by Amanda Gray
“So, you’re way off base. I’ve met the guy and trust me, there is no possibility whatsoever.”
Jenny had a flash of the boy named Nikolai, his lips full and sensual as he’d gazed at the painting over her shoulder in the big fancy room. She had a reckless desire to tell Morgan about him instead of Ben. To tell Morgan how he’d made her feel, even in her dream.
“Why not?” Morgan asked, pulling Jenny back to the conversation. “You don’t think he’s cute?”
Jenny thought of Ben Daulton. “Sure, he’s cute. Until he opens his mouth.”
“Ah!” Morgan laughed out loud. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse!” Jenny was getting mad all over again just thinking about it.
“Is he a brainless twit like half of those other guys you go to school with?”
“Not exactly. I mean … I guess I don’t know. We didn’t talk for very long.”
“Then how do you know you don’t like him?”
“Because! He’s rude! He has the manners of a gorilla!” Jenny sputtered.
Nodding, Morgan appraised Jenny with fresh interest and a sly smile. “I see.”
Jenny sighed, shaking her head. “No, you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Morgan turned back to her work. “If you say so.”
They worked in silence for another half hour before Jenny realized the time. She stood up, stretching. “I have to get ready for the show. Need me to do anything else before I go?”
Morgan shook her head, standing to say goodbye. “I’m good. You didn’t have to come at all. This is a big day!”
“It’s just a local show,” Jenny said, embarrassed.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Jenny. Didn’t you say they only accepted twenty-five artists in the whole county?”
“Well, yeah … ”
“Then give yourself a little credit, will you?” Morgan stepped toward Jenny, taking her hand. “I’m proud of you. And you know what?”
“What?”
“Your mom would be proud, too.”
“She would?” Jenny asked.
Morgan nodded, smiling. “She would.”
* * *
Morgan, beaming like a proud mother, was already at the gallery when Jenny arrived with her dad later that night. The show was in full swing, a long table at the back of the room covered with fancy finger food and punch.
Jenny was engulfed in a patchouli-scented cloud as Morgan hugged her. “Yours are upstairs. I checked it out before you got here.” Morgan started for the stairs. “Let’s go take a look.”
“I thought you said you already checked it out,” Jenny said weakly. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to see her art hanging on the walls. It was too personal.
“I did,” Morgan said, “but I want to see them with you.”
“Okay.” Jenny felt sick. She was surprised to feel her dad take her hand. He squeezed it reassuringly.
Jenny was careful as they ascended the stairs to the second-floor exhibit space. She wasn’t used to wearing heels, but she’d wanted to look nice for the show, so she’d worn gold sandals with the simple black shift dress that Morgan had bought her for her last birthday. The shoes only had a kitten heel, but it would be just like her to trip and fall in front of everyone at her first gallery showing. She didn’t take her hand off of the banister until they reached the landing.
They made their way down the second-floor hallway, passing four rooms with pure white walls punctuated only by art. It was easy to tell which of the teenagers at the gallery were part of the show. They were the ones hovering around the pieces, paying too close attention to the words of the people around them.
They were almost to the end of the hallway when Morgan turned in to the second-to-last room. Jenny followed, her breath catching in her throat as her work came into view.
Morgan stepped forward, turning to face Jenny and her dad, “Well, what do you think, Daniel? Aren’t they amazing?”
Jenny watched her dad’s face as he looked at the wall of paintings. He was almost immobile for what seemed like a long time, his face impassive. Then he turned to Jenny with a smile.
“They’re beautiful, Jenny. Just beautiful.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
Jenny smiled into his jacket. “Really? You like them?”
He stepped back, looking into her eyes. “Of course I do.”
Just then a familiar voice sounded from the doorway. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I know I’m late.”
Tiffany burst into the room wearing flared jeans that made her legs look a mile long and a boyfriend sweater over a white T-shirt.
Jenny hugged her. “Don’t even worry about it. I hope you didn’t drive too fast to get here. There’s no rush. It goes until nine.”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Tiffany joked. “Now let me look at these paintings.”
“I’m going to go grab a glass of wine,” Jenny’s dad said. “Can I get you girls some punch?”
“Sure! Thanks, Mr. Kramer.”
“I’ll help your dad, Jenny,” Morgan said. “Then I want to take a closer look and talk to you about these pieces.”
They left the room, and Tiffany turned to Jenny. “I’m so freaking excited for you, Jen.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but it’s no big deal.”
“What are you talking about? You could become some big-shot famous artist someday, in which case you’ll look back on this as the moment everything began.”
Jenny laughed. “Yeah, okay, Tiff. Whatever you say.”
Tiffany punched her playfully on the arm. “Don’t patronize me. God!”
She stepped forward, looking more closely at one of the paintings, the one of the old train depot, the hulking black locomotive, steam coming out its top in a big, gray cloud, sitting on the tracks in the background.
“Who is this?” she asked, still peering at the painting.
“Who is who?” Jenny knew what Tiffany was talking about, she just didn’t know how to answer.
“This.” Tiffany pointed at the man standing at the edge of the track. “Wait a minute … ” She leaned back, her eyes skipping across the other paintings. “Why is this guy in every one? He wasn’t there the last time I saw these.”
Jenny sighed. “I know. I added him. Just yesterday, actually.”
Tiffany’s eyes met hers. “To all of them?”
Jenny’s nod was slow. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.” Jenny struggled to find words that wouldn’t make sense to someone who wasn’t her. Someone who hadn’t had the dream about the guy named Nikolai. Who hadn’t felt like she’d known him. Like the dream had been real. “I was touching everything up, and it just felt … right. Like he was supposed to be there.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Now that he was in the paintings, it did seem like he was supposed to be there. Like he was meant to be there all along.
Jenny turned to the sound of clicking heels entering the room. Maxine, the Assistant Curator of the gallery, stepped toward the painting of the snowy field. The one Jenny had been working on the night she’d painted the man into all her pieces. Maxine leaned forward, showing a long stretch of leg under her tight navy dress as she placed a red sticker on the plaque that read, “Jennifer Kramer, Snowy Field.”
“Wait a minute,” Tiffany said, the guy forgotten. “Does that mean it’s sold?”
Maxine smiled. “It does. Just now, in fact.”
“Wait a minute,” Jenny said. “I sold something?”
Maxine laughed. “That’s my understanding.” She left the room in an elegant click of heels on the wood flooring.
“Oh, my God, Jen! You sold something!” Tiffany practically squealed. “And in, like, the first hour, too!”
Jenny didn’t know what to say. Selling the painting was validation of her work. Validation she needed. But she still couldn’t help feeling a pang of loss. Snowy Field wouldn’t be coming home with her.
/> And even though the guy named Nikolai was in all her paintings, even the ones that hadn’t sold, she was suddenly bereft at the thought of losing even one of them.
* * *
Jenny stood in her exhibit room, empty except for the painting that had sold, the red dot sticker still on the plaque underneath the piece. The gallery was emptying out. Other than the occasional muffled scrape from one of the other rooms, it was quiet.
Most of the artists had already packed up their unsold paintings and headed home. Tiffany and Morgan had left an hour ago after congratulating Jenny and showering her with compliments. Jenny’s dad was loading the car with her unsold paintings.
She probably should have been helping him, but she wanted to say goodbye to Snowy Field. Robert, the gallery owner, had told her the buyer was going to pick up the piece tomorrow. Jenny tried to imagine it in its new home, on the wall of some aspiring collector. Maybe it would be in their dining room and they would look at it over breakfast every morning. Or maybe they would hang it over the bed, and it would be the last thing they saw before going to sleep every night.
She sighed, wondering if it would always be hard to say goodbye to her pieces or if this one was just special.
“It’s lovely.” The voice, coming from behind her, made her jump.
She turned, her initial surprise at hearing the voice eclipsed by total and complete shock.
She knew the guy standing in the doorway. She’d seen him in her dream.
Had painted him in her painting.
She shook her head, denying it to herself as he stepped into the room. He was tall, almost slender, though Jenny had the impression that he was also strong under the trousers and button-down shirt. His black hair shone even in the soft light of the gallery.
“What … who … ” She stumbled over her words. “Who are you?”
He tipped his head, his smile a little sad. “I think you know.”
She stared at him as he came toward her. He didn’t take his eyes, a deep green, off her.
“I don’t,” she finally managed to croak. “How would I?”
She said it because that’s what a normal person would say. Because a normal person wouldn’t say, “You’re the guy from my dream.”
He was right in front of her now. He smelled like the cold. Like the evergreens in the field around her house at winter, bracing and clean and a little bitter. He looked down into her eyes, his gaze drifting to the base of her neck. She reached up, touching the birthmark with her fingers before feeling awkward and dropping her hand.
“Maria … ” he said softly. “Jenny.”
The name rang like a bell in her mind. Maria.
She saw again the image from her dream. The girl named Maria painting with her sister while a green-eyed boy arranged for them to meet.
Then the younger sister’s voice: Shall Maria paint it ugly then, if that is how she sees it?
Jenny looked at the guy standing across from her, his green eyes identical to those of the young man named Nikolai in her dream. He reached out, and for a second, Jenny had the strangest impression that he was going to touch her cheek.
“Sorry, honey!” Her dad came into the room in a flurry of words. “I had to wait for some of the other kids to load up before I could—” He stopped suddenly, seeing the guy standing next to Jenny.
He dropped his hand back to his side.
“Who is this?” her dad asked.
Jenny swallowed, trying to clear her head, trying to figure out how to answer a question she didn’t even dare to ask yet.
The guy extended a hand and smiled at her father. “I’m a fan of your daughter’s work. You must be very proud.”
“Thank you.” Her dad took the guy’s hand. “I am. Very proud.”
The guy turned to her. “Congratulations. I’m sure this is just the first of many successful shows.”
Jenny watched him head for the door, her brain trying to wrap her head around what was happening. By the time she felt coherent, all she could do was register he was gone.
“Wow,” her dad said. “You already have fans.”
Jenny took a deep breath, steadying her voice as she stared at the empty doorway. “Yeah … ”
“Anyway!” her dad said, a little too loud. “Let’s go. Someone else might be waiting for me to move the car so they can pack up.”
Jenny followed him out of the room, taking one last look at Snowy Field. But as they descended the stairs, stepping out into the warm summer night, it wasn’t her painting she saw but the guy named Nikolai, his green eyes shimmering in the world of her dream.
And somehow in this one, too.
SEVEN
After a fitful night’s sleep, the last thing Jenny wanted to do was go back to the Daultons’. It was her dad and that pleading, hopeful look in his eyes that did it. He’d never admit it, but he was lonely. It was obvious that he wanted her to come.
And the Daulton house had inspired her. Maybe if she saw it again, took a few more pictures of the outside, she could paint it. Plus, there was always the chance that it would take her mind off of the man who’d appeared at the gallery and all the crazy possibilities his appearance forced her to consider.
They stopped at the diner in town for breakfast on their way. After inhaling stacks of blueberry pancakes loaded with warm syrup tapped from local trees, Jenny and her dad continued on to the Daulton house. Clare must have heard them making their way up the drive, because when they got there, she was standing barefoot on the porch, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Don’t tell me,” she called out to them. “You’ve decided the project is hopeless and have come to give me the bad news.”
Jenny’s dad grinned, opening the car door. “Not on your life. I like a challenge.” He grabbed the disc that contained plans for the renovation and headed toward the porch. “I’ve already worked up some costs and suggestions. Is this a good time to go over them?”
“Absolutely! Come inside. I’ll pour you some iced tea.” Clare turned her attention on Jenny. “Want me to call Ben down? I’m sure he’d be more interesting company for you!”
“It’s okay.” The last thing she needed was another run-in with Ben. “I just wanted to take some pictures of the outside of the house. You know, if it’s okay with you.”
Clare waved her off with a smile. “Make yourself at home. Just let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Thanks,” Jenny said. “And Mrs. Daulton?”
She laughed. “You’ll have to call me Clare if you want to take pictures of my house.”
“Okay,” Jenny agreed, suddenly wondering if she’d been presumptuous to tell Samuel that Ben’s mom needed a job. Maybe it was personal.
“What is it, Jenny?” her dad prodded.
“It’s just ... ” She turned her attention to Clare. “Well, my dad mentioned that you were looking for a job, and I wanted to tell you that there might be a temporary one at Books and More, the store in town? I work there and Samuel, the owner, said if you’re interested you should call him. I hope it’s okay that I mentioned it. Someone had a family emergency and we’re short, so I thought of you.”
Clare smiled, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Thank you, Jenny. I’ll call him this afternoon.”
Her dad glanced over at her on the way up the porch steps. She could tell he was happy by his smile. It went all the way to his eyes.
She waited for the screen door to slam shut before she circled with the Nikon. The house really was gorgeous. Simple and clean lined, it was built for function, whereas her own home, a Georgian built in 1802 by a prominent townsman, was meant to impress.
This house was different. It was like she could feel all the history in it. All the kids who had run across its grass and climbed the big oak in the front yard, all the Sunday dinners and afternoons on the porch swing.
The house would have been nothing but a big square if not for several pitches in the roof and a couple of extras that Jenny could already tell w
ere add-ons. It wasn’t surprising. She’d learned from her dad that people used to build something small to start, adding as they went if the need arose. The strategy usually produced some weird additions, but this one was really nice.
She pointed the camera upward, getting some shots of the roof. It was missing a few shingles, and she wondered if it leaked when it rained. Circling the house, she took the shots that intrigued her even if they wouldn’t be of any help to her dad. There was a massive tree branch hanging low and heavy over one portion of the roof, a bird’s nest in the eaves near one of the second-floor bedrooms, and an arched window, slightly out of place in what appeared to be the attic. She was taking aim at it, pausing to steady her hand, when she saw a shadow on the other side of the glass.
She froze. Was it Ben? In the attic? Her pulse sped up, probably because the guy was such a jerk and she was already anticipating a confrontation where he’d accuse her of bothering him just by breathing. She took the shot anyway, lowering the camera and shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked again. The shadow was gone.
She stood there a minute, wondering if she’d just imagined it. Then she continued around the house, taking pictures as she went. She had over forty by the time she returned to the front and let herself into the house. Following the sound of voices, she found her dad and Clare in the kitchen.
They were sitting around a built-in breakfast nook, her dad’s computer open between them. Clare murmured something that made her dad laugh, and Jenny did a double take. Her dad? Laughing? Clare’s dark hair fell forward as she leaned toward the monitor, looking at something her dad was pointing out. Her dad seemed at ease, comfortable in a way she hadn’t seen him with anyone other than Morgan.
Huh. She looked more closely. Were they flirting? It was hard to tell. They were smiling a lot and sitting kind of close, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Jenny gave up trying to figure it out and headed for the stairs, wondering if she could find the attic room with the pretty window. She was so not ready to think about her dad dating. Her mom might have died a long time ago, but as far as Jenny knew, her dad had never even had coffee with someone since then. She just needed to get her head around the possibility, that’s all.