by Katie Curtis
Anna listened, her head tilted on her fingers. “I know. You had a great relationship on many levels. This was unfortunately a structural issue – like a crack in the foundation. The right person will be someone whose foundation is so solid, who is loyal to himself and to you, so that you don’t have to worry he will never ever be anything other than who he really is.” As Anna said those words, her mind flashed a picture of Andrew, sitting at the dock, the sun in his eyes. I belong in Maine. I thought you did too.
Anna sat up right, and tried to take a deep breath. This is not about Andrew, she tried to remind herself. This is about Georgia and she deserves your help right now. “You know what you need? A giant slice of gooey New York Margherita pizza. I’m going to heat this up and you open the wine. I’ll be right back.”
She ducked into the kitchen and as she put slices of pizza on plates, she thought again about how much she wished she could have talked to Andrew before she left. How much she wanted to say sorry to him. As if he could hear her thoughts, at that moment Raphael rang on Anna’s phone.
“Hey sweetie, you got in ok?”
“Yes, Georgia picked me up at Penn station and we are back at our place, having some heartbreak conversation and some comfort food. How are you doing?”
“I’m excellent now that you’re back home,” he sounded very happy. “I can’t wait to see you, should I make reservations for dinner tomorrow?” “Sure,” said Anna, “but you may want to make them for three. I’m not sure I’ll want to leave Georgia home alone while we go out on a date.”
“Alright, if you insist. But after dinner, you know, when she’s asleep, maybe then it will be safe to leave her alone?” Raphael asked.
Anna laughed. “Sure, hon.”
She hung up the phone and brought the pizza into the living room. The melted cheese spilled onto the plate, and Anna knew her friend’s messy love affair would momentarily be forgotten with a bite of this pizza. She brought the hot slice over to the couch. “Want to eat out tomorrow with Raphael and me? You may have to shower first, though.”
Georgia laughed as she sat up and reached for the pizza. “Alright, but there better be a bar.”
Anna sat back and watched her beautiful friend. “You are too good for him you know.”
Her friend sighed and met her eyes. “I know. That’s why I plan on eating my weight in ice cream. To lower my standards.”
They decided to meet at a new restaurant in Tribeca that had a great word of mouth buzz, and they had called a few friends to join them. Anna felt the slightest bit disoriented, having just sat in the quiet of her uncle’s house, watching the sun set over the ocean and sitting by the fire reading a book about Mary Cassatt at this time two nights ago. In contrast to the quiet, the city felt so alive, practically buzzing with an energy, like it had a pulse, and she realized it felt exciting being back in it.
They settled into their table and as their friends arrived, one by one, they kissed on the cheek and began telling stories, laughing, and listening to Georgia’s heartbreaking tale. They ordered Champagne to celebrate her freedom, and Raphael declared with a raised glass that it was good to have his Anna back, that he wouldn’t have made it another day without her. Anna’s heart felt warm with so many lovely people surrounding her, and she feasted on both food and friendship.
When she was stuffed and happy, Raphael turned to her and put his arm around her. “Did I tell you that Mike and Steve and I were all talking about getting a house in the Hamptons for a month this summer?” The news floated through her mind and immediately it pulled out the competing thought of Maine, of her uncle’s house, of spending time with Henry, Marie, and her dad, of painting all the summer flowers like the lupines and the sea roses that grew everywhere.
“Well, it would be tough to be in the Hamptons when we’re in Maine,” she said. Raphael put down his glass and his smile fell.
“Well, the house is such a good deal and a lot of friends from work are going to be there at the same time. It is sort of a networking career move for me to spend time playing hard with the higher ups, you know.” Anna wiped her mouth with her napkin even though she didn’t need to; she needed something to cover her disappointment. After everything she showed him and everything she tried to explain to Raphael when he came to visit, he thought everything would go right back to being the same – he picked where they went, what they did, how they vacationed because Anna had become so numb inside she didn’t have the energy to protest, and because outside of painting, she had been on autopilot. He didn’t realize that had changed. When she went home for Uncle Charlie’s funeral, she woke up. She knew what she wanted now. She knew just how short life really is, and what she wanted to be surrounded with. And it was very clear to her that she did not want to be surrounded by people she barely knew in the Hamptons.
“Maybe you should go to the Hamptons and I’ll go to Maine,” Anna said. The table got suddenly quiet, and their friends looked around uncomfortably.
“Honey, don’ get like that,” Raphael said, putting his arm around her. “We’ll talk about it later – maybe we can do both,” he said. And he raised his glass, “To the beautiful and newly single Georgia. Here’s to the lucky man who’ll get to find you now,” he said. His charm to the rescue, yet again.
Chapter 20
The next day was Friday, and Anna had planned to meet with Genevieve in the morning. She was going to tell her whether or not she would show at Art Basel, and even as she woke up and brewed coffee in her own pot, which she decided tasted horrible compared to the one at Uncle Charlie’s, she had not made up her mind. She was leaning toward yes, purely based on the fact that she loved Genevieve.
She decided to go for a run. Now that it was warm out, lacing up her sneakers felt like greeting an old friend. As she dodged pedestrians, her legs stretched out with ease in front of her, and she fell into a rhythm, loosening the muscles in her body and her mind. She replayed the scene from last night, and felt mad all over again at how Raphael completely ignored the house in Maine in his summer plans. She could barely talk to him after that. She was almost thankful when Georgia got weepy at the end of dinner, just so she could volunteer to take her home and wouldn’t have to deal with Raphael. She would try to talk to him again about it, but she knew the topic of ‘summer vacation’ would be a sore spot between them now.
After she came back and showered, she stared at her closet, and if felt like it belonged to someone else. She hadn’t seen these clothes in almost a month, and when she took a closer look, she tried to image wearing any of them in Maine. The fur, the leather, the silk blouses, but especially the heels. These items made sense for going to art openings and the opera and work cocktail parties for Raphael. To Shaw’s Wharf, they did not. Even Portland would look twice at her in these fancy threads. She put on a navy silk blouse and white jeans, and found the lowest heel she could find in her closet. As she put them on she looked at the painting she had been working on before she left. It looked so different to her. She remembered her point of view when she was putting it down. She was attempting to be fresh and light with the colors and the brush, but very expressive with the use of black and blue in outlining things. She suddenly remembered she was stuck on the woman’s face. She walked over and mixed a few colors together, found her brush, and finished it easily. When she was done, she put the brush down, stepped back and smiled. She was still smiling as the door shut behind her, the painting balanced under her arm, when she left for the gallery.
“Why are you wearing jeans?” Genevieve asked Anna when she walked through the door. She looked impeccable in a green and white DVF wrap dress and lots of gold jewelry.
“Good to see you too, Genevieve,” Anna said, kissing her on both cheeks. The canvas she had just finished was still under her arm; Anna wanted to bring it in even though the face was still a bit wet. It was an excuse to take a cab, she told herself.
“Well, thank God you’re back, that is all I can say. I was about to charter a plane to take me
up to Maine to get a straight answer from you. How can you put a woman my age through something like this? Waiting and waiting while I have menopause to deal with on top of the stress. You’re lucky there was a ton of sales this past month or I would be in the hospital and it would be your fault.” She got up from her seat and grabbed the canvas from Anna. “Please tell me your answer is yes, because this painting is fabulous,” she said.
“Yes, Genevieve. I will show at Art Basel. For you, I will do it.” Genevieve gave her an enormous hug that was so tight it made Anna screamed, “Alright, I can’t breathe!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t hug very often so when I do, all my bottled-up hugs come out.” Genevieve smiled at her happily, proudly. “You won’t be sorry, I promise you. Please excuse me for a moment”- Genevieve strutted over to her desk and picked up her phone. – “I’m going to go gloat to Richard Turner over at the Turner Gallery. I have been wanting to tell him we’ll be at Art Basel for two weeks now but you had to think it over, oy vey.” She punched in a number and put her hand on her slim hip. “Hi, is Richard there? No, ok leave a message. Tell him Genevieve Keller called and I said to kiss my ass because I’ve been invited to Miami Basel. Yes, it’s Keller, with a K.”
Anna wandered around the gallery. Suddenly, one of the paintings stopped her in her tracks. It was one of her mother’s. One that had hung in her gallery in Damariscotta before she died, Anna was sure of it. It should have been among the ones she and Marie and Stephen had inherited. She remembered her mother had painted it on Monhegan Island before she got sick. Anna had spent a day next to her painting as she was working on it. She remembered her mother talking about painting the ocean as they worked. The secret to painting the ocean is to be a great observer. See how the waves today aren’t really blue – they’re more like yellow and brown? Just keep asking yourself what do you see? And then paint that.
“I see you like the new McAllister,” Genevieve called over her shoulder. “Isn’t it great? I have a client who loves the Monhegan artists, I bet he’ll grab it up in a second.”
This was only the fourth painting the gallery had had of her mother’s. But Anna had known her mother had sold the others herself, and they had floated through here after they were sold again. This one she felt sure had not been sold before. “We’re lucky to get it. Chuck picked it up in Providence from some gallery.”
Anna was puzzled and stood staring at it. How could it have gotten to a gallery in Providence? She stood there so long that Genevieve couldn’t help but notice how strangely she was reacting to it. She walked over to the card and read about the painting. It was titled Monhegan Waves. Anna remembered it had been hanging in the window of her mother’s gallery for a while, and she had held out a high price for it since it was large. It showed the rocky edge of the island, swirled with vibrant green grass, against the Atlantic in shades of blue – and yellow and brown too, Anna noticed - that made you want to dive into it. The brush strokes were masterful, as was her mother’s use of color. But it was the three lobster boats, and the buoys that dotted the ocean, that made the painting so charming. Now it was probably worth ten times as much as she had been charging. The demand for most paintings from the ‘The Artists’ Island’ as it was called had risen since then.
“Monhegan. Isn’t that near where you have been hiding this past month? Where you’re from? Do you know this painting?” Genevieve asked.
“Yes, I know it. It’s my mother’s painting,” Anna said.
“Oh, did she know the artist?”
“She was the artist.” Anna didn’t flinch. Seven years of working for Genevieve and she had never told her. But today, she let it out. What did it matter now?
“Are you telling me that Therese McAllister is your mother?”
Anna didn’t say anything at first. She stood with her arms crossed, staring at the painting. Then she turned to look at Genevieve. The look gave the answer away.
“Are you kidding me?” Genevieve whipped off her tortoiseshell glasses. She strode towards Anna until she stood right in front of her. “Why haven’t you ever told me?”
“It’s complicated,” Anna finally managed.
“Complicated?” Genevieve said with her hand on her hip.
“I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Gen. It was just really painful when my mom died and when I left I was desperately trying to find a fresh start. Everyone in Maine knows she’s my mother. Everyone who saw me grow as an artist knew that I learned everything from her but mostly my father couldn’t imagine me doing anything but trying to keep her memory alive. He got crazy and just wanted me to keep painting and go to these prestigious art programs when I was still reeling from her death. It was a pretty heavy burden then, being her artistic daughter, and I just wanted to lay it down. Now, I don’t care. My dad knows I am painting again and we’re…we’re good. I don’t know if it makes any sense, but I remembered who I am while I was in Maine. I don’t have to worry about it anymore.” Anna wandered over to Genevieve’s chair and sat down. “Man I’m tired.”
“You should be. Carrying around a secret like that can be exhausting. But do you know what I am thinking?”
“No, I couldn’t possibly begin to know what you are thinking.”
Genevieve put her glasses up on top of her head and sat down on the edge of her desk across from Anna. She crossed her arms and looked right at her. “I’m thinking Mother-Daughter show at Art Basel.”
“Oh, come on, Gen. Don’t be ridiculous.” Anna threw her head back and looked at the ceiling. If she was tired before, now she was exhausted from even thinking about that idea.
“Of course, we’ll have to find a supply of your mother’s work, I don’t suppose you know where we could find some do you? Any of her collectors that you are familiar with?
Anna thought of the enormous pile at Marie’s and was thankful that Genevieve did not have telepathic powers. “Hmm, I’ll have to think,” Anna said, shrugging her shoulders. She was not excited at all about the idea of showing beside her mother’s paintings. She had never thought about it before, but after the amount of work she had put in to creating a distance between her art and her mother’s, it seemed crazy to close that distance in such an official capacity.
“Well I’ll just have to get to work on it then. I’ll start with Chuck and track down where he found this one. Then maybe the source can tell us if there are anymore.”
Anna once again wondered where that painting had come from. Maybe Genevieve’s search would help offer some kind of answer.
As she left the gallery, the streets were bathed in the kind of sunshine that warms every square inch of skin it touches, though it wasn’t yet hot enough to start making the streets of the city ripe and sour smelling. Despite the mystery of the painting and the angst over Genevieve’s suggestion of showing with her mother, Anna couldn’t help but feel light and unencumbered. Being open about who her mother was with Genevieve was surprisingly freeing. It felt good to have it out in the open. To honor her as a mother and as an artist.
That reminded her – she wanted to talk to Miranda about going to the Foundation this summer. She picked up the phone to call her, and as she walked down the street listening to the phone ring, she watched a shop keeper tending to his fruit on the corner, carefully, almost tenderly. He was old and bent in a black wool sweater despite the warmth of the day, and he polished each apple on his white apron, despite the obvious stiffness of his arthritic fingers.
She picked up on the third ring. “Anna! Are you back?” Miranda said, her voice as bubbly as ever, her happiness filling her ears.
“I am,” Anna smiled. “I was wondering if you wanted to reschedule that visit to the Met for this weekend?”
“Yes, I would love to! Does Sunday work?” she asked. “We have to go to church but I can meet you after that?”
An idea suddenly occurred to Anna. She remembered Miranda went to Mass with her mother and sister every weekend. “You know what, how about I meet you at church?” She was ho
ping to talk to her mother about the Foundation, and see if they could put the application in soon with her approval, if Miranda liked the idea.
“Really? Ok! That would be so much fun,” Miranda said. “We go to the 10:00 mass at Epiphany. I’ll text you the address.”
“Ok. See you Sunday,” Anna said, smiling as she hung up the phone and walked home, her heart feeling as bright and shiny as the apples on the corner.
Chapter 21
Later that evening, as she made her way up the steps to Raphael’s apartment, she noticed her muscles feeling unusually strong since she had started running more. She had agreed to dinner there, and she was hoping they could finally resolve the issues they kept circling around every time they were together.
She thought about the first time she had come to this apartment, to help him hang some of the pieces he had bought from her. He was charming and fun then, and she hoped he would bring his charming and fun self tonight. Anna suddenly felt like she needed an old friend. She rang the buzzer, thinking of Georgia and how she had done the same thing at Jake’s apartment so many times. She had promised her a day of shopping the following day, and she hoped the retail therapy would help her friend picture her new, Jake-free life. If that didn’t work, they would retire once again to her living room, curled up with wine and chocolate.
Raphael opened the door looking handsome in a navy polo shirt. “Buenos dias, my beautiful girl,” he said kissing her deeply and pulling her inside. Anna noticed he smelled good; he was wearing her favorite cologne. A total Raphael touch. “I’m so happy to finally have you back home.” They walked into his apartment and Anna set down her bags, and he handed her a glass of Champagne. “I’m going to make you something special tonight, you won’t believe it.” Anna smiled as she surveyed the kitchen, filled with cutting boards and prep bowls and a salad in partial stages of assembly. “I may or may not have flown in Maine Lobster for Lobster Risotto. That is all I’ll say.”