He went over to the table the hotel had brought up for him to work on. He’d pushed it against the window, which as least had southern exposure—except for the building next door. Not ideal, but he was on the last few illustrations for his Odyssey.
The backgrounds were pretty much a matter of getting them on the page. He could have plugged them into his computer and drawn the figures in front of the same landscape.
But he was too old-fashioned for that. He liked the process, liked that his backgrounds as well as his characters changed with his changing relationship to the story. He only used a graphics program when necessary.
He spent the afternoon on rendering Calypso, the nymph who fell in love with Odysseus. An ethereal creature with the necessary gauze toga since it was for children. He never understood why publishers insisted that bodies had to be clothed for kids.
He was so tempted to drop one side of her gown, exposing one breast with its pink nipple like the great classicists. But it wasn’t a battle he was interested in fighting, so he sketched in the drapes over her supple limbs and torso. He drew her dancing on the beach of a lovely island, Odysseus crawling from the sea, battered and nearly drowned, his hand stretched out to her for help.
The hours passed and the noise of traffic and the day turning to dusk faded from his consciousness as the story took shape on his drawing paper. It turned out pretty well considering he was in a foreign environment. Probably because he’d already pictured the images before he left the beach.
He glanced at his watch. He’d better finish up if he planned to meet Paige for dinner. Good old Paige. He wondered if she’d ever been in love? They’d never talked about it.
What did they talk about? They talked—there was no awkwardness at all in their relationship—but it wasn’t about anything substantial, and nothing too personal.. He enjoyed her company, and she enjoyed his. He laughed with her. Had great inventive sex with her. It’s what they both wanted. Friends with benefits. What an appropriate name.
News of Gilbert House’s inclusion in the spring gala swept through the few remaining staff members. The woodworkers put in overtime to finish the foyer. The glazier promised to have at least a mock-up of the transom window in time for the gala.
Meri continued to work methodically on her ceiling.
Doug commandeered the kitchen for viewing archive photographs. Sitting around the kitchen table, he, Krosky, and Carlyn studied, organized, and chose the most interesting ones.
“What’s the verdict?” Meri asked, walking into the room and leaning over the rows of old photographs.
“Looks good, looks good,” Doug said and exchanged the positions of two of the photos. “Too bad we don’t have a better photo of the ceiling. This was the only one?”
Carlyn shrugged.
It was a photo that had captured the original center chandelier and a blurred bit of the painted pattern. Black and white of course. There was nothing later that showed the original work.
After Mr. Gilbert’s fall from financial grace, the property had quickly fallen into disrepair. The heirs left it abandoned for years then sold it to a family who sold it several years later. It finally ended up barely standing and on the list to be demolished.
Doug had convinced the authorities that there was something worth salvaging there. It hadn’t been given historical status . . . yet. That’s why this was so important to finance the restoration. It deserved to live.
“I’ve got a cleanup crew coming in to spruce the place up. The glazier will have mock-ups of the replacement pieces.
“Geordie Holt offered to photograph whatever we can get ready. But I haven’t found an artist who can commit to getting projection displays done by the end of next week. And that’s a big problem.” Doug flashed his teddy bear grin. “How are your drawing skills?”
“I had the course as part of the architecture curriculum,” Meri said. “But I couldn’t do it justice.”
“I didn’t even have the course,” Carlyn said.
They all looked at Krosky.
Krosky shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Well, I’ll just have to keep calling,” Doug said and moved toward the door.
“Doug, wait.”
Doug turned to look at Meri. Carlyn and Krosky looked, too.
“We have to find the right artist, and not just anyone, someone with vision.”
“Yeah?”
Meri had an idea. And she had to try it. For the project. For herself. And if he said no, then that would be that. But if he said yes, he would have to work on-site. And she would use that time to talk him into keeping Corrigan House.
He might turn her down—maybe he was glad to be done with her—but for Doug and the project’s sake, she would ask. It would be the last time she asked Alden for anything, she promised herself, and if she couldn’t talk him into staying, she would let him go.
“I might know someone. I’ll give him a call.”
Chapter 26
Alden took the glass of wine Paige handed him. He was sitting on her couch, looking out her picture window at the skyline of New Jersey, while New Age music played quietly in the background. Across the Hudson, apartment lights clustered along the water’s edge; the bridge to New Jersey was lit up like a carnival.
A lovely place if you weren’t used to the open spaces of the Rhode Island shore.
Paige sat down next to him. “You’re in a pensive mood,” she said in her silken voice. “Not enjoying the apartment hunt?”
He shook his head. Touched his glass to hers and took a sip; the wine was full bodied, expensive. Good wine, good view, good lady. What was wrong with him?
“Well, don’t worry. You just haven’t found the right place yet. Don’t get stressed over it. It took me almost a year to find this place, then I almost lost it in a bidding war.”
It gave him a headache to think about going through something like that. “It was worth it though, wasn’t it?”
“Yes indeed. My little aerie above a crowded world.”
He smiled at her. He really liked her.
“So what shall we do tonight? There’s a new off-Broadway play a friend of mine is directing. He promises it isn’t too bad, and he has free tickets. Or shall we order in?” She turned her head, gave him a playful look, and he realized he’d just drawn her as the nymph, Calypso.
He took another sip of wine. His cell rang. He usually turned it off when they were together, but he was hoping that Nora would finally call him back. She usually didn’t stay mad this long.
“Sorry.” He pulled it out of his pocket. Meri. Something must be wrong. “I have to take this, sorry.”
He stood and walked to the window. “Hey, what’s up?”
“How’s the hunt for the perfect light-filled apartment going?”
“Is everything okay there? You don’t normally call to chat.” He glanced back at Paige. She had discreetly moved into her galley kitchen, giving him a little privacy.
“Everything is okay. Is that music? Where are you? Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“It’s okay. Why are you calling?”
“Well, actually . . .” She paused, and a hundred horrible things went through his mind. Fire, flood, an accident, heart attack.
“Actually, I have a proposition I hope you won’t refuse.”
He frowned. What was she up to?
“What is it?” He was aware of Paige returning with a plate of cheese and crackers.
She didn’t answer.
“Meri, what’s going on?”
“Look, I know I told you I didn’t need you anymore. But actually I do. Not for me, but we have kind of a dilemma here at the project. Everett Simmons offered to get us a place on his next fund-raising gala but we can’t find anyone . . .”
He listened to her speed-of-sound explanation, spitting out the words without pausing or giving him a chance to comment or ask a question. When she finally ran down, he’d gotten the gist. They needed an artist, this week, or everything was los
t.
He couldn’t help but smile, not just because she’d actually called him, but because she had such energy when she was excited, angry, sad, or celebrating. That’s what was missing for him in New York—that joy in living.
“So what do you say? We can’t pay, not a lot anyway, but Doug really believes in this project, and so do I.”
“Well . . .” What should he do? Go back and end up stuck in the same isolation he’d tried to leave?
“You can be back in New York in a couple of weeks. There will still be apartments.”
Still he hesitated. Paige was waiting for him, an enigmatic smile curving her lips.
“Please, just this one last time? Then I promise I won’t bother you ever again.”
“When do you need me there?”
“Yesterday?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Yes, thank you. Thank you. I love you.”
I love you, too.
“See you tomorrow?”
“I guess so.”
He hung up and turned to Paige. She was smiling at him, this time with sympathetic amusement.
“I . . .”
“Have to catch a train,” she finished.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He reached for his coat. “I hate to have to cut out on you.”
“Alden, I understand. I really do.” She laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“You. Now get going, you don’t want to miss that train.”
It was raining when they locked up Gilbert House for the night. Pouring by the time Meri and Carlyn stood on the porch deciding where to go to dinner.
“Mike’s,” they said simultaneously and made a dash for Carlyn’s car.
The pub was a small establishment in the basement of a white clapboard Federal house circa 1774, a local hangout with a jukebox of 1950s music and Irish folk songs. The burgers were big and the wine was drinkable, and they were favorites with the owner, Michael McGee.
“What can I get for you ladies?” he asked as soon as they had shaken off the worst of the rain and he’d shown them to a booth.
They ordered the usual, big fat juicy bacon burgers, crisp sweet potato fries, and creamy homemade coleslaw.
“How on earth did you get Alden to come back and do the renderings?” Carlyn asked as soon as Mike left with their order.
“I just asked him.” Meri screwed up her face. “Though I think he might have been on a date or something.”
“Really? What makes you think that? Strange noises?”
“Mood music.”
“Hmm. Either in someone’s bedroom or a hotel elevator.”
Meri snorted.
“Wow,” Carlyn said dreamily, only half in jest, Meri suspected. “The secret life of the TDH.”
“You can’t call him that when he’s present,” Meri said.
“Of course not, but speaking of handsome men”—she paused as Mike put down two glasses of red wine—“what do you hear from Peter?”
“Not much. He’s loving L.A. and very busy assisting his uncle who it appears is divorce lawyer to the stars.”
Carlyn grimaced. “Sounds like a reality show.”
“But not mine. Reality that is.”
“Uh-oh. Do I detect trouble in paradise?”
Mike placed two plates of food in front of them. “Dig in, ladies.”
Carlyn picked up her burger, and juices dripped onto the plate. “Well?”
“No. He has an interview with Yale in a couple of weeks. At least we’ll get a chance to talk. I feel like we’ve both been so busy that . . .” She trailed off.
Carlyn looked over her towering burger. “What?”
Meri just shrugged. What could she say? Absence wasn’t making her heart grow fonder. She was hoping that Peter wouldn’t decide to stay in L.A., but if he did . . . “I don’t know.”
Carlyn put down her burger. “Are you sure you’re not having second thoughts?”
“Maybe.” Meri toyed with a sweet potato fry. “I don’t know.”
“Can I just ask you something? And don’t get mad.”
“Sure. I guess.”
“Are you certain that you want to marry Peter, even if he stays back east?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, it’s just that . . . remember the day Alden came to see you at the site?”
“Yeah.”
“It seemed to me, well, you two seemed, I don’t know, simpatico. And the way he looked at you, it was the way I wish some guy would look at me, a guy who wasn’t just after a quick fling or a weekend affair.”
Meri stilled. “I don’t think he feels that way. He never acted like anything but a big brother, a friend.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. If you ask me . . .” She picked up her wine, but put it down, splayed out both hands and sang, “He’ll come running . . .” She stopped, frowned. “Actually he is . . . running.”
“Because he’s always got my back.” Meri frowned.
“That’s what I mean. I may be wrong. He doesn’t look at you the way Peter looks at you. It’s not . . . hell, I don’t know; it’s just different, there’s something that is just simpatico between you.”
“I think it’s because we grew up together. And then there’s his promise to Riley. It’s always there between us.”
“Ha. You didn’t even know about that until a couple of weeks ago. And, besides, no one lives like that anymore.”
“Alden does. He illustrates fairy tales, for crying out loud.” And monsters, she added to herself.
“Maybe, but for my money, he’s very much flesh and blood. Hot blood.”
Meri stared at her friend, but she wasn’t really looking at her. She was trying to understand the sudden burst of possessiveness she was feeling. She didn’t own Alden, but she’d taken him for granted for so long, she couldn’t seem to stop.
He was loyal. Hell, what was she thinking? Dogs were loyal; Alden was so much more than that. And she’d repaid him by using him, again, to help get their project funding. Even after he’d told her he wanted to move on.
“Anyway, he’s selling Corrigan House and moving to Manhattan.”
“Whoa. Why?”
Meri shrugged.
“That sort of puts a damper on things.”
“Tell me about it.”
They finished with coffees and split a dish of apple crumble, then with leftovers packed to go, Meri and Carlyn braved the elements to get back to Carlyn’s car. The rain was still coming down and they huddled beneath one umbrella attempting to avoid puddles and failing miserably.
Carlyn beeped the locks and they made a dash to get inside.
“It’s more like April monsoons than showers,” Carlyn said, when she’d shaken out her umbrella and tossed it to the back.
“Think we better check on the house to make sure we haven’t sprung a leak somewhere?”
“I’d feel better if we did.” Carlyn turned the wipers on full and pulled out into the empty street. “You know, in a few more months we won’t be able to find a parking place within blocks of here.”
“The price we pay for having our own table during the rest of the year.”
Carlyn sighed. “I wonder what the hamburgers are like in L.A.?”
The lights were on at Gilbert House, and Doug’s car was still in the parking lot. Carlyn dropped Meri off at her car. “I think I’ll run in and see if everything is okay. See you tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Meri said. “Call me if there’s a problem. I’ll come back and bail.”
“Will do.”
Meri started to get out of the car. She hesitated and looked over at Carlyn. “Just so you know . . . you’re the best friend ever.”
“Aw,” Carlyn crooned, and Meri jumped out into the rain.
It took nearly fifteen minutes to find a parking place on her block, and since Meri couldn’t find an umbrella in any of the usual pockets of her car, she pulled up the hood of he
r water-resistant—but not waterproof—jacket and ran.
She was drenched by the time she reached her apartment building. Keys in hand, she dashed the last few feet to the door. But before she got there, a figure stepped from the shadows.
Meri let out a squeak, automatically flipping her keys so that the largest pointed outward.
“Meri?”
Meri dropped her keys. “Good Lord. Nora, what are you doing here?”
Chapter 27
Alden reached Grand Central Terminal with several minutes to spare. He stopped under the schedule display. His train had arrived, but he still had a couple of minutes to try to reach Nora one last time before boarding.
Her phone was still turned off. For how long? Three days? Two weeks? A month? What if there was an emergency?
Nora was as rebellious as the next teenager, but nothing out of the norm as far as Alden could tell. But she was no dummy and could see that she was being used as a pawn between Alden and her mother. And it was time for Alden to stand up for her.
Because living with Mark and Jennifer was not in her best interest. He didn’t know about Lucas.
He’d finally called his son that morning to see what was up and learned that Jennifer had taken Nora’s phone away as punishment for her behavior when they’d picked her up. Lucas was usually a quiet boy, didn’t complain. He liked things harmonious.
Nora hadn’t been at home when Alden called.
“Look, I haven’t said anything to Mark and Jennifer, but if you both want to spend more time with me, or even move here, you know I’d love you to. If you’re not happy.
“I know that Nora isn’t. I’m going to petition to have Nora live here with me, if that’s what she really wants. At least for the rest of the school year and summer. So tell her just to hang loose and call me when she can.”
“Okay.”
“What about you? Are you happy? Do you want to come back to live with me? Don’t worry about hurting my feelings if you don’t want to.”
“I’m okay. Things don’t bother me like they do Nora.” There was silence for a moment, and Alden waited for what was coming next.
“I’d rather finish up here until the end of the semester. We’re working on a great project in lab. Mom doesn’t bother me much. It’s just her and Nora, plus she’s kind of whacked being pregnant again.”
Breakwater Bay Page 29
