After the Rain

by Karen White

  She looked up, startled to hear Joe speaking. “We were hoping you could translate what ‘transcendent portraitures’ means.”

  Suzanne swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat and forced a smile. “I haven’t a clue.” Her world seemed to spin for a moment, and she thought she might throw up. “You know, I probably shouldn’t go. Lucinda’s sick, and there’s only Brunelle’s daughter Cordella to watch the store.”

  Cassie put the car in drive. “Cordella will be fine. Let’s just have some fun and enjoy the trip.”

  Joe touched her arm, and when she looked at him his eyes were shadowed with worry. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  She glanced over at Cassie and saw that she was watching her closely. The roar of the bus engines caught their attention. Cassie waved. “They’re leaving. We’ll see you later, Joe.”

  Suzanne pushed away the feeling of uneasiness as she said good-bye to Joe. As the long pink car slid away, she couldn’t help wondering if all the running she had done had been in circles and if she had finally, simply, come to the place where she was supposed to be.

  The car sped down the interstate, drawing stares and waves from passersby and from the Walton High School buses. She saw Maddie at the back of one of the buses, waving wildly and wearing a wistful look that said she’d rather be in the pink car. Suzanne felt relieved when she spotted Rob sitting next to her.

  Cassie flipped on the car radio, and a country music station blared out a song about “wherever you go, there you are.” Cassie turned to Suzanne, the sun glinting off the rhinestones in her sunglasses. “So, what do you think, Louise?”

  Suzanne smiled as some of her worry slipped away. “It’s great, Thelma. Just great.”

  Sarah Frances leaned as far forward as her seat belt would allow. “Who’s Thelma and Louise?” she shouted over the din of the radio and the rushing wind.

  Cassie and Suzanne gave each other conspiratorial looks. Cassie spoke first. “Just two friends out for a ride.”

  Suzanne rested her head back against the seat, letting the wind rush at her face and hair, and tried to forget, just for a while, the photograph of the child with the flower, and that it had ever meant anything to her.

  Maddie caught up with them as soon as they reached the main entrance to the High Museum. She and Rob were holding hands, but she immediately pulled apart when she spotted Cassie and Sarah Frances. She appeared to hum at a high pitch that only Suzanne seemed able to hear. Even then, she wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of seeing the exhibit or the proximity to Rob.

  The long line of students and chaperones filed quickly into the building, then up the wide, winding walkway that took them to the main exhibit hall. A large picture of Gertrude Hardt hung on the main wall, with her birth and death dates, along with her biography, written on a large panel hung next to the frame.

  Suzanne knew it all by heart and didn’t press forward to read the plaque. Instead, she stared at the picture of the artist, looking in the weathered face and pale blue eyes for a hint of the genius within. She watched as Maddie did the same, her tall figure buffeted by the throng of teenagers moving to the front of the group.

  Suzanne accepted a headset from a museum staffer, then hung back as the rest of the group received theirs, the earphones resting around her neck. She felt suspended in time, with a horrifying sense of déjà vu, but she felt powerless to back up and start over. As she walked into the first exhibit room, she felt herself propelled forward but not against her will. Glancing over her shoulder, she wished for nothing more than to let it be over.

  As she waited for Maddie, Cassie, and Sarah Frances to catch up, she placed the headphones over her ears and flipped the recorder to the on position. A woman’s voice, with a crisp, British accent, spoke. “Despite the forty years Hardt spent photographing American cities and their occupants, she left behind a relatively small body of work. Until recently, a large portion of her collection had remained unseen by the public eye. Reported missing and assumed stolen from the estate of the late art enthusiast Caldwell Winthorpe of Chicago, the photographs remained underground for nearly fifteen years until unearthed recently and lent anonymously to this exhibit. An investigation is pending concerning the ownership of the photographs.”

  Rewinding the tape recorder, she listened again to the woman’s chipper voice: “. . . photographs remained underground for nearly fifteen years until unearthed recently . . .” She rewound and listened to the same words four more times. Something was wrong. Really wrong. How could they have been missing or presumed stolen? They had been given to her as an engagement gift. From Anthony—a year and a half ago. Right after he had hit her for the first time and she had told him she was leaving. He had given her the photographs, knowing her weakness. And she had taken them.

  She moved slowly with the crowd as they meandered from picture to picture, her eyes not really seeing but her mind working furiously. If they had been stolen fifteen years before, then how did Anthony own them to be able to give them to her?

  She stopped suddenly, causing Sarah Frances to bump into her. Because they had never really belonged to him.

  She felt sick, afraid she’d throw up right there on the glossy wooden floors of the High Museum’s exhibit room. Forcing her way through the crowd, she found a cushioned bench seat against a wall and sat down. Her head felt cold and clammy as she leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. He’s won. All this time I thought that I had succeeded in besting him, and all along he knew he’d won. It wouldn’t be a matter of his word against hers. If they were stolen, and she had sold them, Anthony would never be implicated. All it would take would be one anonymous tip from him to the authorities.

  She swallowed heavily, forcing down the rising tide of panic. All this time she’d been thinking he was after her, trying to reclaim his property. Not the pictures, but her. The pictures were merely a means to an end.

  How predictable she must have seemed to him. He knew what she would do. And now he didn’t need to chase her to find her. He could let the police do it for him. The threat alone would be enough to make her return to him. It wouldn’t matter what she told the police. Anthony had money. And friends in high places. Either way, she’d end up back with him or in jail. Each choice would be a prison of her own making.

  Somebody sat on the bench beside her, and she looked up, immediately knowing that things really could get worse. Stinky Harden, wearing a light blue seersucker suit, sat next to her, a look of mock concern on his face. “I didn’t know you were chaperoning. You weren’t on the bus.”

  She forced herself to remain civil. “I rode with Cassie Parker. They said they had enough chaperones on the bus.” She looked around for Cassie, or anybody she knew, to rescue her. Her party must already have passed into the next room.

  “You don’t look like you’re feeling so well. You worried about Maddie not winning that photography contest?”

  She looked at him oddly, wondering how he even knew about the contest. And then she remembered his son, Charlie, was a photographer, too. “I’m not worried. I think she has a pretty good chance at winning.”

  He leaned his considerable bulk against the wall behind them. “If I were a betting man, I’d say Charlie had an even better chance of winning.” He pretended to think for a minute. “For the sake of argument, let’s pretend that I am a betting man. You interested in making a wager?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Not even if the odds are in your favor? And by winning you’d be doing something for Joe?”

  That got her attention, and when she looked at him, she realized that had been his intention. She was so damned predictable. “What are you talking about?”

  “How about we make a little bet between the two of us? Let’s just say that if Maddie wins, I’ll drop out of the mayoral race.”

  Her stomach roiled but she ignored it, pretending to be only half listening. “And if Charlie wins?”

  The hardnes
s in his eyes belied the doughy cheeks and rosy skin. “Then you tell me everything I want to know.”

  “What makes you think that either Charlie or Maddie will win? There’s bound to be thousands of kids entering this contest.”

  “Because I’ve seen both entries. Now, I’m not an art con-wa-sur or nothin’, but I know good picture-taking when I see it.”

  “And you’re so sure that you’d bet your run for mayor on it?” She still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t joking. And she certainly had nothing left to lose.

  He nodded. “Yessirreebobtail.”

  “But what happens if neither of them wins?”

  Pulling a toothpick out of his shirt pocket, he stuck it in his mouth. “Then all bets are off.”

  She spotted Charlie with a group of kids huddled around a photograph of a seminude woman sitting in a small metal tub in front of a kitchen fire. Her haunted eyes held hunger and hopelessness; her sloped shoulders, defeat. But Charlie was snickering, pointing at the bare breasts and making ribald comments.

  She stared into Stinky’s florid face and thought of Joe, and her heart ached for him, for them, and for what he would feel when he finally knew. And now Stinky was giving her the chance to do something to make it up to him—something for which she’d expect no repayment, a final gesture to him to give him thanks and to say good-bye.

  Hell. She had nothing to lose, and Joe had everything to gain. Facing him, she shook his hand. “It’s a deal, then.”

  His hand lingered on hers more than necessary and she drew it back, wiping it unobtrusively on her skirt. Without another word, she stood and moved quickly out of the room into the next, looking for Maddie.

  She found her with Rob, standing close together but not touching. Suzanne saw the reason why when she spotted Cassie and Sarah Frances at the adjacent photograph. Suzanne moved to stand behind Maddie and gazed over the girl’s shoulder at a once-familiar scene. It showed a mother in a Depression-era dress with two small children, neither one of them older than five, going through a garbage can on a street corner. The picture was dark, but a fine halo of bright light seemed to outline the mother, like a beacon guiding the way for her children.

  The photo had always reminded Suzanne of her own mother, which is why she’d kept it in the protective folder under her bed—so she’d never have to be reminded of her mother and how she’d never allowed light into her daughter’s life.

  Maddie said something, and Rob laughed as Maddie ducked her head onto his shoulder. Cassie called out a familiar name behind her, but it sounded muffled through the headphones. Turning slowly, Suzanne watched as Cassie called out again, this time raising her hand, and when Suzanne’s gaze followed Cassie’s, she thought the world had stopped spinning.

  Anthony—tall, dark, and brooding in his black Italian suit—had stopped in front of Cassie and was kissing her cheek, European-style.

  With shaking fingers, Suzanne managed to turn off her headset and focus her attention on the scene being played out before her. She allowed the crowd of teenagers to move her along to the next photograph, so that now she was standing facing Cassie, with Anthony’s back to her.

  “Pregnancy becomes you, Cassandra. Will you be returning to the agency after the baby is born?” His words were dark and smooth, like his hands. They could also turn hard and biting without provocation. She’d had the bruises on her heart and on her face to prove it.

  “Thank you, Anthony. And yes, I will be returning to work when the baby’s old enough, but I’m not planning on traveling—at least for the first couple of years. I’ll leave that up to Andrew. But please feel free to call me anytime. I’ll remain the account manager and will be overseeing things from my home office.”

  “That’s wonderful news. You’ve done such a marvelous job so far that I’d hate to lose you. The print ads you shot in Chicago last year were wonderful. I was hoping we could schedule something similar for the spring, when we open up our new restaurant.”

  Cassie’s eyes seemed to glaze over at the mention of Chicago. Her eyes darted over to the crowd behind Anthony, finally settling on Suzanne. She knows, Suzanne’s mind calmly realized. Her gaze met Cassie’s, and she felt the battle between them. Don’t, she tried to say, but she remained silent and unmoving, her eyes pleading.

  With a perceptible struggle, Cassie turned her attention from Suzanne back to Anthony. “What brings you here to Atlanta?”

  Anthony swept an arm through the air. “This exhibit. It’s the opening day, and I didn’t want to miss it. I’m a huge fan of Ms. Hardt’s, and when I heard that there would be photographs displayed that had never been seen in public before, I knew I had to come.”

  Even though his back was to her, Suzanne could picture his black eyes, hollow of all emotion and filled with an empty chill. She found the courage to move and began to back away. And then Cassie looked at her, and Suzanne saw the confusion in her eyes before hearing Cassie say, “I just realized that you probably know . . .” And then she stopped.

  Before Suzanne could turn and run, Cassie clutched at her heavy abdomen. “Wow. That was a big one. I think I’m carrying a linebacker for the Georgia Bulldogs.”

  Suzanne could sense Anthony’s revulsion by the way he stepped back from Cassie. “Are you all right? Would you like me to get somebody?”

  Cassie shook her head, her hands still clutched over the baby. “No. Really. I’m not due for another three weeks, so I’m not worried. I think he was just stretching or something.”

  “Well, then.” He took Cassie’s hand in his own and gently kissed it. “I must be going. I have a plane to catch back to Chicago. It was wonderful seeing you again, and I will call you about the new campaign sometime next week.”

  Suzanne didn’t wait to hear Cassie’s response. She turned and ran the rest of the way to the end of the exhibit, then ducked into the first women’s bathroom. She made it to a stall and threw up, continuing to retch until there was nothing left. After rinsing her mouth, she began to wash her face with icy-cold water as her hands shook. The water slid down her face and into the neck of the blouse, but she didn’t feel it at all.

  The door opened and Cassie walked in, their gazes meeting in the mirror as the cold water dripped down Suzanne’s face, stinging her eyes.

  Cassie’s expression gave nothing away. “We need to talk. I’ve bribed Sarah Frances to go back with Maddie on the bus so we can have some time alone.”

  Without waiting to see if Suzanne followed, Cassie left, the door swinging shut behind her. After staring at the stranger in the mirror for a moment, Suzanne had no other choice but to follow.

  Wearing her sunglasses and keeping her head ducked, Suzanne caught up to Cassie in the parking garage as she stood next to the large pink convertible. Cassie reached for the door handle, then stopped, her eyes clenched tightly.

  Alarmed, Suzanne ran over to her. “Are you all right? Do you want me to call Sam?”

  Cassie shook her head. “No, I’m fine. The baby’s not due for a while yet. These are just those fake contractions—what are they called? Braxton Hicks or something.”

  Suzanne hesitated, not convinced. “Give me your cell phone and I’ll call Sam just to be on the safe side.”

  Cassie shook her head again. “I’m not going to get Sam panicking over nothing. I’m sure these contractions will stop before we even get home.” She glanced up at Suzanne. “You’ll just have to drive.”

  A fat pillow of panic and guilt lodged itself halfway between her mouth and her stomach and wouldn’t budge. She opened her mouth to tell Cassie that she didn’t have a driver’s license, but Cassie was already climbing into the passenger seat, her hands clutching her protruding belly.

  She slid in next to Cassie and looked at the steering wheel. She knew how to drive; she just didn’t have a current license. Taking a deep breath, she started the engine, vowing to stay within the speed limit and avoid attention from any traffic cops who might be lurking between Atlanta and Walton.

  Suzanne
made it out of the garage and back to the interstate before Cassie spoke, her voice strained. “So, why are you hiding from Anthony deSalvo?”

  Clutching the steering wheel a little tighter, Suzanne answered, “Because he’s not a very nice man. It would be a lot healthier for me if he didn’t know where I was.”

  “You were engaged, weren’t you?”

  Embarrassment and regret settled over Suzanne again, as if he’d beaten her again with his fists and then with his gifts that made her stay. “Yeah. For a while. And then I left him.”

  Cassie was quiet for a moment, and Suzanne glanced over to see her eyes shut tightly again as she grimaced. “Look, Cassie, let me call Sam. You’re making me nervous.”

  “No. I’m fine. And you’re just looking for an excuse to end this conversation. Why did you leave him?”

  Because he hurt me. And the hurt goes much deeper than the bruises. He made me see the ugly truth of the person I really am. “He’s got a bad temper. I didn’t want to be the brunt of it anymore.”

  “What about the pictures? There’s got to be a reason why he showed up today and why you were so jittery about coming here. What’s the connection?”

  Suzanne focused on the road in front of her. “He gave them to me. When I left him, I sold them for a lot of money.”

  “That’s understandable. So why all the secrecy?”

  “Because before I left, he said all the documentation said that they belonged to him and that if I took them, it would be stealing. But I swear to you, he gave them to me. As an engagement present.”

  Cassie was silent, and Suzanne looked over to find the other woman breathing deeply, her head bowed as if deep in thought. After a moment, she said, “So it’s basically your word against his.”