about to ask Billy more about Sara and the other exes he’d met, but we heard the sound of the band striking up “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” This seemed to be some kind of cue for everyone to go into the ballroom. Billy motioned toward the open doorway and I followed him, reluctant to end our conversation.

  The entire Winters family was on a stage at the far end of the room, and everyone joined in the chorus to sing to them. It was strange on many levels, chief of which was the fact that Amelia’s mother seemed to think everyone was singing entirely for her and not for her children on their birthdays. The song continued into a third round, which was long enough for almost all of the attendees to finally gather in the ballroom and find their seats.

  While my table assignment was surprisingly close to the stage, I’d been placed between two elderly women who refused to greet me when I approached the table. They both looked hostile, though as far as I knew I’d never met them before. My chair was also pointed away from the stage. I turned it around and sat down, and as I did, I saw both of the women on either side of me give me a dirty look. I smiled back at them with mock graciousness and then ignored them.

  A few moments later, Hilda Winters took the center stage in front of the microphone, and the voices in the room gradually quieted as she waited for attention.

  “Welcome all to the Winters Family Birthday Gala!” she finally said. Tremendous applause and a few whistles greeted her, and she flushed with pride.

  “The celebration marks the thirty-seventh birthday gala, which has taken place in late January since our eldest son, Dean, was just one year old.”

  I found it strange that after the applause, Hilda didn’t ask Dean to say anything. In fact, as mistress of ceremonies, she seemed reluctant to acknowledge that she was onstage with anyone else. The rest of the family stood a few paces behind her, all of them smiling like fools. A flash of hot anger swept through me at this whole charade. If Hilda wanted a party, I thought, why even pretend it was for her children? It all seemed so fake and pretentious.

  Hilda cleared her throat. “Tonight’s silent auction will be an ongoing affair throughout the evening. On your place setting, you will see a large envelope, and inside that envelope you will see a list of items our generous donors have contributed toward our cause. Simply make your bid and give the envelope to one of the stewards here in the room.” She pointed them out. “If you would like to make a donation, please write the check to Art for the People. My beautiful daughter Amelia will tell you more about the organization now.”

  Hilda Winters was clearly reluctant to cede any of the attention she’d received, as, rather than rejoining the line with the rest of the family, she simply took a couple of steps to the left of the microphone. Amelia walked forward, and my heart gave a jagged leap when she took center stage. She was, as always, incredibly beautiful. I’d been so pleased to see her earlier in the receiving line that I’d barely noticed what she was wearing. Tonight her dark, wavy hair was arranged loosely on top of her head and held in place with what looked like pearls. They studded her hair and stood out in vivid contrast to her dark locks. Unlike her mother’s light-blue and icy eyes, Amelia’s are a startlingly dark, deep blue, like the ocean in a storm. She’s almost exactly my height but slighter overall, with narrow hips and a slender waist. In her gorgeous red-silk gown, she was positively stunning. The crowd around me seemed to agree, as a kind of preternatural silence swept across the room at her appearance. Everyone was looking at her with awe.

  “Thank you all so very much for being here tonight,” Amelia said. She was clearly confident in front of a large crowd. Had I been up there, I would have been, at best, stammering, more likely speechless. She looked comfortable, more at ease than her mother, in fact.

  “Art for the People is a local chapter of the national organization that brings art to children and teens. The wonderful pieces in the lobby are works created in part by the generous efforts of this organization with local primary and secondary schools. As you know, the Winters family has long been a patron of the arts, none more so than me. Studies have shown that children exposed to the creative arts at a young age are more successful in all subjects in school, and they are less likely to engage in petty or violent crime. Please consider the future of young people and art in our fair city when you make your donations tonight. A young da Vinci or Cassatt might be waiting for the paints or pencils your generosity could provide. Thank you.”

  While I am, of course, biased, I thought her speech was very nicely done, and I’m sure I clapped the longest and the loudest of anyone in the room. It had been informative but not didactic, pleading but not desperate. It was, like the woman who gave it, perfection.

  Hilda closed the opening remarks with a few words of her own, and we were finally dismissed for the meal. I stood up and turned my chair around, once again noticing that the women on either side of me seemed put out to have me here with them. After I sat down, I glanced around the table, hoping for a friendly face, but no one looked at me for more than a moment except to glare. They clearly all knew each other and had apparently decided to pretend I wasn’t here. Rather than let it bother me, I took this dismissal as a gift, as it meant that I wouldn’t have to make small talk with anyone. I did enough of that at work.

  Simply to have something to do, I opened the envelope on my plate. Inside was a long list of items donated for the auction tonight. I noted that Amelia had given several paintings to the cause, all of which I recognized as coming from her personal collection. Her parents, brothers, and sister had also contributed, and though Michael and Emma’s respective gifts of music and film memorabilia were clearly more modest than those of their elder, wealthier siblings, I was still pleased to see that their names had been included.

  People outside of the family and a few organizations had also donated items and event tickets, but the one that grabbed my attention had been donated by a local travel agency: a six-night trip for two to Puerto Vallarta. While I knew I was lucky to live in such a warm climate, and I knew our cold snap was likely to pass any day now, the thought of basking in the warm sun on a sandy beach made me yearn for it in a kind of hungry desperation. I hadn’t actually been to a beach in years. Between graduate school and internships, I’d barely had a vacation longer than a couple of days since my undergraduate years. Amelia and I had been working long, back-to-back days almost since I started working with her. Except for a few days during the holidays and my illness last week, I hadn’t had a single break.


  This didn’t, however, mean that I had the money to outbid anyone for the trip. Between setting up my apartment and paying off some of the debt I’d accumulated as a graduate student, I was still fairly tight on money most of the time. Working for Amelia meant I was very well paid, but it would be a long time before I had enough extra money set aside for a vacation. Sighing, I returned the auction card to my plate and took out my checkbook. I could make a small donation, at the very least.

  Dinner was served soon after this, and no one spoke to me the whole time we ate. By the time the cabernet sorbet was served, I’d been sitting there in relative silence for almost an hour, and my carefree façade was beginning to crack. To pass the time, I’d read the auction sheet to myself so many times I must have looked like a crazy person. There simply wasn’t enough information on that piece of paper to warrant a twentieth read, but it gave me something to look at. Sighing, I set it down for the last time and stood up. The movement caught my tablemates by surprise, and I smiled at them.

  “Such a pleasure,” I said, loud enough for all of them and nearby tables to hear. I saw a couple of the people I’d been sitting with flush, but I wasn’t in the mood to feel bad about my rudeness in the face of theirs. I needed some air or I might start tearing my hair out. I pushed my chair in and walked away as quickly as I could. One of the waiters saw me looking around, and when I told him what I needed, he directed me toward a large purple curtain that had been hung in front of the back exit. I thanked him and went out into the cold night.

  I walked across the patio, rounded a corner into the back flower garden, and found the darkness back there thick and deep. Clearly the family had not anticipated anyone coming out here on their own, as the garden lights were off. Safely hidden from the people in the ballroom, I took several long, deep breaths and closed my eyes. A moment later, I heard something snap off to my left and jerked my eyes open.

  “Hello?” I asked, peering into the dark. “Is someone there?” I couldn’t see anything or anyone. I stood there for a long time, squinting and looking in the direction of the sound, but nothing was there.

  Shivering now from the cold, I decided to head back inside. The last thing I wanted was to go back into that room with all of those terrible people, but at least I might get to see Amelia again. I took the long way back and reentered the house from the side to avoid any curious questions.

  * * *

  Sara let out the breath she was holding when Chloé finally went away. She’d seen her leave the party through the back door and had raced out here from the side so she could watch her from the garden. To her surprise, instead of staying on the patio, she started walking toward Sara. For a moment, Sara was certain that she’d been spotted, that Chloé was coming to talk to her, so she’d decided to hide in the farthest reach of the garden. It was so dark there, no one would be able to see her.

  When Chloé came around the edge of the hedge, however, it was clear that she wasn’t looking for her. She was out here on her own for some reason, and Sara watched her stand there by herself for a long moment and take deep breaths. Chloé closed her eyes, and Sara’s heart leapt at her luck. She hadn’t planned to do it tonight, but she couldn’t ignore an opportunity when it fell in her lap. She reached in her purse for her little pistol and took a step forward from behind the tree, but she stupidly managed to step on a branch, snapping it. Chloé jumped and looked directly at her, but the darkness still hid her. Sara stopped completely and held her breath, not wanting to give Chloé a reason to investigate. After a while, Chloé relaxed and then shivered, rubbing the cold from her bare arms. Finally, she turned and walked away.

  Sara cursed herself. She’d almost blown the whole thing. When she’d heard about the gala tonight, she’d been reminded of how Amelia had refused to let her attend when they were together. Amelia’s excuse at the time had been her parents—they wouldn’t want to rub a lesbian in their guests’ faces. Yet here was Chloé, greeted by Ted and Hilda and the rest of the family like an old friend. Naively, Sara hadn’t expected to see Chloé here. She’d come only to see Amelia, knowing that she might not get another opportunity before she had to leave New Orleans again. She’d been invited to the gala by Daphne Waters—a family friend of a Winters—but when she and Daphne got out of the car in front of the mansion a couple of hours ago, she’d been flabbergasted to spot Chloé sneaking in ahead of her. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from calling her name, and it had taken a series of deft lies to Daphne to cover up her stupidity.

  Inside, she simply avoided the receiving line, walking past the whole family without notice. She’d waited in the reception room and watched Chloé come through the line, and then she hid in the crowd when she saw Chloé coming her way with that giant oaf of a man Emma was still seeing—Timmy or Jimbo, or whatever his name was. He’d been rude to her when she met him a few times years ago. And to be perfectly honest, his size also intimidated her, so she patiently waited until Chloé was alone again before calling her name once more.

  All evening, she knew she was courting disaster. Any moment then or now, someone would recognize her, and it would cause a scene. More than the scene, however, Sara was afraid of putting Chloé or Amelia on the lookout for her again. They’d clearly forgotten about her at this point—that whole disastrous slipup at the bar last November was safely in the past. Sara knew that surprise was the only thing she had going for her, and she was on the brink of showing her hand.

  She didn’t want either Chloé or Amelia to know she was coming for them. She wanted to ambush them when they least expected it.

  There was, however, one last thing she needed to do before she left the party, and she grinned wickedly. Tonight was, after all, a charitable event, and she hadn’t bid on anything from the auction. If she was careful, she could sneak in and do it now before anyone noticed her.

  Chapter Four

  When I came back into the ballroom, I walked right into a crowd of people milling around Ted Winters. I tried to move around them, but he spotted me and called me over. Every person near him turned to look at me, obviously curious, and my face heated as I walked closer. Ted held out an arm, and I came near enough for him to put it around my shoulders. He squeezed me once, tightly. He had a glass of bourbon in his free hand, and I could tell from his ruddy face that it wasn’t his first drink.

  Ted addressed the men and women around us. “And this little lady is the newest addition to Amelia’s fantastic company. But she isn’t just an employee. No, this young beauty here has captured my daughter’s heart.”

  My face couldn’t have been hotter if I were on the surface of the sun. Ted, however, was oblivious to my embarrassment. “We’re all just so glad they found each other. Amelia has needed to settle down for some time now.”

  The people around us looked embarrassed for me, and I only just managed to give them an awkward smile.

  “Jesus, Dad,” a voice said behind us.

  Ted turned with me, his arm still gripping my shoulders, and we both saw Bobby a few feet away.

  “Can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?” Bobby asked. His face was red, too, but from anger.

  Ted squeezed me tighter and laughed. “Oh, come on. Chloé knows I’m just playing around. Don’t you, honey?”

  They were both looking at me, Bobby’s face serious and hard, Ted’s open and clearly drunk.

  “Sure I do,” I said, smiling up at Ted to reassure him.

  “You’re just being kind,” Bobby said. He’d kept his voice as quiet as possible, but I could see the people around us stirring uncomfortably.

  Ted let go of my shoulders, and it was all I could do not to run away. I took a couple of steps from him, closer to Bobby, and saw Ted’s expression falter a little with embarrassed dismay. The expression faded, however, and he turned back to his guests, effectively dismissing us.

  Bobby took my arm in his and steered me away from the others and toward the bar in the corner of the room.

  “Jesus, I’m so sorry,”
he said. “Dad always overimbibes at these things. I think it’s the only way he can stomach my mother’s antics.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “At least he was saying good things. It could have been worse.”

  Bobby laughed and grinned at me. “That’s a nice way of looking at it.” His expression sobered a little. “I guess I should tell you that the longer you’re around our happy little family, the more you’ll see how unhappy we really are—especially my parents.”

  Over the last couple of months, I had come to wonder about the two of them. Ted was sociable, kind, and forthcoming, welcoming me from day one with genuine warmth. He seemed to be this way with everyone, but I could tell he actually liked me. Meanwhile, his wife was brittle and cold toward him and the rest of the family, and phony and happy with anyone in public. They clearly shared few interests and, for the most part, spent entire parties like this and their anniversary in different places. I didn’t know until now, however, that their differences were causing marital problems.

  We were in line for drinks now, and Bobby was still holding my arm in his. We’d received a few curious stares as we walked over here, and I could almost hear the confused gears turning in people’s minds as people tried to figure me out. Bobby is, in fact, a very handsome man and an eligible, rich widower. While he’d been having some troubles recently keeping a long-term girlfriend because of his children, I was sure plenty of women in this room would be willing to overlook some inconvenient kids for a chance to spend his fortune. Yet here I was on his arm, monopolizing their chances. The rumor mill would surely be grinding by the end of the evening. Bobby, however, could apparently care less. Amelia would be amused to hear that some people not in the know obviously thought he and I were together.

  Bobby got me another glass of champagne and a gin and tonic for himself. Together with our drinks, we walked over toward a little raised table by a small dance floor and watched several couples twirling around. We didn’t say anything. He seemed to be thinking about something else—his parents, most likely—and, after the disastrous, nerve-racking dinner, I was relieved to have someone friendly to stand near for a while. I turned toward him to chat, but his eyes were fixed on the stage. I looked up to see Hilda Winters take the microphone again. After she was greeted by a long chorus of applause, she took a slight bow.