by Claire Fogel
Win asked, “Who’s this other young artist the gallery is featuring today? Those pen and ink drawings are wonderful.”
Once again, I felt my face turning pink. “Uh, those are mine.”
Win’s eyes got bigger. “Seriously?” He laughed. “This is my lucky day. I’m honored, Miss Blackthorne.” And he bowed to me.
He said, “The gallery is getting crowded. Let’s find a corner where we can see and hear without drawing too much attention. Uh, Mr. Blackthorne, I’m afraid you will always draw too much attention. Maybe you could find another corner.”
It was said with such good humor, my father laughed. “You’re quite right. I think I’ll simply circulate. They’re serving champagne up there.” He looked at me, “Sweetheart, no champagne for you, I’m afraid.”
And with that he drifted away, as every head turned in his wake.
Win looked at me with a smile. “Your father has what we call ‘presence.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Yep, he practically stops traffic wherever we go.”
We found a quiet corner not far from where his paintings had been hung and chatted about art shows in general. He was surprised to learn this was only my second show.
“You have a top-level agent, Cara. Miss Galen is very well known in art circles. How did she find you?”
“Francis Sullivan is a good friend of my father’s. He’s been my mentor for the past year.”
Win’s eyes widened again. “Wow. That’s a real stroke of luck.”
Blushing, I said, “I know. Without his help, it might have been years before my work would ever be shown in a gallery like this one.”
He shook his head with a smile. “I doubt that. I really like your work. You have such a delicate touch, both with a brush and with the pen. I would almost call your pen and ink drawings ‘magical.’ They have that feeling, you know?”
Laughing, he said, “You’re blushing again. How young are you, Cara?”
“Seventeen. I keep hoping I’ll outgrow this tendency to turn pink. It’s embarrassing.”
He smiled. “It’s charming. I hope you keep it. Where are you studying?”
“I’m starting at the Barrett Art Institute in September. Are you still in school?”
“I just graduated from Massachusetts College of Art and Design. I can now add B.F.A. after my name. That pleases my parents more than me. I’ve heard good things about Barrett. Your first time away from home?”
“Yes. I’m really looking forward to it. My father and I will be driving up to Barrett next week.”
We could both see a respectable sized crowd around his paintings. But we were too far from where my work hung to see if it was getting much attention.
An older man approached us. “Win, I have a client who’d like to meet you. Can I drag you away from your beautiful companion for a few minutes?”
I patted Win’s arm and whispered, “Good luck.” He grinned at me and walked over to the crowd of people clustered around his paintings.
My father reappeared with two glasses. One was acceptable for a seventeen-year-old. “Thanks, Dad. Let’s take a walk over near my work.”
Several people were discussing my work. One lady was telling her husband, “I really want these watercolors, dear.”
He asked, “All of them?”
“Yes, definitely,” she said. “I have the perfect place for them. The artist’s approach is so nostalgic. Her signature is ‘Cara.’ Is she here? I’d like to meet her.”
Miss Galen was right behind me and drew me over to the couple. “I’d like you to meet Cara Blackthorne.”
They turned around and looked surprised. The woman said, “You’re Cara?”
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Cara. You’re very young to show such skill. I love the way you painted these Victorian homes. They remind me of my childhood. I grew up in a house like this one.” She pointed to one of my paintings.
I smiled. “So did I. In fact, that’s my mother’s house. She grew up there.”
After telling me again how much they liked my watercolors, they moved on. The gallery was crowded now, so I tried to stay out of the way as I watched and listened to the conversations of the obvious art lovers. I noticed that all of my watercolors had “Sold” stickers on the frames. Two of my pen and ink drawings were wearing the same stickers.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
About an hour later, after a few encouraging words with Miss Galen, my father and I left the gallery. We didn’t want to miss the last evening train to Somerville, which was only ten miles from Thornewood.
“I’d say you had an extremely successful day, Cara,” my father said as we returned to Penn Station in another taxi.
Still smiling, I had to agree. “Miss Galen said she was sure the last two pen and ink drawings would sell during the week. I’m thrilled so many people liked my work. And, last but not least, my bank account will get a little fatter.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Seventeen and a financial success. It doesn’t seem possible.”
As we rushed through the train station to our platform, I thought I saw a familiar face, but not one I’d ever wanted to see again. The man rushed past us on his way out of the train station. When he spotted me, his eyes narrowed.
I’d stopped short when I saw him and stared at him. Nick Romanov. I had thought he was in jail.
From right behind me, my father asked, “Who was that? He seemed to know you. I didn’t like his looks, Cara.”
Romanov had continued out of the station after giving me a dirty look.
“That was Nick Romanov, the drug dealer, the man who tried to cut my throat. I have to call the Chief when we get home. I want to know why he’s out of jail.”
My father’s face had turned to stone for a few tense minutes.
By the time we got home, it was late and we were starved. Mom had waited up and must have started making sandwiches as soon as she heard my car pull in.
After we told her how successful the art show had been, I asked, “Is it too late to call the Chief?”
She looked startled and obviously curious, but she said, “You can probably leave a message on his phone, Cara. Did something happen today?”
“In Penn Station tonight I saw that drug dealer, Nick Romanov. You know, the one Gavin shot in the back.” I snorted. “He looked pretty healthy to me.”
My father added, “He was not pleased to see Cara. We both thought he was in jail. That’s why she wants to call Tom.”
Mom was frowning. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No, he just gave me a dirty look. He might have said something if he hadn’t seen Dad with me.”
Mom said, “Well, go ahead and call Tommy and leave a message. I’m sure he’ll call you back first thing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, Mom.”
“Cara, our Police Chief works seven days a week, I’m afraid. Other than the police force, I don’t think Tommy has a life.”
I felt kind of sorry for the Chief, but I called him anyway. I left a message on his machine, asking why Nick Romanov was out of jail.
With that out of the way, I ate a sandwich and had a bowl of Mom’s delicious homemade split pea soup. It had been simmering on the stove when we got home.
When we’d finished eating, I realized that I was too tired to stay up any longer.
I rinsed out my dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Hugging my father, I said, “Thanks for going with me today, Dad. It was fun.”
“It was my pleasure, sweetheart. I enjoyed the art show, but New York City was a shock. I still can’t believe people actually live in that crowded, noisy environment.”
Mom was trying not to laugh, but I agreed completely. It was obvious to me that Elves did not belong in the city.
Early Sunday morning, Mom woke me to say the Chief was on the phone and wanted to ask me a few questions. I groaned. “The Chief starts his day too early,” I grumbled.
I staggered out of bed and went downstairs to the house phone in the kitchen.
I yawned. “Morning, Chief.”
He chuckled. “Too early for you, Cara?”
“A little. I was in Manhattan yesterday and got back late. That’s why I called you last night.”
“Your mother tells me you saw Romanov in the city yesterday. Did he say or do anything to you?”
“No, he just glared at me and kept going. But I thought he was in jail. How come he’s out?”
“Cara, his trial isn’t scheduled until August. He’s out on bail until then. Someone with a lot of money paid his bail, which I didn’t expect. His bail was set very high.”
“You mean he’s on the loose until August? Judging by the look he gave me, he’d still like to cut my throat.”
“I understand your concern, but he hasn’t been seen in Thornewood, and his only restriction is not to leave the state. Maybe you should ask your father to assign a bodyguard for you until after Romanov’s trial.”
My heart sank a little. I didn’t want another bodyguard.
“I don’t think so, Chief. I’m out of school now and other than a trip to Syracuse, I’ll be sticking close to home until I leave for Art school the end of August. By that time, Romanov will be in prison, won’t he?”
“As far as I know, he will be. The State has a good case against him for drug distribution, as well as his assault on you. But I’ll let my men know that they need to keep their eyes open in case Romanov is dumb enough to come to Thornewood. They know he’s a threat to you. You’ll just need to be totally aware of your surroundings. You know what to do if you see him.”
“Yes. I’ll call you right away.”
“Good girl. I’ve got to get to work now, Cara. Give some thought to a bodyguard, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Chief.”
There would be no bodyguard. Not unless the situation became desperate.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table and had heard my side of the conversation.
“Why isn’t that man in jail, Cara?”
I told her what the Chief had said. “It’s not likely he’ll come back here, Mom.” I chuckled. “He probably knows he might get another arrow in the back if he shows his face around here.”
“Maybe so, but I think it’s best if your father and I both go to Syracuse with you to help you find an apartment.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” For obvious reasons, driving up to Barrett by myself had temporarily lost its appeal.
I left for Syracuse with Mom and Dad bright and early Tuesday morning. Mrs. Gardner had given me addresses and phone numbers of houses we could check out.
Mom and Dad were in a great mood, as though they were playing hooky from school. Their high spirits kept me smiling all the way to Syracuse.
Of course, Mom normally spent all her time either at the bookstore or at home. And Dad traveled between Elvenwood, his camp, and our home. Except for my art shows, my parents never went anywhere! No wonder they were enjoying themselves so much.
We’d taken my car because it was roomy, something my father’s long legs appreciated. Traffic wasn’t heavy and we made it to Syracuse in under two hours.
All morning we drove through the neighborhoods that surrounded the Barrett Institute, stopping at several houses to see available apartments. The apartments were small, which I expected, but they all lacked one thing: a separate room with good light where I could paint. We stopped at a coffee shop for lunch and then continued looking at apartments.
The last apartment was no different than those we’d already seen, and I was feeling discouraged. The homeowner was a middle-aged lady who noticed the unhappy look on my face as we left the upstairs apartment.
She said, “This doesn’t seem to be what you’re looking for. If I knew exactly what you need, I might be able to point you in the right direction.” She looked at my father, who smiled and said, “I think my wife can give you better answers than I can.”
Mom said, “Well, like most of your tenants, my daughter is an artist. She needs some extra space for painting, but so far we haven’t seen any apartments with enough room. All the apartments we’ve seen are quite small. Do you know of any larger places?”
The lady smiled. “I think I can solve both our problems. Having an upstairs tenant is rather noisy, mainly due to them running up and down the stairs day and night.” She laughed. “Students are constantly in and out, of course. My downstairs apartment is much larger than the one I rent out upstairs. It may have the space you need, and living upstairs would give me the peace and quiet I need.”
Mom looked at me and I nodded.
“Can we see it now? We’re only in Syracuse for the day.”
“Of course. Come on in. I’ve got coffee made if anyone’s interested,” the lady said.
“By the way, my name is Laurie Williams. The house belonged to my parents originally. It’s mine now. They converted the upstairs to an apartment while I was away at college.”
She poured coffee for all of us and invited me to look around. After I finished my coffee, I walked through her apartment, which was larger than the upstairs unit. It had a generous living room where my parents were sitting, a modern, fully equipped kitchen with a breakfast nook, a small bedroom with attached bath, and a larger room in the rear with three generously sized windows that let in a lot of light. It was currently set up as a guest room.
It was perfect. When I returned to the living room, Miss Williams nodded when she saw the smile on my face.
I looked at my parents. “It’s perfect. That back room is big and sunny, and the rest of the apartment is bigger than anything we’ve seen today. If Miss Williams is willing to give it up, I’d love to live here.”
Mom asked if she could take a look, and no more than two minutes later, she returned to the living room smiling. “Cara’s right, this apartment is perfect for her. I think she’ll be very comfortable here.”
With that settled, Miss Williams said she’d need a month to move upstairs, which worked out perfectly since I wouldn’t be starting at Barrett for two more months. She gave us a one-year lease at what I thought was a reasonable rate and told me she’d call me as soon as her downstairs apartment was painted and ready for me. She also offered to leave some of her furniture for me so I wouldn’t have to buy everything.
“Thanks so much for everything, Miss Williams,” I said as we were leaving.
Mom added, “You’ve been very generous. We do appreciate it.”
Smiling, Miss Williams said, “Last year I had two young men upstairs. I had to use ear plugs at night! I’ll talk to you soon, Cara.”
As we drove out of Syracuse, Mom said, “That’s a lot more apartment than I thought we’d find for you, Cara. You could live there comfortably for the next three years. As soon as you hear from Miss Williams, let’s drive up again to see what you’ll need in the way of furnishings.” She grinned. “This is really exciting, isn’t it?”
I had to laugh. “Doesn’t sound like you’re going to miss me very much, Mom.”
“Of course I will, sweetheart. We’ll both miss you, but you said you’d be coming home most weekends, so I don’t think we’ll forget what you look like!”
My father added, “I’ve only had about a year to enjoy having a daughter, Cara. I’ll be missing you a great deal.” He was totally serious which took the smile right off my face.
I hadn’t even thought about my father’s feelings. What was wrong with me?
After dinner that night, I asked him a question that had been on my mind.
“Dad, will we still be able to talk to each other mentally when I’m away at school?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I’ve never tested the ability from such a distance. I guess we’ll find out.”
My ever-practical mother added, “There’s always the phone, Cara. The world won’t come to an end if you and your father have to communicate the same way we humans do.”
We both looked at her to see
if she was teasing us. She was, a smile on her face.
My father added, “Cara, as you pointed out, you’ll be home every weekend. I’ll be looking forward to that.”
He smiled at me with the same warmth I’d been taking for granted.
I didn’t think my father realized how important he’d become to me. I had to find some way to let him know. Words simply weren’t enough.
As I lay in bed that night, waiting for sleep to claim me, I suddenly realized what I wanted to do for my father. I fell asleep as I was making my plans.
Since my thoughts while still awake often coincided with my dreams, I found myself dreaming of the day a year ago when I got my first look at my larger-than-life father.
With that unusual mental ability he had, he’d inserted himself into a drawing I was working on in the forest. I hadn’t noticed it until I got home when Sean pointed it out to me.
Leaning against one of the tall pine trees I’d drawn was a tall, well-built man with long dark hair. His high cheekbones and green eyes seemed familiar, and he was smiling at me.
In my dream, I knew instinctively that I was looking at my father for the first time.
I spent my summer working on the project I planned to give my father. Amy and Kevin made sure I wasn’t turning into a total hermit by collecting me every Friday afternoon and taking me out to either the Pizza Palace or The Grille. I hoped we wouldn’t run into Sean, and so far we hadn’t.
“You’ve been drawing and/or painting non-stop, Cara,” Amy said. “Is this for another art show?”
I shook my head with a smile. “No. This is a personal project of mine, something I’m making to give to my father before I leave for Barrett.”
“Well, are you going to show us what you’ve done so far?” Kevin asked.
“Nope. No one sees this until it’s finished. I’ve never done anything like it before. To be honest, I’m a little nervous about it. My father knows nothing about it. I don’t want to disappoint him in case it’s an artistic disaster!”
