I looked into his eyes and knew I would never be able to make myself fall for Magnus.
Chapter Thirty-Two
"So how many did you sell?" Jeff asked.
"All but one." I still couldn't believe it. The letter A hadn't sold, and I couldn't help wondering why, but the rest were gone. I wished I knew who'd bought them, especially the starfish lemmings and the court of love, but all I could do was hope they loved them. Other than the grouchy woman with the pearls, it had been the best night.
"And you're not out celebrating? You're crazy."
I grinned at Tim. "I guess I'm used to being here Saturday nights now."
Forrest shook his head in mock disappointment. "We told her this morning to take the night off and she shows up instead."
Magnus had told me. He'd said Forrest agreed, but Forrest hadn't been there. He'd left after practice, skipping his massage, because he and Jayne were having breakfast. "Hey, it's not my fault. I was watching the game at home and--"
Forrest staggered back. "You were watching at home? By yourself?"
I raised my chin. "Hockey doesn't seem quite as stupid as it used to."
The dressing room burst into applause and laughter. Forrest's proud smile made me grin at him, and I added, "Plus, I couldn't watch you lose and do nothing about it."
The guys laughed even harder, and Jeff said, "I have to admit, it felt weird not having you here. It probably is your fault we're losing. You're like a mascot or something."
"I'm not sure whether to be offended or honored by that."
"Both, I'd say." Magnus winked at me. "Now, are you here after the game or do Forrest and I have to massage ourselves?"
I snickered. "What you do on your own time is your business. But I'm staying."
"Actually," Forrest said, without looking at me, "I need to see my step-dad after, so I have to leave right away."
Jeff said, "Cool, massage me then."
Over the other guys' calling, "No, me," I said, "Only if you win by five goals."
"But we're down by three."
"Then you'd better pick it up, don't you think?"
"Time to go, boys," Jones said, then surprised me by adding, "Don't let Tess down."
He'd taken me aside soon after my arrival to say, "Filmore wants you in his office at nine Monday morning."
Probably to take away my identification and wrap up the contract. "Okay." Wanting to be prepared, I couldn't help saying, "Do you know why?"
"I have no idea what he's doing or why." He'd sounded disgusted and disappointed. Did he think Filmore should keep me? He couldn't, but only Magnus and Forrest knew I wouldn't accept a contract if offered, and I doubted they'd told anyone.
"Can we rub the mascot for luck?"
"I beg your pardon."
Jeff had the decency to blush. "Pat you on the head, I meant."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. If it'll make you win."
The guys laughed and patted me as they left the dressing room. Several muttered that they hoped Filmore would renew my contract but their voices made it clear they weren't hopeful.
Forrest, the only one who touched me without his glove on, slid his hand over my hair in a brief caress that nonetheless sent shivers through me then moved on without a word.
I was dreading Corey, who would probably have hit me so hard I'd have been a foot shorter, but to my surprise he wasn't there.
I let Magnus, last in line, pat me, then said, "Where's Corey?"
"Sick," he said, but his eyes darted from side to side.
Chapter Thirty-Three
As I climbed from the water after my swim, delighted with my new best time and hopeful it would get me into the finals, I realized nobody's attention was on the pool. People clustered near the men's change room door, and the somber feeling in the air frightened me. The steadily rising sound of an ambulance siren frightened me even more.
Everyone waited in silence while the paramedics rolled the stretcher away with alarming speed across the wet floor tiles. Once they'd left, the meet's main official took to the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice choked and shaking. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Unless a miracle occurs at the hospital we have just lost one of our most popular male swimmers. Piranhas coaches, please come speak to me at once."
I bit my lip. I didn't know anyone on the Piranhas team, but the man had come to swim and had left on a stretcher, and that was so wrong.
Feeling cold, I clutched my towel more securely around me. I'd been so right to go after the art career, even though I'd had a nightmare last night about Harold letting his bratty grandson play in the sandbox with the starfish lemmings. I'd had to go after it. Life was too short.
I sat on the deck, pondering Pam and Forrest and Jen and their joys and sorrows, until the official called for silence.
"I'm sorry to report we have indeed lost Mark Oxford." He paused as a murmur of sorrow rippled through the crowd. "His team, though, is unanimous that he would have wanted us to continue. Mark had just qualified for the finals in his favorite event, and we will leave his lane open as a token of respect, but in all other aspects the meet will go on as planned. Let's make it one Mark would have loved."
Someone began tentatively clapping, and the rest of us picked it up, and soon the concrete walls rang with thunderous applause. The Piranhas hugged each other, sobbing, and I couldn't hold back a few tears of my own. When my race's results went up ten minutes later and I realized I'd made the finals, I wasn't surprised to be less excited than I'd have expected.
After a soothing hot shower, I threw my sweatshirt and fuzzy pants over my bathing suit and headed to the pool's cafeteria to eat the snack I'd brought. Halfway there, my phone rang.
"How're you doing?"
A warmth not from my snuggly clothes filled me. "I'm good. Just qualified for the finals."
"Congrats. And what time will that be?"
"They'll start at one, but I won't be on until around two."
"So I'll get there around one-thirty?"
"You don't have to."
"I do," Forrest said, "because I want to see you swim, and where better than there?"
I couldn't hold back a grin. "Where better indeed?"
"Good. See you soon."
I ate my snack then went to the pool deck and flipped through my sketchbook searching for ideas for my next pieces. I didn't find any before a commotion in the glassed-in observation area told me Forrest had arrived.
When I reached him, he promised the people wanting his autograph he'd be back in a few minutes and we found a quiet hallway around the corner.
His eyes held mine, then he gave what looked like a forced smile. "Should I bet on you?"
I laughed. "Not a lot of betting on masters swimming."
"But if I could, should I? Will you win?"
I pulled my mouth to one side. "If I swim better than I've even imagined I could, maybe. If I swim well, I can be top half. Even if I bomb it, I can't be worse than eighth now."
He grinned. "Eighth. Not bad."
I poked him in the arm. "I don't want to be eighth. I'd love to be at least top three."
"Then I'll bet on you," he said. "I bet you five dollars you'll be in the top three."
"So I have to pay you if I am? Why would I take that bet?"
He considered. "So you give me five bucks?"
"I repeat the question."
We laughed, and he said, "You're too smart for me. Okay, fine, win and then we can decide who owes who five dollars."
"Good enough."
"How will I know when it's your race?"
"When I go sit there," I said, pointing down at the waiting area, "you'll know I'm up in a few minutes. When they send me to sit behind the starting blocks, there's one race before me."
"I'll be watching. Good luck."
I took a small step toward him, wanting a hug, and he took one back. After the tragedy of the day, such a little thing shouldn't have bothered me, but it di
d.
"I'm sorry," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I just can't."
I sighed and pulled away from him. I wouldn't be seeing him again after today. That was clear now. One more massage that evening, then never again. So why not tell? "I know. Your mother told me. What I look like. Who I look like."
Forrest looked like someone had hit him with a shovel. "She told you? When?"
"The day I met her."
He shook his head slowly. "You knew all that time and you never said?"
"Didn't think there was any point." I looked into those beautiful hazel eyes, nearly for the last time, and tried to smile. "It's just not the right lifetime for us, I guess. Wasn't meant to be."
Something flickered in his eyes, a spark I couldn't identify, and I hoped hard.
Then he said, "Good luck, Tess," and the spark in his eyes dimmed to nothing.
My final hope dimmed too. "Thanks." I took a few steps away, then turned back. "And thanks for being here. Nobody's watched me since I was a kid."
He smiled, sweet and sad. "Go show 'em how it's done."
I smiled back, because I had to, and fled to the change room.
After a short cry, I felt so much better, full of energy and fire. I'd wanted this for years, and I was about to swim in the finals. The finals! Not only had I made it to the meet, but I'd reached the top eight. I hadn't been able to celebrate earlier but now joy danced through me like a million tiny ballerinas. Time to get out there and live, Forrest or no Forrest.
I didn't look up at him again until I'd been directed to the waiting area, and when I did look I regretted it. Surrounded by fans seeking autographs, he couldn't have noticed I'd moved. He wouldn't see me swim. But he'd shown up, even though he'd have known he'd be mobbed.
When my race moved to the chairs behind the starting blocks, I looked up again and saw him standing alone at the railing. Somehow he'd escaped the crowd and was focused only on me. The sight filled me with an honored tenderness. He'd be ready for a relationship someday, and some woman would be so lucky to have him.
He saw me looking and raised first one finger, then two, then three, and then five.
I shook my head and pointed at him then me then showed him my five fingers. He'd owe me the money, not the other way around. He flashed me a grin and a thumbs up, and I returned both.
My race was called to the starting blocks, and my heart pounded but my focus never wavered. The referee signaled us to take our marks, then released us to our fates.
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Tell me again."
I frowned at Jen. "You know I love reliving it, but you've heard it three times already."
"And it gets better every time. So hurry up." Her smile was strange, and she'd barely looked at me since we'd met for a post-championship early dinner.
I studied her, confused and worried.
"Come on. I want to hear it."
Since she insisted, I went again through telling Forrest I knew about Marika and seeing him at the railing before my race.
"But you didn't think about him while you were swimming, right?"
I shook my head. "It all flowed, you know? I started getting tired near the end, of course, but it didn't matter. I can't remember the last time I felt so free. I was just so happy."
To my horror, Jen's eyes filled with tears.
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head, blinking furiously. "Nothing. I'm just tired."
"Jen, come on. I know you better than that."
She stared at me. "You know I love you, right?"
My turn to blink. "Yeah, and I love you too. Unless you're not speaking platonically, in which case we have a problem."
She gave the first real laugh I'd heard from her since she'd wandered away at the gallery Friday night. "You're wonderful, but you're not really my type."
I pretended to brush sweat from my forehead, then sobered. "Seriously, what's going on?"
She rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand. "Honestly?"
"Of course." I tried to sound more definite than I felt in the face of her obvious concern. How bad was it?
"I'm not sure I want to tell you, but I hate keeping secrets. I feel awful."
I considered this. "Well, I forgive you for not telling me, since you're not sure you should. Does that help?"
She brightened. "You know, it does. So keep going with the story."
I took a breath to speak, but she said, "Actually, let me."
"Okay."
"So you finished the race and checked the clock to see how you'd done. And you came second. And with a great time to boot. I can't remember the exact time, I'm afraid, but I know it was almost two seconds faster than your best time before."
I danced in my chair. "Sure was. And then what?"
Speeding up as she went, she said, "You fell back into the water all happy, and then you looked up to see Forrest and he was clapping, but when you went to find him he'd left. And then you called me, and we came here, and people said terrible things about your work on Friday."
I stared at her, too shocked to say more than, "They did?"
"I kind of tricked myself into telling you."
Jayne had insisted everyone loved my pieces. Why would she lie? But then, why would Jen? My stomach tightened. Jen wouldn't. Jayne would, to keep me working for her.
When I didn't speak, Jen said, "I should have kept quiet."
"No, you had to tell me. So, what did they say?" I willed myself to be strong enough to hear.
"I can't repeat it."
"Come on, I'm not five years old. I can handle it." I hoped.
"Well, I can't. I wanted to kill her."
"Her?" I thought back. One woman stood out. "The one with the pearls?"
Jen nodded, looking miserable.
"She made a crack about me and Forrest shot her down, so she was probably ticked off."
Jen stared at the remains of her dinner. "Are you sure you want me to tell you?"
Not at all. "Yes. I need to know."
She sighed. Without looking up, she said, "Apparently you have no talent, and you only got the show because you're sleeping with Forrest."
Presumably I'd told Jayne that. And Jayne had risked her reputation to sell my work because of it. How stupid could people be? "Okay."
The words poured from her now that she'd broken the dam. "Your work is either dull or it doesn't make sense. The piece Mango bought was strange and the light bulb part was cheesy, the starfish were weird, the letter A one was--"
"I get it!"
She froze.
Rage and pain at her words had flung my own words out like rocks from an erupting volcano. I took a deep shuddering breath, and made sure my volume was reasonable when I said, "Sorry. I get the picture. Was this all the pearl woman?"
"No, if it had been I'd have figured she was just a jerk. She brought up the sleeping with Forrest thing, then her friends started trashing your art." She swallowed hard. "I wanted to buy all the pieces to keep them safe, but I couldn't afford to do it."
"You didn't buy any, did you?"
She shook her head without looking at me.
"Jen."
Her eyes met mine. "I didn't. I wanted to, but I couldn't."
"Good." She couldn't afford even one, never mind all. My stomach twisted at the thought: my art was beyond the reach of my best friend, available only to those with money to burn.
"One more thing."
"Hit me."
It felt like she did. "Jayne agreed that the pieces weren't all what she wanted but said she'll get you whipped into shape. They had a good giggle about that."
The woman I'd trusted to sell my pieces had let the others giggle about me? Had giggled with them? "Jayne told me they were good." Even to myself, I sounded like a whiny child, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. "I guess I shouldn't care how she really feels, if she can sell them. And she was probably just saying what her customers wanted to hear so I should care eve
n less. But I do care. I love those pieces."
"I know you do," she said, sounding as choked up as I felt.
Or had felt, anyhow; as I spoke a strange void had opened up all around me, my sadness shocked away by the sudden recognition of infinite freedom and possibility. "Jen, I don't love them all. Some, for sure, but not all. I only love my ones, the ones I made my way."
"I think those are the ones Jayne didn't like, though."
"Yeah." The vast openness began to close, constraining me again. "Maybe she and Mango are right, and I should make the commercial ones now and save the others for later."
Jen frowned. "When, after you retire?"
I shrugged. "That's how Mango's doing it. There are bad parts to every job, right? So why should this be any different?"
Jen leaned back in her chair as if trying to get away from me, her eyes wide. After a second, she said, "Refresh my memory, which are the bad parts?"
Hadn't she been listening? I said, "Making the pieces Jayne wants, and the customers," then stiffened, like a field mouse trying to avoid an attacking hawk, as I saw what that meant.
Jen said it for me. "What else is there to your art career?"
*****
I waited in the massage room, my mind aflutter. I couldn't keep selling the pieces. And I couldn't quit. Well, I could, but I didn't want to. But spending the next thirty years struggling with art I hated? I didn't want that either.
Jen had suggested trying a different gallery, but there was no reason to assume Mango was wrong and somewhere else would be any better.
"Why can't she just sell what you want to make?" Jen had finally asked in frustration. "She knows they'll sell. She saw them sell. Why does she have to be so involved?"
I didn't know, but it seemed to be a requirement.
The door opened and my heart picked up speed. Last time seeing Forrest.
Or not.
"Hey," Magnus said, pushing the door closed behind him. "Forrest asked me to tell you he's sorry but he can't be here tonight. This is from him." He handed me an envelope.
Can't because he had somewhere else to be or can't because he didn't want to see me again? After how we'd left things at the pool, I figured it was the latter, but I wished he'd had the guts to tell me himself. Maybe the envelope held an explanation.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 51
