“Let’s hope they check out my pieces. I’d like to sell a few and make some connections. Maybe I can get some commissioned work out of this.” Nervously, my free hand stroked across the satiny material of my dress.
Loud noises sounded in the background behind Dawson. He must already be at the venue.
“I know I said it before, but I’m sorry I’m not there to escort you to your big debut,” remorse made his voice sound sad.
“Hush about that. You will be with me. In my heart. I never go anywhere without you.” My palm pressed against my chest.
Voices called in the background. Dawson’s gaze darted offscreen for an instant then returned to mine. “I’ve got to go,” he said regretfully.
“Me too. I’ll call you when I get home, OK?”
“I’ll be waiting. I love you, flutterby.”
“I love you too. And thanks for today.” I blew him a kiss and disconnected.
* * *
Deke drove me to the gallery. Quietly, I walked the area, examining my work, trying to view it critically.
“You’re early,” Charles said from behind me.
I laughed. “You knew I would be. I had to check things one more time.”
“It’s good you’re here early. I have news. Your focal piece has an offer on it. Two thousand more than you’d hoped for.” He grinned widely at me.
“What? How is that possible?” I asked, clutching my hand to my heart.
“To hype up the show, I did a sneak peek video tour. I didn’t show the full piece, just a few of the canvases. An hour after I posted the video, I got a call. I didn’t accept the offer because I wanted to talk with you first,” he said.
“I think I need a minute,” I croaked and sank onto a bench positioned near the focal pieces.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Charles patted my shoulder as he walked off.
The pieces were new, but I was still attached to them. They meant a lot to me. Could I let them go?
My gaze ran over the line of just over a dozen canvases representing the creation I’d dubbed Fate’s Thread. I really hadn’t expected them to sell. When I unveiled the paintings to Charles, my big stipulation was that the collection had to remain intact. He warned that it might limit its salability. But the pieces belonged together.
After dancing with Dawson the night of my parents’ anniversary party, I hadn’t been able to get the tale of the red thread of fate out of my mind. An idea began to take shape, and it quickly became one of the pieces I was proudest of.
I stood so I could spend time with these bits of myself before I had to let them go. They’d been arranged on a large, mobile partition.
I walked to the first canvas. It was a painting of a painting. I’d painted a woman in profile, standing at an easel. Red dripped from the paint brush in her hand. The paint flowed down the edge of the canvas in a thin stream until it wrapped around her ankle and floated off the edge of the canvas. On the easel, within the painting, was a self-portrait. The face was blank, but it was her. Me. There was a heart-shaped hole in the painting on the chest. A light red rimmed the edge.
The next painting showed a little boy and girl playing with a puppy in the yard. The puppy had a red rope in his mouth running across the grass. One end of the rope was wrapped around the boy’s ankle while the other was wrapped around the girl’s ankle. The ends of the rope trailed off each edge of the canvas.
The third image depicted a birthday party. The boy and girl, a little older, stood in the center of a crowd. A discarded green bottle rested on the floor in the middle. The boy and girl stared at each other. Balloons filled the ceiling with red strings hanging down from them. They swirled to the floor. One of the curly-ques twined around an ankle on each, then disappeared off the sides.
The fourth rectangular piece of art was a map of the US. The girl stood on South Carolina while the boy stood on Ohio. Red lines representing highways on the map wound around their ankles.
Next was the girl in a pink party dress clutching a bouquet of red roses tied with a pink ribbon. As the ribbon cascaded to the floor, the color deepened to red before it ringed her ankle.
After that was them as a teenaged couple in formal wear wrapped up in a string of red twinkle lights.
Then came the young man singing on stage to the young woman in the crowd. Red music notes flowed down the painting and encircled her ankle.
The next one showed him surfing at sunrise. A red ankle cord trailed in water forming the edge of the wave crashing on beach. The girl waited in the surf with a camera.
On the following canvas was the Eiffel Tower with red trailing up the latticework to the man standing at the top, then the red connected to the woman who was in a freefall off the side.
A mountain range at sunset was next. Red rimmed the craggy peaks and streaked down to the woman’s ankle where she was photographing the sunset. A different man stood off to the side. The red thread ran near him but didn’t touch him.
The next image showed red taillights shimmering through the rain. The first boy, now a sad man, was visible through a tour bus window.
The last painting showed the man on stage with his guitar. A red cord ran from floor up to the guitar. It thinned to the middle string on the instrument where it was thrown across his chest. There a heart shaped hole was edged in vivid red.
The paintings were positioned so close to each other that their connection by the red thread trailing off the edges of the canvases was apparent. Each painting had a tiny puzzle piece hidden within the scene. The pieces were in two different shades of red. I’d spent a lot of time measuring the painted heart holes to create puzzle pieces that would fill the holes in both characters’ chests.
A final painting hung above the dozen others. In that one, the boy and girl were reunited as adults. Each of their heart-shaped holes had been filled with two-toned red puzzle pieces.
My heart was whole again. Or very nearly. I could say goodbye to this part of the journey. I went to give Charles my answer.
* * *
Before the clock struck seven, people were waiting outside for Charles to unlock the gallery. I paced the large area where my art was on display. I was so nervous.
"You ready?" Charles asked, halting my circuitous pattern around the room.
I drew a deep breath and nodded.
He signaled to his assistant and in moments, an influx of sound filled the space. I stepped off to a quiet corner and observed as people examined my work. It was surreal to hear people gush about my use of color or technique or speculate what feeling I was trying to convey. A flutter of pride in my achievements began to overtake some of the nerves.
"Why are you hiding in the corner?" a voice asked from beside me.
I turned and grinned at Beckett. "You made it," I exclaimed, giving him a hug.
He squeezed me tightly. "I told you I'd be here."
I stepped back, and my fingers went seeking a strand of hair to play with. Unfortunately, it was all tied up in a knot against my neck. "I know. I just..."
"I understand. You look beautiful by the way." His hand brushed my cheek.
"Thanks."
The silence between us was just beginning to get awkward when my parents showed up.
"There's my girl," Daddy said as he gave me a big hug.
Mom waited her turn.
"Would it be possible for the lady of the hour to give us a personal tour," Beckett asked.
"Of course," I said and looped my hand through the crook of his arm.
As we moved around the room, I explained the pieces to them and answered their questions. I noticed little red stickers dotting some of the price cards, indicating that the pieces had been sold. Hopefully by the time the night was over, I'd be able to put a dent in my huge hospital bills.
Experimental treatments weren't covered by my parents' health insurance policy, so I was swimming in debt. There weren't enough pieces in the show to eliminate my debt completely, but I'd put enough in there to get
rid of almost half if everything sold.
We'd finally made our way to the focal wall, but we had to wait to approach it. Once the crowd moved on, we stepped up to it. As much as it pained me to sell the creations, I knew it was part of moving forward and would be a huge help in paying off the hospital.
"What does the red dot mean?" Dad asked, pointing to the price card.
"It means the piece sold," I explained.
"You sold this?" Mom asked.
I nodded.
"But it's you and Dawson," her tone was confused, “your story.”
Though the faces weren't really visible in the paintings, anyone who knew us would be able to recognize us in the creation.
"I know. And at first, I planned to just have it on display. But once I hung it up in here, I realized that our story isn't over, so I don't have to keep these reminders of what was. I have faith in what will be."
I hoped.
Beckett remained silent as he examined the paintings. Mom and Dad moved on while I stayed behind with Beckett. He pointed to the mountain painting.
"Me?" he asked, indicating the man near the red thread.
I nodded. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged, a sheen in his eyes. "Don't be. Maybe my thread is tied to someone out there too."
Beckett moved in the direction of the door. “I’m going to get going. I knew you were talented, but I never imagined this.” He held his arm out, indicating my work. “You have a gift. I’m sorry I didn’t nurture it or even acknowledge it.”
♪ A Bad Goodbye by Clint Black and Lisa Hartman Black
I gave him a sad smile. I wouldn’t say it was OK that he didn’t, because it wasn’t. “Thanks for coming tonight,” I said.
“No problem. And remember, I’m always here if you need anything.” He pulled me into his arms.
“I know.” I squeezed him back briefly, then pulled back.
He turned and walked away. After he’d gone a few steps, I called, “Hey, Beckett.”
He looked back at me.
“Find your thread.”
He chuckled and headed out of the gallery.
And I went to go mingle. I loved talking about art with other art lovers. Time flew quickly. My parents were gone. There were still a lot of people milling about when Charles brought a distinguished looking man over to meet me.
“Isabelle, I’d like to introduce you to Paul Smith. He has been searching for an artist to do a commissioned piece for him. When he reached out to me, I knew you’d be perfect.” Charles patted my shoulder and walked away to speak with someone else.
“Nice to meet you, Isabelle,” Paul said as he shook my hand. “I have to say that I love so many of your pieces. I’m a little disappointed that your Fate’s Thread collection has already sold. I had my heart set on it. My wife loves that legend.”
“I’m honored that you thought it worthy enough to give to the love of your life,” I answered
“I’ve actually been looking for someone to create something special as a gift for her. Our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming in a few months. I’d love to surprise her with art created just for her. Maybe even a series of works like the Fate’s Thread collection,” he mused, cupping his chin as he thought it over.
“I’d be happy to discuss some options with you. We could tell your love story through a series of paintings or sketches,” enthusiasm made my voice pitch a little high.
Paul reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. Give me a call next week, and we’ll set something up.”
I glanced down at the card. “You came all the way from California to look at my work?”
“When Charles Strong tells me that he has an artist I need to meet, I listen. That man knows his stuff. Speak of the devil,” he teased as Charles rejoined us.
“Isabelle, I hate to steal you away, but I need to speak with you in private,” he said urgently.
“OK. It was wonderful meeting you, Paul. I’ll be in touch.” I shook his hand and followed Charles through the crowded room back to the studio space I’d been using.
Charles shut the door behind us. His face was a mask of seriousness.
“Is something wrong?” I couldn’t imagine why he’d need to speak with me in the middle of the show.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I think you should sit.”
My heart jumped in my throat as I took a seat.
“I know you were hoping to use the money you made tonight to help pay down your hospital bills,” he started.
“Yeah. I mean, I know that I don’t have enough listed to even cut the debt in half. But any amount paid off would be a relief. I’ve accepted the fact that I will probably always owe that hospital money,” I joked.
“I know you have a few pieces that were here for display purposes only,” he hedged.
“They’re not for sale, Charles. They mean too much to me,” my voice was thick with emotion.
“I know that. And normally, I wouldn’t have even entertained the offer… But, it’s a really good offer. I think you have to at least hear it. The money is ready to be wire transferred to your account as soon as I give the approval.” He tucked his hands into his pockets.
“If it will ease your conscience, you can tell me. But I don’t think the amount will make a difference.” In fact, I knew it wouldn’t.
“Would a hundred grand make a difference?”
It was a good thing I was already seated. My knees knocked together. That kind of money would help tremendously. One hundred thousand dollars plus money from the other sales would almost eliminate my hospital debt completely.
“Which piece?” I whispered.
“Love in Paris,” Charles answered.
That piece meant the most to me. My heart hurt over the impossible decision.
“When do you need an answer?” I whispered.
“He didn’t say. But he seemed very anxious to have it shipped right away. I’m sure I can ask him to wait until tomorrow for your decision,” Charles said as he put his hand on the door knob.
“OK. I definitely need some time. And if it’s all right, I need a few quiet minutes before I come back out.” My eyes burned with the effort of holding the tears in. I had to compose myself before I could go talk to people about my work.
“Take your time. I’ll cover for you,” Charles said as he came back and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.
After he walked out, I buried my face in my hands. I’d be a fool not to accept the offer. But it was my most prized piece. I poured so much of my love for Dawson into that painting. That trip to Paris was very special—my first trip out of the country.
My eyes swam with tears.
What if even considering selling a piece of our history was a bad omen? What if all the memories I currently had of him were all I would ever have?
I mean, there was no doubting our love for each other. But being together wasn’t a sure thing. Dawson still doubted if it was good for me to have him back in my life. So, far I hadn’t been able to convince him that our love could survive anything.
One tear slipped out. How was I going to choose between an important symbol of my past and trying to brighten my future?
The scrape of a shoe moving across the tile, snapped me out of my endless cycle of questions. Without lifting my head, I said, “I just need another couple of minutes, Charles,” my voice trembled on the last word.
The door clicked closed softly behind me. I sighed in relief over being left alone in my indecision. My relief was short-lived as a warm hand landed on my shoulder. Charles must really have needed my answer.
Dejectedly, I picked my head up and slowly turned around, a plea for more time on my lips.
The words froze in my throat as my eyes took in the person behind me.
Chapter 18
Dawson
“Why the long face, flutterby?” I asked as my thumb flicked away the moisture marring her beauty.
“Wh-w
hat are you doing here?” she asked as she launched herself into my arms.
“I’m here for your big debut, of course. Sorry I’m late. There was some weather in the Midwest we had to fly around.” I grinned at her.
“What about the concert?” she choked out through her tears.
“I rescheduled it for next month.” I shrugged.
“But the venue was booked, and your fans were so excited,” she rambled.
“Our fans are getting a treat. Merry Melodymakers did us a favor and performed tonight in our place. I recorded a message for them to play for the fans, explaining why I had to bail on them. Bas and his band also hooked us up with an alternate venue next month and let me borrow their plane,” I gave the full explanation so she wouldn’t have to ask.
Her fingers ran across my cheeks. “I can’t believe you’re really here. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
I lowered my face to hers. My mouth covered her soft lips, kissing her deeply, kissing her like my life depended on convincing her of the depth of my love because it did. That first taste of her was better than I remembered. Though I’d kissed her last week, this kiss was different because I was different.
When I pulled back, we were both panting. “Do you get kissed like that in your dreams?” I asked with a teasing smirk.
“When you’re in them, yeah,” she admitted, red staining her cheeks.
“Well, I promise you aren’t dreaming. I’m really here. And I’m not going anywhere. Well, I am going somewhere. In a couple of days, I’ll have to go back home. But I’m not turning my back on this second chance we’ve been given. To hell with my stalker. I’ll hire more security. We’ll figure it out. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I kissed you goodbye last week. I can’t live without you. If I can only have one thing in my life that matters, I choose you.”
My hand cupped the back of her head. Her eyes searched mine, looking for sincerity. After what felt like an eternity, her lips spread in a smile.
She smacked me on the chest. “When did you know you were coming here tonight?”
Songs of the Heart: Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 3 Page 24
