Love Is a Breeze

by Purcell, Sarah

  John showed him the painting that Kaitlyn had purchased. “If you look closely in the light you can see where he painted over the original signature.”

  “I’m really sorry about this. We try to make every effort to assure that our art and artists are authentic.”

  “I’m sure you do, Andy. Have you sold any of the other paintings he brought you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. All six of them. They were a real hit with our patrons. That’s how I know he’s coming in today. He was most anxious to be paid.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he was.”

  The bell jingled and John turned but it was an older woman. He looked around the gallery as Andy went to wait on the customer.

  A few minutes later the door jingled again, John looked around the wall of paintings between him and the door. A young man with blonde hair came in carrying a painting. He stayed hidden while Andy greeted the man, took the canvas and lead him to his office.

  “I’ll be right back,” Andy said to Eric. He closed the door and nodded to John. “You can use my office.” He handed the painting to John.

  John looked at the painting and drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Eric really is a low-life, he thought.

  “Do you want me to call the police?”

  “No, I’ll handle this.” John opened the office door, stepped into the room, closed the door firmly and leaned against it. Eric turned with a big smile but seeing John, the smile abruptly turned to alarm.

  “Oh, sh–”

  “Hello, Eric. You seem surprised to see me.”

  Eric swallowed hard. “I–yeah–uh. What’re you doing here?”

  “I came to pick up Brianna’s money.” John pushed away from the door and walked slowly toward Eric. Eric backed around the desk and stood behind the chair gripping the back for support. “I thought I’d save you the trouble of bringing it to her. That was what you were intending, wasn’t it?”

  Eric looked down, then at the door as if calculating his chances for escaping. John laughed.

  “Sit down, Eric. We’re going to have a little talk before I call the police.”

  Sweat beaded on Eric’s forehead as he sat down. If John had any lingering doubts about Brianna’s paintings, Eric erased them. The man was definitely guilty.

  “You can’t prove anything. Besides, she owed me. I supported her for nearly a year.”

  “On second thought,” John said, grasping the front of Eric’s shirt and pulling him to his feet. “I think you should stand up. Man to–,” He looked down at the cowering Eric, “–man. You’re lucky I’m not prone to violence but one more word out of you and that could change.”

  Eric opened his mouth and looked up at John defiantly. John’s right hand formed a fist, his eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not worth it,” John said, shoving him roughly into the chair. He kept his eyes on Eric as he opened the door and called Andy.

  “Andy, make a check out to Mr. Hansen for the paintings and make two copies of the receipt.” Andy and Eric both looked at him in surprise. “Then you and I,” he said, looking at Eric, “are going to the bank so you can cash it and I’ll take the cash to Brianna.”

  “What’s to stop you from keeping the cash?” Eric said.

  “Don’t push me, Hansen. Do as I say and I won’t call the police.”

  “I’d just tell them I was selling them for her.”

  John smiled. “I have Andy’s word that you consigned the paintings in your name and there’s the little detail that you painted over the original signature with your own. It doesn’t look good for you.” A muscle twitched in Eric’s left eye and sweat again beaded his brow. “You’re pathetic,” John said.

  “Under the circumstances, I didn’t take out our usual commission,” Andy said as he handed John the check.

  “Thank you, Andy. I’ll be sure to recommend your gallery,” John said, putting the check into his breast pocket. He grasped Eric under the arm and pulled him to his feet. He kept a firm grip on his arm as he steered him out the door, down the stairs and to the bank on the corner. He didn’t release him until he had the cash in his hand.

  “If I were you, I’d get out of town. I gave you my word that I wouldn’t call the police, but I can’t speak for Brianna.” John watched Eric until he rounded the corner then he turned and walked back to his car. He pulled away from the curb and headed back to his office.

  * * * *

  “Sandy, get Carly Ames for me, again, please,” John said as he passed her desk. He went into his office, shed his jacket and wandered to the window. He smiled as he loosened his tie recalling how Brianna had called him ‘stuffy.’ Had that really only been two weeks ago? So much had changed. He had changed. He no longer felt stuffy. Thinking about Brianna made him happy. Thinking about losing her did not. He made up his mind that wasn’t going to happen. He would do whatever it took to get her back.

  He turned at the knock on his door. Carly stepped in. John walked back to his desk and motioned for her to sit. When she was seated, he sat down and picked up a pencil, studying it thoughtfully as if weighing his words.

  “You said Brianna loved me.” That was the only important thing he’d heard earlier.

  Carly nodded.

  “Do you think she still does, or did I ruin it?”

  Carly studied his face for a few seconds before answering, “I think she’ll always love you.” John gave a satisfied smile. “Whether she’ll forgive you is another matter.” The smile faded.

  “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t, but I’m not Brianna. She’s a whole lot more forgiving than I am.”

  “Did she move into her new apartment?”

  Carly hesitated before nodding, “Yes, but she’s talking about going home to Ireland. If I were you, I wouldn’t wait too long to find out if she’ll forgive you.”

  CHAPTER seventeen

  Brianna methodically put one foot in front of the other and reminded herself to breathe. She kicked a small stone along the sidewalk that led to her new apartment. She hated the thought of giving it up so soon but if she didn’t have a job she wouldn’t be able to afford it. Mrs. Whitley said not to worry but Brianna didn’t want charity. The run along the lakeshore had cleared her head; unfortunately, her heart was being more difficult. Her heart, she decided, would just have to be ignored. Maybe, in time, it would heal but it would never be whole again. Part of it had been ripped away, stomped on and forever damaged. She was not going to think about that. What was over, was over. She needed to be practical—to get on with her life.

  It was nearly dark when she arrived at her apartment door. A shiver ran down her spine. Her heart skipped a beat as she put the key into the lock. She instinctively looked around but saw no one… until she reached the top of the stairs. Sitting in the over-stuffed chair was the source of her heartache.

  She stopped with one hand on the newel post.

  “What are you doing here?” she managed to ask despite the lump in her throat.

  John stood and took a step toward her. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to you,” She tightened her grip on the post since the trembling that had started in her hands now approached her knees.

  John flinched at the harsh tone of Brianna’s voice.

  “I can understand that,” he said.

  “You hurt me.” Brianna glared at him.

  “I know and I’m sorry. Seeing him there made me angry.”

  “His being there made me angry but you wouldn’t give me a chance to explain.”

  “You’re right. I should have listened. I should have trusted you.”

  “It’s very hard to argue with you if you keep agreeing with me.” Brianna’s lips thinned when John smiled. Her eyes narrowed. “How’d you get in here, anyway?”

  John looked down at his feet like a small boy who’d been caught stealing cookies, “Mrs. Whitley is my aunt. She let me in after giving me a very stern lec
ture. It seems you have an ally.” He raised his head to look at her.

  “You’re the nephew who talked her into renting this apartment?”

  John nodded.

  “I should have known. It was too perfect. You have to control everything,” Brianna said. “I told you I could take care of myself but you didn’t believe me. You don’t think I’m capable of anything, do you?”

  John took another step toward her. “I didn’t say–”

  “Don’t come any closer,” Brianna said. “Would you just go? I can’t think straight with you here and I really need to right now.” She released her death grip on the newel post and walked to the sofa, sitting on the edge, elbows on her knees, her hands clasped between them. She kept her eyes on the carpet. “Thanks to Kaitlyn, I don’t have a job and now, thanks to you, I can’t stay in this apartment.”

  “She didn’t have the right to fire you so you still have a job and, just because you’re angry with me doesn’t mean you can’t stay here. Aunt Tess is on your side.”

  “I’ve decided to go home for awhile until I can figure out how–” I can live without you. “What I want to do,” Brianna said without looking up.

  “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?”

  Brianna glanced at him and shook her head.

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, John withdrew an envelope and tossed it onto the coffee table.

  “Maybe this will help,” he said.

  “What’s this?” She picked up the envelope, opened it and peered inside. “Severance pay?” She held up the cash.

  “No, I told you you’re not fired. I had a little talk with Eric. It seems he took it upon himself to sell your paintings and that’s the proceeds.”

  Brianna thumbed through the cash and looked at John. “Nice try but my paintings would never bring this much. There must be over two thousand dollars here.” She held it out to him. “I don’t want your charity.”

  “It’s not charity. Here’s the business card for the gallery that sold them.” He laid the card on the coffee table. “Check it out if you don’t believe me.” John walked to the stairs, stopped and turned around. “I love you.”

  Brianna swallowed the lump in her throat and licked a stray tear from the corner of her mouth. “If you really loved me you’d trust me and you don’t so there is nothing left to say.”

  He took a couple of steps toward her. “I’m not making excuses, but may I tell you something that might explain my reaction?”

  Brianna drew a shaky breath and gave a brief nod. She stared at John’s reflection in the blank television screen. He sat on the edge of the chair and picked up a pencil from the coffee table, rolling it between his palms. “Fifteen years ago I married my high school sweetheart, Michelle. We were young, too young. We were in college and had our lives planned out, everything seemed perfect. After college, I worked for a local ad agency where I met Todd Martin. We were both ambitious and anxious to advance. After a couple of years we started our own agency. We worked obsessively to build the business. Michelle complained that we never saw each other but I had to succeed, to provide all the things I thought we needed, so I continued working long hours and week-ends, never taking time off. One night, I came home from a business conference a day early, and found Michelle in bed with Todd.” He paused. “Seeing you there with him–” He snapped the pencil in half.

  “I’m not Michelle.”

  “I know that, Brianna.”

  She stood and turned to face him. His pained look almost melted her resolve. She took a deep breath and blinked back her tears.

  “You know it here.” She pointed to her head. “But not here.” She moved her hand to her heart. “And, until you know it here,” she patted her chest, “I can’t–” She turned her back to him as tears ran freely down her cheeks. “Please go.” She choked on the words and ran into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  * * * *

  Brianna awoke to the gentle chime of her doorbell. She padded barefoot to the open bedroom window. The aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafted through the opening. Mrs. Whitely stood by her front door. As much as she wanted to crawl back into bed and hide from the world, the mouth-watering scent proved too much to resist.

  “I’ll be right down, Mrs. Whitley.” Brianna realized she still had on the clothes she wore the night before, now crumpled. She grabbed her robe from the chair, slipping it on as she descended the stairs.

  “Good morning, dear.” Mrs. Whitley passed the plate beneath Brianna’s nose. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course. Those smell delicious.” Brianna stepped back to allow the older woman to enter and motioned for her to go up the stairs.

  “Sit and I’ll brew us a pot of tea.” Mrs. Whitley set the plate on the table and moved to the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Whitley–” Brianna began.

  “Please call me Aunt Tess or just Tess, if you prefer. Mrs. Whitley seems so impersonal.”

  “Miss Tess, you should sit while I get the tea,” Brianna said. Aunt Tess seemed too personal.

  “Nonsense, dear. I imagine you had a rough night.”

  Brianna jerked her head up. “I– How–”

  “I talked to my nephew last night, after he’d been here.” Tess chuckled. “I’m guessing he had a rough night, too.”

  Brianna looked away wiping, a hand across her eyes. She heard the woman open the refrigerator.

  “Oh, my,” Tess exclaimed. “The cupboard is pretty bare.”

  “I’m getting ready go back to Ireland.”

  “John mentioned that.”

  “Did he ask you to talk to me?”

  Tess set a tray on the table. She returned to the kitchen for plates and silverware before she answered.

  “I’d be lying if I said he didn’t but he didn’t tell me what to say.” She buttered a roll, put it on a plate and pushed it toward Brianna.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t. He likes to control everything.” Brianna poured the tea, adding cream and sugar to hers.

  Tess smiled. “Let me tell you a little about John. He’s a very capable and responsible man.” Brianna nodded. That much she knew. “Even as a little boy he wasn’t really a child. He was very caring, always bringing home stray dogs, cats or injured birds to fix. You name it, he wanted to fix it.”

  “Is that what I am, a stray he wants to fix?”

  “Not you, dear, just your situation. If it’s within his power to help, to make someone’s life better, he will. His mother, bless her heart, was a professor of medieval poetry. She was brilliant in her field but not bothered with mundane tasks. John’s father, my brother, took care of her, making sure she ate and did all the things one needs to do in daily life. John grew up thinking all women need to be taken care of.”

  “I don’t need taking care of. I’ve been bossed around all my life. I don’t want anyone controlling me.”

  “Of course you don’t. But you need to realize the difference between controlling and caring. John cares. He cares very much. He just needs to learn not everything needs fixing.”

  Brianna stirred her tea. “I don’t think my heart can take any more grief.” She caught a tear before it rolled down her cheek.

  Tess put her hand on Brianna’s arm. “I understand, dear. You go on home to your family. Everything will look clearer there. Just remember that he really does love you.”

  Brianna stood to clear the dishes, retreating to the kitchen. Tess followed and gave her a hug which was nearly Brianna’s undoing. Thankfully, the woman left before tears consumed her again.

  Crossing the living room, she saw the envelope containing the cash John had left on the coffee table. She picked it up. Why wait?

  * * * *

  John sat at his desk rubbing his temples. He needed a plan to keep Brianna from leaving. No, he needed a plan to make her want to stay.

  His cell rang. It was his aunt.

  “I’m alright. Or, I will be. Someday. Maybe.” He stood and paced to t
he window. He stared, unseeing at the lake below.

  “She did what? When?” John nearly yelled.

  He listened to Aunt Tess a second.

  “I’ll think of something. Thanks, Aunt Tess.”

  He straightened, turned and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

  “Sandy, I’m leaving for the day,” He said to his surprised secretary as he passed her desk.

  * * * *

  Brianna boarded the plane, grateful she was able to get a window seat near the back. She stared at the raindrops trickling down the window. The darkness enveloped her and she had to fight to keep the tears at bay.

  As the flight attendant gave the pre-flight instructions, Brianna checked her seatbelt. The plane rolled back then proceeded to the runway. Shortly after the captain announced they had reached their cruising altitude, the flight attendant approached her.

  “Miss Ryan, you’ve been selected for an upgrade to first class.”

  “I’m sure there’s been a mistake.” Brianna said.

  “No, miss. There are empty seats in front. It’s standard policy to offer an upgrade.”

  “ I’m fine here, really. Perhaps someone else would appreciate it.”

  The attendant persisted. I may as well wallow in comfort. Brianna relented and followed her up the aisle to the first class cabin. The dimly lit space was empty, except for an older couple in the front and a man in the back reading a newspaper. She took a window seat near the middle. The attendant handed her a pillow and blanket before returning to the galley.

  A few minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with a glass of Champagne and a rose. Brianna shook her head.

  “It’s complimentary, miss.” The young woman said as she set it on her tray-table. “We’ll be serving dinner shortly.”

  The last thing Brianna wanted was Champagne or food. She picked up the rose. It was an Irish Rose. She turned it over in her hands, tears forming on her lashes. She dabbed the corner of her eyes with the linen napkin and picked up the flute, bringing it to her lips.

  She signaled the attendant. “There’s something in the bottom of the glass.”

  “Why, yes, there is.” She smiled and looked toward the back row as a newspaper was noisily folded. When the attendant retreated to the galley, a man slid into the seat beside Brianna.