Daisy nodded tightly. “It all started as a lark. Something I could do for James as he was dying. He loved to watch me paint and it seemed a small gift I could give him.”
Bea felt as if the world had twisted around like something out of an M. C. Escher work, where nothing was as it seemed and reality was another trick.
Filtering through her initial shock was a vast, deep sense of betrayal. She didn’t want to believe it.
“You can’t be Marguerite,” she said flatly. “She’s an artist and you’ve always looked down on artists.”
Daisy looked genuinely shocked at that. “I have not. Why would you say that?”
“Oh, so it’s not all artists. Only me.”
“I never looked down on you. I think what you create is wonderful.”
Bea scoffed. “How many times when we were girls and I would tell you I wanted to be an artist when I grew up did you tell me that I needed to come up with a backup plan? That few artists ever made an actual living out of what they created?”
“Is that wrong? You’re in the artistic community. You know how hard it can be. You and I lived it with Jewel. Remember what it was like, how we always had to scramble to pay rent or buy food. Jewel refused to get another job, no matter how bad things got, certain it was beneath her and that her next commission would make everything right again.”
She always found it disconcerting that she and Daisy remembered their childhood so differently.
Bea remembered Jewel as crazy and funny and creative. She had always smelled good, like flowers and paints and gesso, and she had marvelously fun ideas, like painting their bedroom, rented or not, to resemble the inside of a fairy cottage.
Whenever Jewel had been there, the world had seemed brighter and more colorful, like she carried the sun with her.
Yes, she had been an irresponsible mother. Yes, she’d had a substance abuse problem and moved from man to man, but Bea had still adored her. She had seemed magical.
Daisy had always seemed too old, even when she was a girl, to see the magic.
That was why she couldn’t be Marguerite. It was impossible.
“I didn’t want that for you,” her sister said now. “That... insecurity. I only thought you should have something else in the wings. A teaching degree like Stella or something else you could fall back on. You’re doing well now, but think of how much sweat and toil and hard work it took to get where you are.”
“You are really Marguerite,” Stella said. “I can’t believe it!”
Bea looked from Stella back to Daisy and realized it wasn’t a joke. Her sister was serious.
All this time she had felt the weight of Daisy’s disapproval on her for being misguided enough to actually believe she had the talent to make it as a professional artist.
While she had been living under that weight, trying so desperately to impress her older sister, Daisy had somehow become one of the most sought-after artists in the country without anybody noticing.
“How have you managed to keep it secret all this time?” Stella asked.
“More important, why are you telling us now?”
Bea had never considered herself the envious type. She usually had the philosophy that a rising tide lifted all ships. Another artist’s success didn’t take away from her own. People could appreciate a Monet and a Picasso and a Rembrandt, each very different but brilliant just the same.
Yet, if this was true, if Daisy was indeed Marguerite, she didn’t know how she could be anything but envious.
Eventually, she might be thrilled to be connected to such a success, but right now she couldn’t get past the betrayal.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. At first, it was something only for James and me to share. After he died, painting became my solace and seemed too personal to share with anyone. By then Marguerite became kind of a big deal and I was...well, I was worried you would both be angry with me for not telling you.”
With good reason, Bea thought. She was furious and hurt and betrayed and, yes, more than a little jealous.
“Someone told me recently that I...that I need to figure out who I really am. That I won’t be truly happy until I can reconcile Marguerite’s world with Daisy’s. That starts with telling the two of you the truth. And then, I suppose, going public to the world.”
Daisy gave a tremulous smile, looking so uncharacteristically insecure that it made Bea take a breath and try to contain her wild jumble of emotions.
Her sister always seemed completely in control of every situation. Was it possible that was all an act and this insecure, tentative, uncertain woman was the real Daisy?
“I just can’t believe it,” Stella said again.
“I want to go public and I was thinking...I was thinking the Arts and Hearts auction this weekend would be a good time to do it. I have several pieces I was going to donate as Marguerite. How would you feel if I donate them as Marguerite but also put my real name there, as well?”
“Can you imagine the publicity? Yes! What an amazing idea. Oh, Daisy. This is wonderful. Maybe you could collaborate at some point with your sister.”
“I would love that,” Daisy said, giving Bea a look of apology that soothed her soul a little more. “I was thinking...maybe we could eventually open a gallery together.”
“What a lovely idea,” Stella said. She sat back, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
“Well, you’ve told us now. Thank you. But I have to tell you, all this excitement has exhausted me. I feel like I need to lie down.”
“Of course. I’ll leave the leftovers in the refrigerator for you,” Daisy said.
Stella nodded, hugged both of them, then made her way to her bedroom, leaving the two of them alone in the kitchen.
34
DAISY
She couldn’t tell what Bea was thinking. Her sister, usually so free with her emotions, had become like a carved block of alabaster as she helped Daisy clean up the take-out bags.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she finally demanded when the silence dragged way to the other side of awkward levels.
Had she ruined her relationship with Bea permanently? She had been terrified about this very thing. If she was honest with herself, that was the main reason she had kept Marguerite a secret all these years.
She had told Gabe she wasn’t afraid of anything. What a joke. He was so very right. She was afraid of everything.
“What do you want me to say, Daisy? Or do you prefer to be called Marguerite now?”
She made a face. Sarcasm was better than no response, right? “Call me whatever you want. I’m sure you can think of some choice names.”
Bea plopped onto the kitchen chair. “I can’t believe you kept something so huge from me.”
The accusatory tone stung but was nothing less than she deserved. “I know. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t you trust me to keep your identity a secret?”
“It had nothing to do with not trusting you. Not at all!”
“What, then? Did you think I couldn’t handle the fact that my sister is more talented artistically than I am?”
The hurt in Bea’s voice was the final proof of how badly she had mishandled the entire situation. It would have been far easier if she had come clean from the beginning instead of hiding her success and having to backpedal now.
“No. Oh, honey, no. I’m not! Gabe once told me I’m nothing but a glorified folk artist.”
“Gabe knows you’re Marguerite.”
Her heart twisted whenever she thought about Gabe and their painful last parting. Had he left Cape Sanctuary? She hadn’t seen him since that night, nearly a week earlier. It had taken her that long to find the courage for this meeting, which shamed her more than she wanted to admit.
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��Gabe came to Pear Tree Cottage one night when I had been painting. I had forgotten to lock the door of my storehouse I use for my studio. He picked up certain clues and put everything together.”
“That old place on your property? That’s where you paint? I thought it was just an oversize garden shed!”
“Yes. It’s not a bad space. It’s got skylights and I can pull the curtains open to have a beautiful view down the coast. You should come check it out.”
When Bea made no response, Daisy sighed. Her sister, usually so out there with her emotions, seemed as closed up as a can of new paint.
“Are you angry?”
“Yes. But I’m more hurt than angry.”
“You have a right to be.”
“Tell me the truth. Did you keep the truth from me because you thought I couldn’t handle the fact that my sister is more talented artistically than I am?”
“Okay, first of all, Marguerite is not more talented than you are.”
“You are Marguerite. Stop referring to her in the third person.”
Gabe had said the same thing. She somehow considered her artwork separate from her real self. She had to find a way to reconcile the two. She was a financial planner and an accountant. And she was an artist whose work people seemed to love, for reasons she still didn’t entirely understand.
“Okay. I am not more talented than you. We work in different mediums. That’s all. You can’t compare them. It’s like asking which makes a better long-term investment strategy, real estate or government bonds or mutual funds.”
She could see she was losing her sister. “It just so happens that Marguerite...that I have found success in my particular medium, success I never expected and, frankly, never really wanted.”
Bea scoffed at that. “Oh, please. If you didn’t enjoy it, you would have stopped after James died. You must love it.”
Bea’s words made her catch her breath as if she’d just caught a cold water balloon in the chest. Her sister was right. She could have stopped painting at any point.
She had told herself she was only doing it because she liked the freedom her success gave her, the chance it offered her to secretly donate the proceeds from her artwork to organizations like Open Hearts and the local coast preservation society, but it had all been a lie.
She loved baring her heart and her soul in her work, and she loved the idea that she was making other people happy with what she created.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “You’re absolutely right. I love it. All this time I thought I was only doing it for the money, but it’s so much more.”
Bea’s rigid features seemed to soften a little. “Creativity does that. It’s a fire inside you that has to come out.”
Yes. Bea understood the heart of it.
Perhaps the two of them were far more alike than they were different.
On impulse, she reached over and took Bea’s hand in hers, thinking of the times she had held her sister’s hand to walk across the street when they were little or in the back seat of the car as they drove to a new town or as they stood beside their mother’s grave.
“You’re also right. Part of the reason I didn’t tell you I was Marguerite was because I didn’t want to hurt you by throwing her...er, my success in your face. That was completely not fair to you and I’m sorry. I think I must have been reverting back to when we were kids, when I had to protect you and take care of you. It was a role I took very seriously.”
“No kidding,” Bea said. Her tone was tart but not bitter, a big and wonderful difference.
Daisy smiled a little, the first she had let herself smile in days. Probably since losing Louie and Gabe in one fell swoop.
“Well, someone had to take care of you. We both knew it wouldn’t be Jewel, since she wasn’t capable of even caring for herself.” She squeezed Bea’s fingers. “For the record, I have nothing but admiration for you. You are a wonderful mother. Mari is a good, kind person because of the way you’re raising her.”
“Only partly because of the way I’m raising her. She came that way.”
“Maybe, but you’re helping to keep her amazing. You’ve created a beautiful life for yourself and your daughter here. I respect and admire that, Bea. Believe me.”
“It’s a good life,” Bea said. “Not perfect, but happy.”
“That’s the best kind,” Daisy said. “Do you think that there’s a chance you might be able to ever forgive me for not telling you the truth?”
“Eventually. Maybe around the time Mari goes to college.”
“I’ve got time,” Daisy said softly, feeling better than she had all week. “I’ll wait.”
35
STELLA
Stella felt as if all the joy and color had been sucked from the world and she hated it.
Even heading with Bea, Mari, Rowan and Ed to Cruz’s concert for the opening event of the Arts & Hearts on the Cape Festival wasn’t enough to shake her out of the deep place she had sunk into.
“I can’t wait to see Cruz Romero in concert. This has to be the best night of my life.” Rowan was practically whirling in circles with glee. Her joy made Stella feel about a thousand years old.
“Thank you so much for inviting us,” the girl said, beaming at her. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Stella managed to summon a smile for her and even found a little one for her father. She was glad Rowan and Ed were able to come with her to the concert as their special guests. She only wished Ed would stop studying her with that concerned expression that made her feel like bursting into tears whenever she caught it.
Things were awkward between them, something she should have expected. Since losing the baby, she had done everything possible to avoid him. She wasn’t strong enough to bear the weight of his sympathy. It would crush her, and it was all she could do to remain in one piece right now.
Why would he want anything to do with her? She was a complete mess and she couldn’t anticipate that changing. A month from now, two months, six months, her baby would still be gone.
“It should be a fun concert,” Bea said. “Cruz always manages to put on a good show.”
Stella was still shocked that Cruz would volunteer to give a concert here. He had always supported Open Hearts in the background but preferred to downplay his own time in foster care.
Ed was driving. Bea would leave her car at Stella’s house to avoid the hassle of parking and traffic.
After some last-minute scrambling, since Cruz’s offer to play had only been a few weeks earlier, they had finally obtained permission to have the concert at the baseball arena at Driftwood Park. It was close enough to walk from her house, but not with lawn chairs and blankets and snacks.
“Are you guys ready for this?” Ed asked.
No. She wanted to usher them all out of her house and climb back into her bed.
She knew she couldn’t legitimately get away with that, especially considering the entire concert was to benefit her own charitable organization.
She nodded and everybody piled into Ed’s SUV, Bea in the back with the girls, leaving Stella to sit up front with Ed.
“I’m so excited, I feel like I’m going to explode,” Rowan said.
“Not in my car, please,” Ed said, which made Mari giggle. “Wait until we get out, where it would be easier to clean up.”
“You’re so gross, Dad,” Rowan said, but she gave her father an exasperated smile. As soon as he backed out of the driveway, the girls immediately started singing in the back seat.
It was a good thing Mari was a fan of her father’s music. It must be a surreal experience for her, now that her friends were discovering Cruz, too.
“How are you?” Ed asked in a low voice as he drove toward the park.
“Fine,” she answered tersely.
“You don’t sound fine. How are you really?�
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Bea was texting something and the girls were busy chattering away in the back seat about the merchandise they wanted to buy at the concert, paying them no mind.
Stella would much rather be talking about merchandise than thinking about the sorrow that seemed to have seeped into her bones.
She shrugged. “I’ve been better.”
Whenever she thought of those magical few days they had before she lost the baby, she wanted to cry all over again. She wanted that joy back, that feeling that the world was filled with possibility.
She wasn’t sure she knew how to find her way back from this sorrow. She could barely get up in the morning.
“You’re in a unique position, bearing the grief alone. I always tell my patients who go through pregnancy loss that it’s important they don’t close themselves up inside their pain. Have you talked to anyone about what you’re feeling?”
“You’re not my doctor, Ed.” Embarrassment sharpened her voice. “Nor are you my therapist.”
He gave her a long look. “No. But I am someone who cares about you. You shut me out twenty years ago. I won’t let you shut me out again. Like it or not, I’m in your life now and you’d better get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Before she could come up with a response to that firm declaration, they arrived at the concert venue and, after Bea showed a VIP pass to the parking attendants, they were ushered to a close parking lot.
She was still trying to figure out how to tell Ed he would be better putting his energy and time into a woman whose heart hadn’t been shattered as they found their seats inside the small stadium where a stage had been set up in center field.
Daisy had come separately as she had other details to work out for the concert ahead of time. She had really shouldered the bulk of responsibility for the arts festival booths, which opened the next morning first thing.
Every time she thought about her niece, she was shocked all over again at her revelations of the day before. Marguerite! Stella still had no idea how Daisy had managed to keep it a secret for so long.
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