Between Darkness and Dawn

by Margaret Duarte

  My mouth opened, and I turned to Anne.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Where in God’s name is he coming up with all this crap?” I whispered back.

  Anne patted my shoulder. “That’s the beauty of art, hon, especially this piece. Every time I see it, I see something new, as if it changes with my mood. All I know is that it makes me happy. It’s as if you sent positive feelings or thoughts into the piece and they’re flowing back to the observer. That’s why it’s so valuable. How can you put a price on happiness?”

  Anne turned her attention back to the curator, who showed no offense at our rude whispers. “I do appreciate you displaying the sculpture in your lovely gallery. I understand that including a piece at such late notice isn’t your usual policy.”

  Alfonso waved ringed fingers. “We were fortunate to discover this talented artist hidden within our midst. She was inspired by the gods, I’m sure.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and that Anne was part of it.

  “Will she be in attendance tonight?” Alfonso asked. “She’s a real mystery. Everyone’s waiting.”

  Anne looked at me, and I shook my head. “Afraid not,” Anne said. “She’s shy about displaying her work.”

  The pressure around my throat became painful and my body began to shake, so I looked for a place to sit.

  Alfonso appeared to deflate in disappointment. “One of our patrons has made a generous offer on it already.”

  “It’s not for sale,” I said, annoyed at this smooth-talking man, with his streaked and spiked hair.

  Anne tried to shush me, but it was too late. Alfonso had heard me and turned my way.

  “Do you know her?” he asked, one perfected groomed eyebrow raised.

  Anne piped in, “The artist expressed a deep reluctance in parting with her work at this time.”

  “Yes, yes, so you mentioned when you dropped it off,” Alfonso said. “But money talks, you know. And I mean lots of money.” His eyes brightened at the prospect, probably counting on a sizable commission. He winked at me. “We have ways to put on the pressure, you know. That’s one of my jobs.”

  Anne pinched me before I could respond. “This is all new to my friend here.”

  Alfonso rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “I’m acquainted with many wealthy and influential people.” Again, his eyes scanned over me as though adding up the cost of my gown: $400, ka-ching; pearl earrings: $500, ka-ching; good hair stylist, flawless makeup: ka-ching, ka-ching; no wedding ring. Good. Easier to manipulate.

  I gave myself a mental shake. I was being unfair. He was just doing his job, talking up the sculpture. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know it was mine.

  “It was so nice to see you again,” Anne said, looking over his shoulder as if she’d spotted someone in the crowd.

  “Oh yes, yes, I must go. Enjoy.” Several air-kisses aimed our way and then the thin, wiry, sales-machine hurried off to make another contact. “Harriet, darling,” he called before disappearing into the crowd.

  “Alfonso is very successful at what he does,” Anne said, “and is actually a nice guy.”

  Should I be angry or grateful? I couldn’t decide. Anne had deftly taken the decision out of my hands.

  “Be right back,” she said, doing her own disappearing act, which gave me the opportunity to wander about the gallery on my own. I handed my half-empty flute of champagne to a passing waiter and meandered with no set destination, too upset to take notice of the fine exhibitions. That is, until I sighted the glass vase I’d admired on my previous visit.

  “What do you think?” asked a woman from behind me. It sounded like Harley Guy’s girlfriend, Claudia.

  “I can’t describe how I feel,” I said without turning. “How about you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who’s the artist?”

  She didn’t answer.

  All looks and no brains. “See how the forms are floating inside the vase walls?” I asked.

  “They were sculptured by air while the piece was being blown,” she said.

  So, she knew something about art after all. “They appear to be moving.”

  “It’s the light at play. The piece is transparent, but thick, so patterns of light develop inside, as well as on the surface.”

  I turned to face her, impressed by her knowledge. I had misjudged her.

  Claudia’s gaze remained fixed on the vase. “This piece was created for visual delight.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said. “I’d hate to think someone would actually put flowers into it.”

  Claudia’s silence encouraged me to add.

  “I wonder what the artist was thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking, just feeling.”

  “You?”

  She looked me straight in the eye. “Yes.”

  I liked that. She had a sense of humor. Claudia an artist? Yeah, right. I gave her an I-wasn’t-born-yesterday smile, and she smiled back.

  “Hey, Marjorie.” It was Anne.

  “Sorry, Claudia, I gotta go.”

  When I reached her side, Anne said, “So, you met the artist. Nice surprise, huh.?”

  “What artist?”

  “Claudia Moore. I just found out that she’s the one who crafted that magnificent glass vase you so admired.”

  I looked over at Claudia and caught her smile. I shook my head and waved. My mistake. There was hope for her after all.

  “Her boyfriend made the offer for your statue.”

  It took a moment for Anne’s words to sink in. Boyfriend? Offer? “You’re kidding, right?”

  Anne grabbed a flute of champagne off the tray carried by a passing waiter and replaced it with an empty one. “Nope.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  The sculpture represented an entry to my heart. And that entry wasn’t for sale. “Did you tell the Mr. Living-Out-Loud Harley Guy that it wasn’t available for purchase?”

  She took a gulp of champagne and sighed in satisfaction. “Yep.”

  I looked around for Cecil, but he was hidden from view. “What did he say?”

  “He wanted to know how I knew,” Anne said, toasting me with her empty glass.

  I grabbed Anne’s arm as if warding off what I sensed was coming next. “You didn’t tell him I was the artist, did you?”

  “Hush. Here he comes.”

  “No, you hush.” I released her arm and turned toward the exit, my heart beating in telltale fashion. Low, dull, quick. “You can either join me, or I’m calling a taxi.”

  Anne followed me out the door and pulled out her keys.

  I grabbed them out of her hands. She’d had several glasses of champagne after all.

  She tried to grab them back. No go.

  I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt. What else could go wrong? Was it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet?

  I unlocked the doors, took the driver’s seat, waited for Anne to get in, then steered the Volvo onto Highway 1.

  “I knew you could only be pushed so far,” she said.

  Darn right. I got all dolled up like some metallic princess, shine and lace, pearls and sandals. For what? The curator’s words still rubbed me raw. “Have you seen our fine sculpture? It symbolizes the flow of life...” Blah, blah, blah. Not that he was entirely wrong. I had similar theories as to what the sculpture symbolized.

  Maybe it wasn’t a freak accident that this piece of clay affected people the way it did. But then Harley Guy, of all people, had to go and put in an offer to buy it. The only highlight of the evening had been meeting the creator of the glass vase. Who would have known?

  “What will it take for you to forgive me?” Anne asked, her voice wobbly from either emotion or drink.

  I was driving too fast and took my foot off the gas. “For now, I’d appreciate it if you’d just stop looking at me.”

  “All rig
hty,” she said, and then turned on the radio and started singing along with Aretha Franklin, the queen of soul, “Chain, chain, chain; chain of fools.”

  I sighed. Anger solved nothing. Anne was a good friend, and although she got carried away at times, she had my best interests at heart. If I hadn’t believed that from day one, I wouldn’t have allowed her to lead me around like an organ-grinder’s wharf monkey.

  It wasn’t until we were parked in front of the Big Sur Lodge that Anne announced, “I’d like to make this up to you.”

  Giving her the most gracious smile I could manage under the circumstances, I pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. “It’s okay, Anne, by morning I’ll have forgotten about the whole thing.”

  Anne slammed her door and came around to my side for the keys. “I doubt that, but at least let me take you out for your birthday.”

  That got my attention. “How’d you know it was my birthday?”

  She studied the keys I was holding as if they had turned into lucky charms. “Adam told me.”

  I pulled in my breath, followed by a choked groan. Adam knew things he shouldn’t. And somehow it involved my mother.

  “We could dress up again,” Anne said. “And go out for a nice, quiet lunch.”

  My anger dissipated at her uncertain expression. She was a good friend. I dropped the keys into her hand. “I’ll let you know over breakfast.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “OKAY,” I SAID the following morning at the Lodge restaurant while scarfing down a Big Sur Scramble, consisting of more food than I normally ate in a week.

  “Okay what?” Anne mumbled, rather overindulging herself. Her plate was a colorful mosaic of scrambled eggs, grilled vegetables, pepper jack cheese, seasoned potatoes, and toast. Apparently, her low-cal, veggie diet was on break.

  “You can take me out for my birthday.”

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  “Guess that means we’ll be spending another night here,” I said.

  Nestled among redwoods and oaks, the dining room’s floor-to-ceiling windows invited in the serenity of the outdoors. Fans whirred overhead, and the doors stood open, sending cool breezes our way.

  Anne studied my face with a lift of a brow. “Do you mind?”

  “Are you kidding? I could tolerate one more day of this.”

  “So, who’s your tent sitter?” she asked, scooping up the last of her eggs.

  The server came by to refill our coffee. We both took ours black.

  “Holly,” I said.

  Anne’s fork cluttered to the table. “You trust that little tyke?”

  “She’s not guarding Fort Knox. I carry my valuables with me.”

  Anne gave me a knowing smile, alerting me that she was in my head again. “You figured she could use the responsibility, right?”

  I took a long sip of coffee and stared out the window. Several people whisked by on bicycles, sending out a lazy, cricket-like trill. “And the money. She said her parents have summer jobs here at the park, but I believe they’re in pretty dire straits.”

  “Why am I not surprised? Want to walk over there and check on how she’s doing?”

  Before I could answer, Anne stood and patted her stomach. “I could use the exercise.”

  It didn’t take long to figure out that Holly hadn’t spent any time in my tent. Everything appeared exactly as I’d left it: rolled up sleeping bag; folded blanket; fluffed up pillow. And the strong eucalyptus scent of my funky, tent-deodorant spray indicated that the entrance had remained tightly zipped. I felt a tinge of alarm. Giving her permission to do what she’d been doing anyway, with the stipulation that she look after my stuff, had seemed like a good idea at the time. Had I gotten her into trouble with her parents? Or had an adventure turned into a paying job lost its appeal?

  Anne brought her hands to her hips and shook her head, moon and star earrings swinging as though tolling a warning. “If Holly’s family is in such dire straits, what’s with all the camping gear?”

  “I believe they may be living here for a while.”

  “That’s not permitted.”

  My laugh sounded bitter, considering Adam, Anne, and I were doing the same. “I assume management made an exception, considering the parents are temporary employees.”

  An expression ranging between exasperation and pity crossed Anne’s face. “It never seems to end, does it...life’s little tragedies?”

  “And no one is spared,” I said, reminding myself that valuable life lessons are often learned through adversity.

  Even, it seemed, the life lessons of a six-year-old.

  ~~~

  Anne must’ve selected the most expensive restaurant in Big Sur for my birthday lunch. We sat at a table in Post Ranch Inn’s Sierra Mar Restaurant with dizzying views from the top of a cliff 1,250 feet above the Pacific.

  “This place is definitely worth all those stairs we climbed getting here,” I said.

  Anne’s eyes appeared to mist over, but I could’ve been wrong, considering the way natural light filtered through the plate-glass windows into the dining area, otherwise lit only by strategically placed lamps. “This is one of the most romantic places on earth, a perfect getaway for you and Morgan someday.”

  My heart did a crazy leap in my chest. Why did she have to bring up Morgan, today of all days, when I was most vulnerable? “At nine hundred dollars a night? I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Anne said. “The Butterfly House is a mere five hundred smackeroos.”

  “Plus, occupancy tax,” I said.

  “The building’s shaped like a butterfly, I’ll have you know, and has a private deck with a fantastic view. You also get a gourmet continental breakfast.”

  “In that case, I guess it’s worth it,” I said, holding back a smile. She made the place sound like a bargain.

  “I heard they have beds you can lose yourself in,” Anne said.

  “I can lose myself just fine without the bed.”

  “You see yourself as a caterpillar,” Morgan had said during our guided tour into the Los Padres Forest, “and I see you as a butterfly.”

  Caterpillar to butterfly. Yeah, maybe someday.

  Anne sobered and placed her hand on mine. “Oh yeah, that’s why you came to Big Sur. To find yourself.”

  My chin began to wobble. “It’s very important to me right now.”

  She patted my hand and handed me a spare napkin from the table. “As it should be, hon. Are you ready to order?”

  I looked at the menu and set it back down. “There are no prices.”

  She presented me with a stern brow and pursed lips. “It’s prix-fixe, dear. Anyway, it’s on me, remember?”

  Did Anne know what she was getting into? This could cost her a fortune.

  “The fruits, vegetables, and herbs are all organic,” she said without consulting the menu. “And the meat is free-range. Sometimes they have to wait nine months to get a shipment. Almost like having a baby.”

  I shook my head. Organic Anne was back in full force.

  “And everything is made in-house,” she added.

  Even if this was gourmet from heaven, I didn’t want to annihilate Anne’s bank account.

  While Anne ordered for both of us—which was fine with me, considering the menu consisted of four courses, with at least four choices each—I stared through the expanse of windows at the panoramic view of the ocean below. From this distance, the surf seemed poised in a massive swell of foam, frozen for a breath of time, perfect as a picture.

  For a moment, there was silence, so I figured Anne was also enjoying the view, but then she sucked in her breath and mumbled something that sounded like a curse.

  The oceanic view lost focus. What was going to knock the earth off its axis this time? “Anne, we came here to celebrate my birthday. No more surprises, please.”

  She said nothing, just stared over my shoulder. I made to turn, b
ut she nudged me under the table and gave me a warning look. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  I turned anyway, a strange rebelliousness surfacing that I was beginning to recognize as part of a new me. “Of all the rotten luck,” I said when I saw who it was.

  Cecil and Claudia couldn’t have been standing in the foyer for more than a minute before they were whisked past our table by the host. “Hey, they didn’t even have to wait,” I said.

  “They must be regulars,” Anne pointed out. “Big tippers, too.”

  I checked out Claudia from behind, with her how-to-walk-like-a-model strut.

  “Jealous?” Anne asked.

  Darn, I hated it when she read my thoughts this way. “It would be nice to be that rich for a day or two, just to try it out.”

  “Do they look happy to you?” Something in Anne’s voice made me turn to study her face. She was staring at the churning ocean below as if she’d gone in search of the answer to her own question.

  “Sure,” I said. “They just try to hide it so people like us don’t feel bad.”

  The host led Cecil and Claudia to prime-table seating. Cecil must have sensed our scrutiny because he turned and looked our way. His eyes widened, but to my relief, he raised a hand and took a seat, making no move to invade our space.

  Claudia peeked in our direction and smiled.

  “I want to hate that girl, but can’t,” I said.

  Anne smirked. “A flower amongst the weeds.”

  Our first course arrived, and at my look of confusion, Anne informed me that it was living watercress salad. “The roots were cut just before it came to our table.”

  Although arranged imaginatively with appetizing texture, color, and aroma, the courses that followed were miniscule compared to our mega breakfast at the Big Sur Inn. A good thing, considering that a sedentary woman of five foot six, weighing one hundred and thirty pounds, should have called it quits for the day.

  We finished our meal in less time than we’d waited for the table. I passed on dessert, having tea instead. Anne indulged in some sticky chocolaty conglomeration that made my teeth ache just looking at it. Health food to junk food with apparently no regrets.

  “Why here, Anne? It’s so—”