by Jessie Cooke
“What do you do when you find out the man you love isn’t really the man you love?” she imagined saying. She felt stupid even thinking it, let alone saying it, so she decided against calling and simply listened to other people’s problems, grateful for the break from her own for a while.
“These pancakes are so good, Mom,” she said as she shoveled more into her mouth.
“I’m just glad to see your appetite isn’t affected. It always worries me when people get so caught up in their emotions that they can’t eat. Obviously, I’ve never had any trouble with any of that.” Gale curtsied, holding imaginary skirts out to the side. Her plump cheeks softened in a smile that wasn’t deprecating. She was quite content with how she looked, even though she had to shop in the plus sizes, but hell, anyone who wasn’t a prepubescent teen was considered a plus-sized woman nowadays. And Gale was actually proud of being a woman and looking like one.
Bella had always thought of her mother as cuddly. She liked having a mother who was soft and huggable. She’d wondered if kids whose mothers were all bones and twigs felt as loved as she did, for when her mother hugged her, every part of her was wrapped in comfort, protected.
“Your phone has been ringing and chirping and beeping like crazy,” her mother informed her. Bella had left it downstairs in the hallway. She hadn’t wanted to be tempted to read any of the messages or answer any of the calls from Reece. She needed to clear her head of him for a few days, to see if she really needed and wanted him in her life like she had thought she did at one time. She needed to figure out who he really was and rectify his confession with the idea she had built up of him in her head.
“I’m sure it’s driving Reece crazy that he can’t be in control this time,” Bella said.
Gale sat on the bed again gently. “I’m sure it’s driving him crazy that he doesn’t know where you are, doesn’t know if you’re safe,” she said softly. “Bella, you said he loves you.”
“Well, I’m having my doubts about that love now,” Bella said. “Love isn’t lying. Love isn’t controlling. Love isn’t manipulating.”
“But love can make us do all those things because we are afraid to live without the person we love,” Gale pointed out.
Bella had cleaned her plate, and Gale smiled at the sight. “Want some more?” she asked, and Bella nodded. “Come on downstairs, hon. Dad and Grandpa left already. It’s just us girls. You won’t have to tolerate those men and their silly questions yet if you don’t want to.”
Bella found herself more eager to get out of bed—it was probably the promise of more pumpkin spice pancakes. She stopped herself about half-way down the stairs and marveled at her mother. What an adept little woman she is, Bella thought. She did all that to get me out of bed but make me believe it was my idea. I’m surrounded by master-manipulators. But she couldn’t muster up the red-hot anger at her mother that she had felt towards Reece. Towards Gale she felt a sense of awe and appreciation, and she wondered just how long she’d been doing that to Bella without her ever knowing it.
By the time they reached the landing, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Bella said as she approached the front door and opened it to find a large bouquet of flowers.
“Mrs. Ryan?” the courier asked.
“Where do I sign?” Bella sighed, her voice making it seem like she was so bored with the entire thing, but she had a feeling this was only the beginning of apology gifts from Reece.
He held his clipboard out to her, and she signed her name quickly. Then she took the flowers from him, told him to have a good day, and walked into the kitchen.
“Ohhhhh,” Gale smiled. “Look how beautiful.”
Bella threw the flowers on the table. “Guess he’s figured out where I am,” she said. “I don’t even want to read the card.”
“Well, I’d like to,” her mother said. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Bella waved her hand towards the flowers as if she were erasing their very existence.
“How do you like that?” her mother mused.
“What?”
“These aren’t for you, Bella honey. They’re for me.”
“What? Who sent them?”
“Reece.”
“But they’re for you?”
Gale showed Bella the card and pointed to her name spelled out in the greeting. The card read:
Dear Gale,
I know we haven’t met yet, but I hope to be your son-in-law someday. . . that is, if I can ever repair the damage I have done to your daughter. I am enlisting your help to make that dream a reality. I love Bella very much—and I know that she loves me. She is, as you already know, as stubborn as a mule. As I’ve never spent much time on a farm, I’m not sure the best way to deal with mules. If you could advise me on how best to work with them—and Bella--I will be forever indebted to you. I need to make this right.
Much love,
Reece
“Well, I have to say, I’m impressed,” Gale said, and she moved across the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and took a crystal vase from the top shelf of the cabinet. “It takes a big man to admit he’s wrong, but an even bigger one to admit it to his future mother-in-law,” she said, filling the vase with water.
“Don’t marry me off too fast,” Bella responded, snipping the ends of the flowers with the kitchen scissors. “This is typical Reece,” Bella said, her voice conveying that she was less impressed than her mother. “He says I’m stubborn? Ha! Just look at how relentless he is in his pursuit.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”
Bella stopped and allowed herself time to wonder about that very question. She wasn’t sure. At least he pursued her. Many would have stopped given how much trouble she’d been.
“If this is typical of him, that sure does say a lot,” Gale mused. “Just don’t let your own stubbornness steal your opportunity for happiness,” her mother said, setting another plate of pancakes in front of her.
“He can’t turn this around with a bunch of flowers to my mom,” Bella said matter-of-factly. “There’s a lot more he’s going to have to do to make this right.”
“But at least he’s willing and looking for a way to start,” Gale pointed out.
“It’s a start,” Bella conceded, “but there’s a long way to go.”
84
Bella grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on her way out the door. She had promised her father that she would help him out at the stables, and she was looking forward to spending some time doing a little manual labor—a chance to get out of her head for a bit.
Just as she flung the front door open, she was greeted by a delivery guy clad in brown from head to foot. A surprised gasp escaped her lips, and the delivery man, too, took a step back in alarm.
“Geez, you startled me,” Bella said.
“Same here,” the man confessed. “Um, I have a package for you. I just need you to sign. It’s insured.”
Bella looked around him seeing nothing. “What package?” For a split second she feared that Christo had sent her a stripper . . . or a singing telegram. It would be like him to do something outrageous in an effort to cheer her up.
“It’s still on the truck,” the delivery man replied. “Rather large. Just wanted to make sure someone was home to sign for it before I unloaded it.”
She signed her name and then watched as he climbed into the back of his truck, lowered a metal ramp, and then carefully unloaded a large crate using a hand truck that he wheeled up to her front door.
“Where would you like it?” he asked.
“Just in the entryway is fine,” she replied, wonder pursing her lips over to the side of her face as she examined the crate. She waved good bye after thanking the delivery man, and went to find a hammer to pry the wood crate open. When she did, she felt her heart drop like an anchor into her stomach, and then her stomach fell her feet. It was large and wrapped in brown paper, and the corner was torn to reveal a frame. A frame that she recognized.
<
br /> “My portrait,” she whispered. “It’s over.”
She sat with the revelation for a while, unable to bring herself to tears and yet unable to tear herself away from this message that Reece was sending. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut; like all the air had been knocked out of her. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that he was giving in that easily. It seemed so contrary to what she knew of him . . . but then again, she’d thought she knew him before.
She was still staring at the wrapped frame when her mother came in from shopping. “What’s that?” she asked.
“I think it’s the white flag,” Bella answered.
“Huh?”
Bella looked at her mother. “I think Reece is calling off the chase,” she said. “He knows where I am, and now he’s sent this.”
“And what is ‘this’?”
“Something . . . stupid. You won’t like it.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes returned to the wrapped frame. “It’s all a part of his schemes, all a part of how he lied to get what he wanted—to get me. He cast himself as an anonymous collector and commissioned Christo to paint a portrait. It was all very mysterious. He hired a broker, had specifications, never met Christo face to face. The portrait was to be a nude. The specs were mine exactly. We thought it all so ironic.” She hit herself on the forehead with an open palm reliving the naiveté. “Christo asked if I would sit for him, thinking it would make his job much easier since I matched the specs. He never put two and two together. Well, why would he? We had no clue who this mysterious artist was. Later I found out it was Reece. He’d hired Christo knowing that he was my friend and roommate, then had him paint a nude portrait of me. I’m saying it, but I can barely believe it,” she heard herself mumble. “This life is ridiculous, such a sordid soap opera. How did this become my life?”
Her mother’s face reflected Bella’s sentiments, but she tried to hide it. She and Marcus had made a pact to stay out of Bella’s personal life—within reason of course. She was old enough to navigate her own affairs, and they were too old to be getting involved in them. “So, he’s sent it back to you?” Gale asked her daughter.
“I feel like it’s his way of saying we’re over, that he doesn’t want me anymore, that he’s throwing in the towel and not going to fight for this anymore.”
“Well, let’s see the portrait.” Gale moved towards the framed art, her hands already on the brown paper.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I know it’s disappointing. I’m disappointing. You raised me differently, of course, I just . . . I never thought anything would turn out this way. This is all so embarrassing. I think I assumed it would be my body but not my face, not every identifier. I figured it would go to some rich old guy who would never see the real me.”
Her mom exhaled a puff of air and moved Bella’s hands from her own. “Bella, I gave birth to you. I’ve seen it all, changed your diapers. I helped create this masterpiece, and after eight hours of hard labor with you, I think I deserve to see what kind of beauty Christo was able to capture. I’m sure it’s very tasteful.”
Bella turned away not wanting to see the portrait. As soon as she saw the familiar scene captured in oils and paints, she would have to accept that Reece had called it quits, had decided she wasn’t worth the pursuit anymore.
“I should have known that he’d tire of the chase,” Bella said.
“From the looks of those muscles you’d think he’d never tire of anything. Wow! I’ve never seen anything quite like this before in my life. Is this Reece?”
Bella turned in confusion towards her mother and the portrait. It wasn’t her. Instead, there sat Reece, cowboy hat on his head, elbows resting on his knees, and his hands between his legs tastefully hiding a certain region in shadows. He sat upon the same sofa that Bella had designed for her own portrait. The darkness was the same shadowed darkness Christo had painted behind her image. It was a match to her own.
Bella felt the blood rush below, and she had a fleeting wish that Reece would accompany the portrait. If this was to make her wish for what she’d been missing, it was doing the job alright.
“My, my, my,” her mother kept saying, and Bella chastised herself for not being able to say, “Mine, mine, mine.” It was her fault: she had made the choice not to be with him. But at least she’d have this Reece with her while they were figuring this all out. No doubt he was counting on his dashing looks and her carnal desire for him to remind her of just how good she had it.
“I can’t believe he did this,” she said, and she felt the smile spread across her face slowly.
“So, he has one of you, and now you have one of him,” her mother said to clarify it for herself. “Wow. A very dashing hunk of a man you have, Bella.”
“Don’t have,” she corrected.
“Not for his lack of trying,” Gale mumbled, her eyes still on the portrait. “I’ll say this for you, Bellisima: you have some strange friends back there in Dallas, but this man is willing to go to all kinds of lengths for you.”
“That’s sort of the problem, remember?” Bella said.
They heard the familiar beep of Bella’s phone.
“What do you bet that’s him, checking up on how I like the portrait,” Bella said.
She dug her phone out of the basket where pockets were emptied and keys were deposited. It had been five days. Surely that was enough time to keep him at arm’s length.
When she looked at her phone, however, she noticed it wasn’t Reece at all. It was Christo.
“It’s about damn time you answered your phone,” came Christo’s voice on the other end. “I know you’re avoiding people, but I am not just ‘people’, you know.”
Bella couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve missed you, too, Christo, and I guess I should be complimenting you on your work.”
“You got the portrait? It was a rushed job, that’s for sure. Your Reece Hamilton can be very persistent . . . and persuasive, too.”
“He’s not mine,” Bella said, though it pained her to admit it.
“Well, he should be, and if you ask him, he will be. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling. I’ve got a little surprise for you,” he said, and Bella could just imagine him rubbing his hands together, grinning a toothy grin in anticipation.
“What?”
“I’m heading your way. Gonna come keep you company for a few days.”
“What?” Her eyes met Gale’s, but her mother turned away quickly. “I didn’t know you even knew where Brownsville was.”
“Let’s just say I had some help,” Christo said.
Gale had begun whistling some made-up tune, though Bella knew that she was intently listening to the conversation.
“I’ll bet you did,” Bella said. “So when will you be here?”
“On Sunday, unless you have some huge fabulous plans you aren’t telling me about. I’d hate to ruin anything.”
“Yeah, right. You know I don’t have any plans, and you know that I’m doing absolutely nothing while I’m here. I’ve retreated.”
“It’s true. I expected as much. By the way, how is Rita taking all of this?”
Bella sighed. “Not great but not horribly. I told her she could fire me, and that I would understand. I . . . just had to have some time to figure everything out.”
“And, did she fire you?”
“No, but she did give me a leave of absence. Unpaid of course, and some curt instructions to ‘get my shit together’ and be the Bella she created me to be. I’m ad-libbing of course.”
“Well, it’s not going to matter soon,” Christo replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you more when I see you. Things are changing, dear Bella. Strap yourself in, girl!”
She disconnected from Christo and looked at her mother. “Mom? Do you have something you want to tell me?”
“Hmmm?” her mother turned to her, the picture of feigned innocence.
“Did you call Chr
isto?” Bella asked sweetly.
“I just thought . . .”
“You just thought you’d interfere with my privacy,” Bella interrupted. “You must have gone through my contacts to get his number, right?”
“He’s your most contacted person. He’s in your favorites. Number one, in fact. I didn’t have to go through anything.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Mom, but you didn’t have to do that,” Bella said.
“He’s your best friend, Bella,” Gale said. “It’s been five days, and you haven’t spoken to him or anyone else in your life. It’s time.” She put her arms around Bella’s shoulders and pulled her towards her. “Don’t get me wrong: I love having you here, and I want you to stay as long as you need, but you also need your friend. That and he was positively beside himself that he hadn’t heard from you, and he asked if he could come, and . . . well, one thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, he was booking his flight.”
Bella laughed. “That sounds like Christo.”
Gale hugged her daughter to her again. “He’s very welcome here, Bella, and I think you should spend some time with him. Plus, it sounds like he has some very exciting news.”
“Geez, how much has he told you?”
“Not a lot, but he kept bringing up this surprise he has for you. I must say I think I’m as excited about it as he is.”
“That’s not possible,” Bella replied. “No one can match Christo when it comes to excitement . . . about anything.”
A disturbance at the door caused the women to turn, and Bella watched her grandfather walk in the door, grumbling about the heat of the day. It could be a mild, pleasant sixty degrees and Jack Ryan would tell you it was hotter than hell. He’d always been hot-natured.
“There’s my girl,” he said, his eyes smiling when he saw his granddaughter.
Bella went in for a hug, and Jack took in the portrait sitting against the wall. “What in the hell have you bought?”
“Just a little eye candy,” Gale replied looking at the portrait again. “Isn’t it great? We’re thinking of hanging it in the dining room.”
