Splash

by Kristen Kelly

  I didn’t go after her.

  Chapter TWENTY ONE

  Elizabeth

  Two weeks after leaving the club, crying my eyes out for four days, and generally having my own private pity party, which I miraculously was able to keep a secret from my very protective brother, I got my shit together. I was not about to let yet another guy rip my heart to shreds.

  God, I was pathetic and that needed to change. Now! I brushed myself off, took a hot shower, put on makeup and fresh clothes, and sat down at the dining table with phone in hand, intent on setting some overdue business goals. I was going to be successful, dammit, and to hell with the men of the world.

  Heavy footsteps made me look up. “Great, you got dressed today,” Jason said kissing me on the top of my head. “I actually have the day off. Want to do something together?”

  “Maybe. I’m kind of busy though.”

  “What are you doing? Not making a date are you?” His eyes narrowed and his jaw stiffened.

  “Relax. That’s the last thing on my mind,” I assure him.

  “Phew. Good.” He ruffled the hair on my head.

  “Any word from…him?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m sorry, Liz. I know I was wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “About Damon.”

  That surprised me right out of my socks. “Fine time to tell me now. And why would you say that? Not that it matters.”

  “I don’t know. There was just…something in the way he looked at you. I’ve never seen any guy look at you that way before.”

  “Yeah, well, he probably had something on his mind and I just happened to be in his line of vision.”

  “Huh. I guess that’s possible but still…”

  “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about the all mighty Damon Donovan. Other things that are more important. Things I should have done a long time ago. Something you said I should do. ”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “ Hurray for me.”

  He leaned over my shoulder, eyeing my phone. “So, looks like you’re making another list.”

  I took a deep breath, threw back my shoulders, and gazed up into those caring green eyes of his. “I’m having an art show.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “I’m going to show my paintings. Finally. But I don’t think I have quite enough for a show, so I want to include some local artists as well.”

  “Great idea.”

  “And I’m not going to stop there, Jason. I realize this will be my first show, and it may not go over like gangbusters, but I’m not going to stop. Painting that is.”

  “Wow, that’s great, Liz. I’ll do whatever I can to help you and I think it will go over like gangbusters! In fact, I’m sure of it. I know just how we can pull it off and the connections I’ve already made through the Country Club, my associates, my last merger with that Fortune 500 Club will put us over the top and…”

  I held up a hand, halting him mid-sentence. “No, Jason. I’m going to plan an art show. Me. Just me. I need to prove to myself I can do it. I appreciate your help but will you please don’t do anything unless I ask you?”

  His eyes widened. “Whatever you say, Sis but it’s a great idea. Can I at least come to it?”

  “Of course. Now let me jot down my ideas before they pop right out of my head.”

  “You got it, Claudine.”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the famous Claudine Monet.”

  “Um, Jason, it’s Claude Monet and he was a man.”

  He laughed. “I knew that.”

  ***

  I don’t remember being more excited about anything in my life.

  After all my research and meetings with various owners of different venues, I knew I’d picked the perfect place. I planned a two-week exhibition for the last two weeks in April, awarding a $1,000 cash award to one lucky artist, baring myself of course.

  Everyone who was anyone wanted to be involved. Not only local artists, but people from across the country, which I suspected had Jason’s thumb print all over it, but despite my objections that he let me go it alone, I turned a blind eye because I was so happy. I’d had so many entry forms that I had to turn some of them away. Me! A literal nobody in the art world—had so many well-known artists involved, there was no way I could fail.

  I had no idea there was so much talent in lower East-side Manhattan either. In the end, I decided to show more than just paintings, including a few sculptors, printmakers, and photographers as well. The show was becoming bigger than I’d expected, which was the reason for the long run. I simply couldn’t show everything I wanted to in a few days so I staggered the competition, including my own work in every showing.

  Jason was beside himself with enthusiasm. I couldn’t say no when he agreed to take care of refreshments and cater the show himself. I knew he would go overboard, because he was almost more excited than I was. Like a little kid, I actually fed off him, which gave me even more confidence. I probably would never have attempted such a huge event without Jason’s support. No, I knew I wouldn’t have.

  My brother had always been my hero. He’d always been there for me, including testifying against our stepfather when he was brought up on drug trafficking charges.

  I was on my hands and knees pulling weeds out of my begonia beds when Jason called my name. “They’re going to announce the verdict on TV,” he said, standing in the entryway to our townhouse. The sun glinted on his dark hair, his hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. “You wanna watch it with me?”

  Shielding my eyes from bright sunlight with a gloved hand, I shook my head. “Why? I have no desire to look at his disgusting face. Even on television.”

  “All right. I get that. I’ll tell you what the jury decided later then.”

  “If you must.”A sour taste glazed the back of my throat. Revenge was supposed to taste sweet, wasn’t it? I heard the door slam, as Jason disappeared inside the house, leaving me sitting there in the dirt, my hands covered in mud, bewildered at my own feelings. On the one hand, I was glad to be rid of Jake, but on the other, I didn’t want any more publicity. Not that kind. Would this ever go away, or was I forever tainted as the daughter of a famous mobster who pimped out his children?

  I sat back on my haunches, thinking how absurd this whole thing was, and how everything happened for a reason. Jake had threatened to tell Damon about my past. A past I was desperate to keep a lid on, and without my help at all, the Feds managed to plaster it all over national television. They flashed pictures of me as a child. Because I’d changed my name with my last marriage, most people wouldn’t put two and two together, but of course Damon knew of Jake now, so he would be the one exception. Just thinking about it made me shudder and almost cry. In the end it didn’t matter. But it did. To me.

  An hour later, I put the garden tools in the shed. I rinsed off my hands with a garden hose, switched shoes, and went inside. Just as I was changing my clothes, my phone pinged inside my pocket.

  My heart thumped against my ribs, and it took me a minute to process the text I was seeing.

  Damon: Can we talk?

  Liz: Why?

  Damon: I have something of yours. I’d like to deliver it to you if that’s all right?

  Liz: No.

  Damon: You don’t even know what it is.

  Liz: I know what it is.

  I actually did know. It was the painting of Delilah, but I wanted it to be displayed at the Delaney Club so I’d left it behind.

  Damon: I want you to have it, Liz. Please.

  Liz: No, and I have to go. Don’t text me again.

  Liz: And don’t call either.

  Liz: And do not show up here!!!!!!!!!

  I didn’t know why I added that last part. What were the chances? We were nothing to each other. Tears filled my eyes as I stared at the phone.

  Silence.

  No further messages.

  How was it that this guy could turn me into a train wreck in thir
ty seconds flat? Six months had gone by. Six…damn…months! Why couldn’t he leave me alone?

  It had taken everything in me to put Damon Donovan out of my mind, and I’d done that. Or I did. Until now. Once I started working on the show I’d switched the love off.

  Damn him! I scowled at the phone still in my hand, hating it more than anything.

  In a fit of rage, I threw it across the room.

  It smashed against the wall, making a terrific noise when it connected with the one photo of our mother, bursting the glass frame.

  Jason came running in.

  “What the hell! Liz…?”

  A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. I didn’t answer because I couldn’t speak. Hell, I couldn’t even move. I just stared at that damn phone. Stared at it like it had just ripped off a scab off an open wound and I hated it for that.

  Finally, I looked at Jason who had pulled me into his arms, knowing I needed it right then. “Liz…?”

  “I….I need a new phone,” I said into his shoulder and then broke down into tears.

  Chapter TWENTY TWO

  Damon

  “So, what did she say,” Tabitha asked, all smiles and wide-eyed.

  “Nothin’. She won’t talk to me. I blew it that day in the hospital, and she’ll never forgive me. Hell, I’d never forgive me the way I talked to her.”

  “Did you try apologizing?”

  I turned on the bar stool and stared at my sister hard. “She hates me, Tabby. She fucking hates my guts! Don’t you get that?”

  Tabitha reached around me on the bar stool, and rubbed the tight muscles in my back. “She doesn’t hate you. Don’t you know anything about women?”

  “No. Wanna enlighten me?”

  “I’m just saying, there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

  “Well, seems I’ve crossed that line.”

  “Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Hey, did you catch that Jake character on the news?”

  “You mean, the father?”

  “Stepfather.”

  “Yeah, what a slug.” My hands formed into fists. “If I’d only known, I would have decked that guy for all that crap he put Liz through as a kid.”

  Tabitha scowled. “Yeah, just the thought of him makes my skin crawl. He acted more like a lover than a father figure. Kinda creepy actually.”

  “Shit. You’re right. I should have seen that right off, but all I could think about was how manipulative I thought they were. Talk about way off base.” My muscles started loosening under my sister’s magic fingers. “Mmmm, that’s good. Right there. What the hell’s wrong with me Tabby? Why didn’t I see the truth?”

  “You weren’t ready. It wasn’t your fault. How were any of us to know she was telling the truth? Only time told us that.”

  My sister was right. Elizabeth owned the Delaney Club now, but that was as far as it seemed to go. I had free reign to do whatever I wanted with it. At first, I tried contacting her for all our board meetings, but she’d always decline. Then I tried to bring her up to speed with the renovations, which somehow my grandmother had worked into the contract. As part of our team, I sent Liz photos of various stages in the Club’s development, and like any good mannered woman she complimented my work, but something was always off. Something inside her comments seemed forced. Clipped. Like she’d rather I’d not keep in touch, not include her in the emails. Maybe it reminded her of her sleazy stepfather in all this. Or maybe she was embarrassed about how it all went down. For awhile, I followed that feeling, gave her the space she seemed to want. Then one day, something made me change. I changed.

  When I saw the painting.

  Along with a note from my grandmother that I didn’t actually need to marry anyone but she hoped I would. And the identity of the mystery woman?

  The painting made that crystal clear.

  After about fifteen minutes of sitting at the bar, our seaweed and salmon sandwiches arrived and I immediately ate my pickle. Liz loved pickles.

  “So what now?” Tabitha said before biting into a very greasy burger. Thick bubbling fat oozing down the side of her face. I cringed, thinking about her arteries

  I couldn’t help it. I had to say something.“You do know that some part of that will stay in your colon for up to two weeks don’t you?”

  “Oh fiddle faddle. Don’t be lecturing me on what I eat.”

  “Hey, just saying.”

  “Noted, big brother. Now, tell me what you plan on doing about Elizabeth.”

  “How the hell do I know? She won’t talk to me. I can’t make her talk to me. I’m not a magician.” I took another bite of my sandwich, letting the words marinate my brain.

  “Can’t you? Seems to me you were quite upset when you found grandmother’s painting? Why was that anyway? Something about her sending you a sign, but I still don’t get it.”

  I looked at her for a long time, saying nothing, and then grinned when I saw Tabby’s knowing smile. Of course, she knew. She just wanted me to say it out loud.

  Raising a finger, Tabitha signaled for the waiter, who came right over. “Can I have another Coke?”

  “Absolutely. Anything else?”

  “No. That will be all.” She turned to me with sad eyes. “Damon, I get that the painting made you sad. I made me sad too. It was just another one of her many eccentric secrets that always drove us crazy. Who knew she was still painting at her age. And she didn’t share it. I get that.”

  I continued chewing my sandwich then dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Tabby, what day is it?”

  She looked down at her watch. “Oh! It’s almost New Years. Has it been… ?”

  “Yup. Six months since grandmother’s death and she said she would leave me a sign about who I should marry. That painting wasn’t painted by our grandmother. It was painted by Liz, Tabby.”

  Tabitha almost dropped her Coke. Her mouth dropped open. Then she leaned back in her chair, grinning. “I knew it!”

  “You did?”

  “Not that she painted our grandmother, but I had a feeling Liz was the one she picked for you, and now you’ve confirmed it.”

  “Stop smiling like that. I still don’t know how to make her talk to me. Or….or…even marry me for god’s sake.”

  “Good lord, brother! Do I have to do everything for you?”

  Chapter TWENTY THREE

  Elizabeth

  I was starting to second guess myself about having the Art Show on New Year’s Day weekend. I’d never really been a fan of New Years, per say. All that fuss over what? Just another day to get drunk? Another day to feel sorry that I was still stuck in the same ole same ole? A reminder I was single? Again! Nope, not going there this year. This year was going to be different, and the Art Show proved that. This coming year was going to be all about me.

  Ironically, even though New Years Eve was technically six months and two days, but who was counting—since Delilah’s death—and the last time I saw Damon—I was determined to not let the holiday get to me. To hell with kissing your one true love at midnight. To hell with looking back. I was living my life now and the future looked rosy. It was just a day, right? Besides, I was through letting men call the shots on how I felt about myself, and that included Damon break-my-heart-into-a-million-pieces Donovan. I sighed, willing away the tears that still threatened the edge of my heart.

  I ran a hand over the large white billboard with Sultry Daydreams written on it along with the pertinent information indicating time, date, and who the artists we were featuring. I’d read that having a theme was an asset, so in honor of Delilah, I went with sex appeal of some sort, aka Sultry. No nudes but everything close to that. If it didn’t make a person stop and stare—or shock them a little, it didn’t belong in the show. Scandalous, I knew, but I was thinking outside the box these days. Thinking, and holding my breath, as I scanned the list of my most eccentric artists.

  There were so many. It had actually been a no-brainer coming up with the theme, since most of the artists I’d contacted seemed
to be into my topic in one way or another.

  I scanned the bright portraits, the recessed lighting, the hard wood floors where one artist actually painted a full-length portrait of his wife, semi-nude. Delilah would have loved it. I couldn’t look at any one painting, sculpture, or creation without thinking of her, and her story of the five muses. I missed her terribly. I dragged out everything in my collection, but only a limited amount of my own work fit into the right category. I wished I’d had my portrait of Delilah, but I’d left it in the Delaney Club. It belonged there. Still, I missed it. I missed her.