Drawing Home

by Jamie Brenner

  “I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for,” she said. “I have a bit of a mystery on my hands.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that you are on a wild-goose chase? That Henry Wyatt left his house to Penny and that’s the end of the story?”

  “I know that would be quite convenient for you. But no. Henry did everything by design. He would not casually drop his work all around town; at the end of his career, he didn’t even want to share his work with me. And I refuse to believe he’d make this decision about his estate. I’m missing something. But I’m going to find it.”

  He sighed, reaching for his glass of wine. “I wish this whole thing had never happened. I don’t see the inheritance as a positive turn of events. I guarantee Emma’s ex-husband would not be fighting for custody if it weren’t for that house. Now she might lose the most important thing in the world to her. It’s terrible.”

  Bea suddenly found it difficult to swallow. She placed her fork down on her plate, thankful for the distraction of the fireworks—an excuse to look away from Angus.

  The sky erupted in a sequence of red, white, and blue hearts for the grand finale, and Kyle reached for Emma’s hand. Surprised, Emma looked at him, and he smiled.

  “That was amazing!” Penny said. Alexis and Sean decided that was the best fireworks show yet, then admitted they said that every year.

  Emma folded up the blanket and Kyle offered to carry it for her.

  They all made their way slowly through the bottleneck of people heading for Main Street. Emma put an arm around Penny so she didn’t get jostled and knocked over by the crowd.

  “Can we go to BuddhaBerry?” Penny said.

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “It’s late and the line is going to be out the door.” With the way Penny hobbled along, especially with so many people around, it would take a half an hour just to get there.

  “You and I could walk up ahead to get in line,” Kyle suggested to Emma.

  “Yes, you two go ahead. We’ll catch up,” Alexis said with a wink.

  Kyle didn’t give Emma a chance to say no. He took her by the hand and guided her through the throng streaming toward the shops and restaurants. She didn’t know exactly what to do about the hand-holding situation, so she decided to just let it be. For half a minute, all was right with her universe. Then they got to the hotel.

  The American Hotel’s outdoor tables were full, the lobby crowd spilling out onto the patio. She could only imagine what a mob scene it was inside at the bar. The Fourth was one of their biggest nights of the year. Oh, how she missed everyone!

  “Do you want to go in for a minute?” Kyle asked.

  “I have such mixed feelings,” she said. “I’d like to see everyone, but—”

  Jack Blake appeared on the patio and spotted her at the same instant she saw him. There was no slinking away.

  “Happy Fourth!” he called out jovially.

  She introduced him to Kyle and they made small talk. With each breath she was tempted to blurt out, I want my job back. But she couldn’t guarantee that she’d have the focus and calm he needed from her, not when Penny couldn’t get around by herself, not with the legal battle ahead of her. It was bad enough that she’d let him down once. She didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep. She hoped there was a day when her life would be back to normal. When she would be back to normal. She couldn’t imagine it.

  “Come inside, have a drink,” Jack said.

  “Oh, thanks, but we have to—”

  Kyle touched her arm. “I’ll text Sean. It’s fine,” he said with a wink.

  The energy in the lobby was heightened in the way it was only three times a year, the other two being Christmas and New Year’s. From behind the front desk—her desk!—the assistant manager gave a friendly wave. Fighting a sharp pang of regret, she let Kyle take her hand again as they threaded their way through the crowd toward the bar. They didn’t get very far and ended up standing under the moose head. Someone had stuck a mini–American flag in its mouth.

  “What’re you having?” Kyle asked.

  “Um, dirty martini. With Tito’s. Thanks.” She checked her phone. Penny’s fine. Relax.

  She probably should have been the one to order the drinks. It would have been easier for her to get Chris’s attention on a night like this. She looked around for Kyle but couldn’t see him.

  “Emma?”

  Diane Knight tugged on her handbag to get her attention, and before Emma could muster a “Happy Fourth,” the woman began gushing about how fabulous Bea Winstead was and how much was getting done for the auction. “She is a godsend,” Diane said.

  Well, that was one way of putting it.

  “And Emma, I’m aware that you know—”

  The room went silent, filled with white noise. Somehow, Mark was in front of her. Somehow, Diane Knight was holding Mark’s hand.

  “Hey,” Mark said quickly.

  “I love this town,” said Diane. “It’s such a small world.”

  “How…how do you two know each other?” Emma said.

  “We met at the Bay Street Theater party last week. Mark performed there one summer. Oh, but you know that…”

  “Mark,” Emma said, struggling to keep her voice even. “Can I speak to you for a minute outside?”

  She could see he was about to refuse, but then he reconsidered. He probably didn’t want to risk a scene in front of his new friend.

  Heart pounding, she pushed her way impatiently through the lobby, glancing back a few times to make sure Mark was following her. When they were on the sidewalk, he said, “This isn’t the time or the place, Emma.”

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to take Penny from me!” she said.

  “I’m not debating this with you now,” he said. “Anything you have to say about this can go through your lawyer.”

  “Do you have any idea what it takes to raise a child full-time? You take her to the beach for one day and think you’ve got the whole thing figured out? You’re out of your mind!”

  “Is anything I said untrue? Really, Emma. Look at it in black-and-white and tell me I’m the bad guy.”

  “You are the bad guy!” she yelled. People turned to look at her.

  He shook his head. “I’ll see you in court, Emma.”

  Somewhere in the distance, a single firecracker sounded. Emma started shaking, standing alone on the sidewalk.

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was the party that would not die.

  More than a month after Bea had abruptly walked out on the Frank Cuban showing in her apartment, Joyce Carrier-Jones was still pushing for her to reschedule.

  “What are you doing out there all this time?” Joyce asked. “Taking the whole summer off?”

  “Of course not,” Bea said defensively. She hated how everyone was always waiting for her to start slowing down, to retire. But how to explain her continued self-exile in Sag Harbor? She did not want to admit she was still fighting over Henry Wyatt’s house without a shred of progress. Her lawyer had not given her any good news since she’d found the old will. She herself was no closer to making sense of Henry’s intentions. And as for her Hail Mary pass with Penny’s father, who knew how long that would take to play out? The only positive spin she could put on her situation was to say “I happen to be organizing a big art auction. I’m hosting it at Henry’s house.”

  “How fabulous! So you’ve rectified that whole mess with the hotel woman out there? What was that all about?”

  Oh, how she regretted that Page Six article. She’d gotten absolutely nothing out of it except fake sympathy from members of her professional circle who were faux scandalized that Henry Wyatt had overlooked her.

  “It’s complicated,” Bea said. And then, in an effort to deflect: “Why don’t you send me one of Frank’s pieces for the auction? It will be great publicity for him.”

  “Send it? I’ll bring it myself!”

  Bea considered how to extricate herself from this unwanted
visit, then realized perhaps it wasn’t so unwanted after all. She missed her Manhattan life, and if she couldn’t be in New York City at the moment, why not let New York City come to her for an afternoon?

  And yet, when Joyce Carrier-Jones arrived, Bea felt out of sorts. Emma was gone for the day, packing up the Mount Misery house and therefore one step closer to staking a permanent claim to Windsong.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Joyce said, giving her an air kiss on each cheek. But it was clear as soon as she walked into the entrance hall that the only thing she had eyes for was Windsong. Bea should have known she wasn’t driving two and a half hours in Saturday traffic just to spend time with her.

  Bea gave her the tour.

  “The sculptures are amazing,” Joyce said. “What a shame he never showed them anywhere.”

  “Yes, it was greatly frustrating.”

  “I can imagine. And then this business with his estate! Honestly, Bea. I’m just happy to see you ended up with this place after all.”

  Bea said nothing. Lunch arrived. It was too hot to eat outdoors, so they sat at the dining-room table looking out at the pool.

  “Thank you again for including Frank’s work in this auction. It’s great exposure. You know, after all these years, it still gets me in the gut when I see real talent. I know you understand.”

  Bea immediately thought of the graphic novel in Penny’s room. Finally, someone she could talk to about it!

  “I want to show you something,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Somehow, it felt a bit more like a violation to go into Penny’s room this time. Bea wasn’t quite sure why, exactly. Still, she would not be deterred by an inconvenient pang of conscience.

  Penny’s manuscript was still on the desk. Bea flipped through the pages, looking for drawings that didn’t include her. No need for Joyce to know the whole story. She chose a few pages and brought them to the dining room.

  “Tell me what you think of these,” she said, sliding them over to Joyce. As the dean of admissions for the Franklin School of Fine Arts, as someone who evaluated young people’s work year after year, Joyce would be able to put Penny’s artistic ability into context for her. Not that she had very much doubt.

  Joyce put on her glasses. She took her time examining the sketches, laughing at a few bits of dialogue. She looked up at Bea. “Who’s the artist?”

  “She’s a fourteen-year-old.”

  “Fourteen? That’s extraordinary. Where is she in school?”

  “Out here,” Bea said. “She’s a local.”

  Joyce turned back to the drawings. “What a shame. I’d love to have her at Franklin. I can only imagine what she’ll be doing in high school if she keeps this up.” She adjusted her glasses so she could peek over them at Bea. “Leave it to you to discover the next Alison Bechdel. And everyone thought you were out here licking your wounds all this time.”

  Bea bristled. “Well, how fortunate that you can now go back to the city and set the record straight.”

  It was Saturday and Coopers Beach was packed. Penny’s cast was sealed in a waterproof cover her mom ordered online, so her leg looked like it was wrapped in a blue tarp. It was hot, she was cranky, and her dad was talking to her like she was three instead of fourteen.

  “Let us adults deal with the details, Penny,” her dad said.

  “I don’t see why you have to fight with Mom about it,” Penny said. “Besides, it’s my life and I don’t want anything to change.”

  “Sometimes change is good. Like, the new house—right?”

  “That’s different. Besides, when’s the last time you lived in Sag Harbor?”

  He was distracted, waving to someone. Penny spotted a tall woman wearing a black one-piece bathing suit and a sarong heading for them. She had short brown hair and wore a thick, ropy gold necklace that really didn’t belong at the beach.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the woman said, kissing her dad on the cheek.

  It was sort of awkward to be sitting when the two of them were looming over her and smiling, but it was too much effort to get up.

  “Penny, this is my friend Diane. Diane, my daughter, Penny.”

  “So lovely to meet you, Penny. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Who was this woman? Her dad never mentioned someone else joining them today. And what, he was in town for a few weeks and already had a girlfriend that he had to introduce to Penny? She knew she should have bailed. She hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place but she felt bad refusing, and her mom said if she didn’t go he would think Emma was manipulating her. But if she’d known her dad would have been just as happy spending the day at the beach with his new “friend” Diane, she would definitely have stayed home.

  He helped Diane open her collapsible beach chair and adjusted the umbrella to shade her completely. “Diane’s in town for the summer helping out with that big fund-raiser for the movie theater. Isn’t that great?”

  “Great,” Penny said dully. She reached for her crutches, making sure the special beach supports were secured on the bottoms. Her mom ordered those online, too.

  Her dad helped her get to her feet, but once she had her crutches under her arms, she was independently mobile.

  “Don’t go into the water,” he said.

  “I’m just walking to the edge.”

  Penny hobbled to the ocean. Just a few feet away from the chairs, and the breeze felt stronger.

  The water rolled in fast, over her good ankle. She watched it recede, and as it rolled toward her, she felt the urge to count, the voice in her head louder than the waves. I’m not listening to you, she told the impulse. I’m tired of listening to you! I’m tired of everyone! It felt good to be angry. Anger was preferable to helplessness. The water washed over her feet, and she repeated her mantra: I’m not listening to you. It seemed to be working. The only thing keeping her from running into the water was her broken leg. She was bossing it back, but she couldn’t move forward. As usual, she was stuck.

  She turned around, waved to get her father’s attention. “I want to go home,” she yelled. The wind carried her voice away.

  The rosebush was a small victory.

  Emma knew it might be folly to transplant an entire rosebush from the Mount Misery garden to Windsong, but she wanted to try. She’d prepared for this venture a week ahead of time, visiting the Mount Misery garden and watering the rosebush with a B1 plant fertilizer to foster root development. Then, in the Windsong back lawn, she dug a hole that would give her about six inches of space around the root-ball. She’d tested the spot ahead of time to make sure it had adequate drainage.

  It was a particularly hot day, and digging out the root-ball was challenging. But the physical work was a good way to keep her mind off the fact that Penny was with Mark. Emma cut into the ground with the sharp shovel and moved in a circle, sweating out her rage. Then, when the plant was loose, she quickly transferred it onto a tarp for the transport to Windsong.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the plant, knowing it was traumatized and hoping the roots didn’t dry out before she could secure the bush in its new home.

  She pulled her car to the side of Windsong, not bothering to use the garage. Every minute felt precious. She opened the door and nearly collided with Bea, who was strolling the grounds with a woman Emma had never seen before.

  “Emma, I want you to meet—”

  There was no time to be polite; Emma, holding the tarp, rushed past them with the urgency of someone about to perform an organ transplant.

  She put the tarp down next to the fresh hole in the ground, then treated the planting site with some well-aged cow manure, a cup of bonemeal, and some peat moss. The plant itself seemed to be holding up okay, and by the time she placed it into the soil, just above the crown, she felt confident it would be able to adjust and thrive. Success! This was why she loved gardening. A little planning and a little effort always paid off, unlike the rest of life.

  In the distance, she heard the fain
t strains of music coming off the bay. Kyle playing something while working on his boat. She brushed the dirt off her jeans, wiped her brow, and sat back on her heels.

  Maybe it was time to tend to herself as carefully as she tended to her roses.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Penny didn’t speak to her father the entire ride back to the house. When he pulled into the Windsong driveway, he turned off the ignition.

  “Penny, I know there’s a lot going on and you’re confused. But I’m not the enemy here.”

  “You’re not exactly a father either,” she said, and she slammed the door the best she could without losing her balance.

  Inside the house, she leaned against the front door to steady herself. Her whole body was shaking. Her father had been so busy with that woman, he’d barely spoken to her the entire day. Eventually, she’d given up and put on her sunglasses and her headphones. Except she didn’t listen to music; instead, she eavesdropped on her father and Diane’s conversation. Diane talked a lot, and most of it was about spending her ex-husband’s seemingly endless money. “You should produce this play with me,” her dad said. “We’ll make a fortune.”

  “I already have a fortune,” Diane said, laughing.

  Then there was no more talking, just really gross PDA.

  Thinking about it made Penny’s head hurt.

  “Did you enjoy your beach excursion? What a beautiful day!”

  Bea. She was always around. If Penny hadn’t known better, she might have thought her mother had actually invited Bea to stay at the house to help keep an eye on her.

  “I did not enjoy my beach excursion,” Penny said. Bea spoke in such a stilted, formal way sometimes. Penny liked taking her absurd phrases and repeating them back to her, and she knew Bea kind of liked it too because sometimes it made her smile. But today Penny did it out of irritation, not playfulness.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bea said. “I suppose it was the company?”

  That was another thing about Bea; she just said whatever she wanted. It was like she had no problem saying things that other people only thought.