The dishes from her breakfast were finally done. She hadn’t had the energy to accomplish much since the confrontation with Brenna. Flipping the dish towel over her shoulder, she propped herself against the counter with a thud.
Everything had happened so quickly. She rolled the events backward in her mind, and a clear picture of her first glimpse of Brenna standing on the beach came into view. Her insides had constricted with surprise and caution. She’d thought, who’s this person and why is she invading my territory?
The same hackles of irritation and defense prickled up her neck again. She had the right to be suspicious; people didn’t just show up unannounced.
And then, she’d let her guard down, inviting this woman into her world, and she turned out to be delightful and funny. But she’d also been pushy about New York and Sinclair had gone into fight mode.
Brenna hadn’t deserved such uncivil treatment. Instead of being such an ass, Sinclair could have simply and politely refused.
A knock on the door startled her out of her ruminations.
Cracking the door open, she was even more shocked to see who it was.
“May I come in?” Brenna said.
She opened the door wider, stepped aside, and heard a soft “thank you” as Brenna walked past her.
“Listen,” Sinclair said right away. “I’m sure you’re used to muggers and purse snatchers in New York, but all we have here are idiots.”
Brenna shook her head. “You’re not an idiot.”
“I’m sorry,” they said at once.
“No, I’m the one that needs to apologize.” Sinclair held up her hand. “You were just arranging for the exhibition, an offer I’m lucky to get. And I’m the one who smacked you over the head with a mallet.”
Brenna took the hand she held up and grasped it tight. “I didn’t listen to you. I’m not good at being told no and it showed. All I did was confront you without listening better to what you were trying to say.”
“I don’t go very far from my home. I know that sounds stupid, but I’ve been ensconced in Maine for twenty years and feel safe here.”
Brenna nodded. “Listen, I’m really sorry, Sinclair. Obviously you have a good reason for not wanting to go.”
Sinclair still didn’t feel comfortable enough to try to say anything.
Brenna took her other hand. “What is it? Can you tell me, please?”
“I’m not good with big cities.”
“Okay. I can understand that. I mean, New York can be a scary place.” Her voice grew softer. “But it’s also my home, like Pemaquid Point is for you. I grew up in the city and know every inch of Manhattan.” Brenna squeezed her hands. “I’ve got an idea. Would you come with me to New York long before the opening, just for a day or two? You’ll be with me the entire time. I’ll never let you out of my sight. I’ll show you it’s not as bad as you may think. And if you don’t like it, you can go right home.”
The not-being-good-with-big-cities part wasn’t really a lie. It was more like a general statement that was much easier to confess than the real reason.
She hadn’t left coastal Maine for years, but the desire to travel often pulled at her. She had almost ventured out a few times in the past, but resisted. The risk was too high. She kept her life so carefully guarded and didn’t want to ruin the safe zone she’d worked two decades to establish.
However, this was an amazing opportunity for her artwork to be shown in the largest city in America, to really make something of all the hours she toiled at it. But the obvious perils made her hesitate. The exposure could be perilous for her personally.
And yet, Brenna’s arrival made a huge difference. She hadn’t planned it nor had she ever even dreamt of meeting someone who affected her in such a romantic way. Going to New York with Brenna would allow them to spend more time together, and the notion excited her.
Conversely, rebuffing Brenna ensured her safety and life would return to normal. But was normal good enough now, especially when she had an opportunity to take a chance, both in her career and her love life? If she’d never met Brenna, contemplating the possibilities would be moot. But now that she had come into her life, watching her walk away would break her spirit from that day on. Remaining the old maid of coastal Maine made her shiver.
“Sinclair, will you try that?”
Brenna had returned after she had virtually kicked her out the door. Her hands were as warm as sunshine and as powerful as the sea. The woman who stood before her was more than compelling, and Sinclair’s chest ached with want. She was exceedingly attracted to Brenna, who was so gently persuasive and had even guaranteed her wellbeing. The prospect of visiting her seemed scary but reasonable.
She looked into Brenna’s eyes. This is going against everything I trust. Please mean what you say, she thought. Show me it’s not as bad as I fear. “Okay. A quick trip, that’s all.”
Brenna pulled her close and kissed her tenderly. “It’ll be wonderful.”
Chapter Twelve
Brenna hurried around the gallery, as she had for the last three days, nervous about Sinclair’s imminent arrival. She should be more anxious about the upcoming exhibition, but From the Hand of the Artist would open with huge success. People were already inquiring about purchasing pieces, but no red dots would be placed on any artwork until opening night. Things were moving smoothly. Along with Carl and his first-rate staff keeping all the details well under control, Lucy was coordinating the catering and AV system as well as managing the gallery’s daily business.
But even if the show was in trouble, she wouldn’t be as tense as she was right now.
She needed that exhibition. Her gut screamed that it would be a huge success. She promised Sinclair that she’d be glad she came to New York. In some ways, it seemed like a tall order because Brenna couldn’t control an entire city. But she reviewed her carefully planned itinerary more than twice and everything looked good.
For God’s sake, what could go wrong? Get her here, show her around, and sign the contract.
A glance at her watch indicated that Sinclair would arrive any minute. The sun was low, not far from setting, and she hoped Sinclair could find her way here through the busy streets. All she could do now was trust that the next couple of days would go well.
She walked toward the back room, then turned toward the front door.
“Relax,” Carl said as he breezed by her. “You’re acting like Sinclair Grady is the Queen of England.”
“Oh, she’s much younger and doesn’t wear hats.”
“That’s more like it. Loosen up, have fun, and remember to use your dental dam.”
“Geez, Carl.”
Most of his staffers shook their heads in disgust, but Carl just lifted his scissor-wielding hand and punctuated the air. “Shazam.”
Brenna walked over to Lucy’s desk and leaned against it.
“You want me to book a restaurant for you two tonight?”
“Thanks, but no. I’m taking her to my parents’.”
“To the Wrights’? Good, home cooking. That’ll be nice.”
“I hope. And I’ll be off work tomorrow. We’re going to stay low-key and—”
Lucy nodded toward the front door. Brenna turned around to see Sinclair walk in. She wore tight jeans and a white-and-yellow peasant top. Her hair glowed from the sun behind her, and Brenna’s heart leapt as if she were witnessing an aura from heaven.
Seeing her in the doorway sent ripples of excitement through her. The notion of an exhibition and legal contracts evaporated as quickly as steam off a coffee mug. She looked…stunning. Brenna hurried to greet her and pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here! I haven’t been able to do anything productive all day because I’ve been waiting to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too. That was a long drive.”
“Did you park in my spot on the side of the building? Was it easy to find?”
“Yes, everything went well.”
Carl glided up behind them.
“You’re gorgeous.”
“Sinclair, this is Carl, my assistant curator.”
Sinclair offered her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“And it’s fascinating to meet someone who can turn Brenna into a hairball.”
Brenna put her arm around Sinclair and guided her toward Lucy. “I’m a little nervous.”
“So am I.”
“Lucy, please meet Sinclair. This is Lucy, my assistant.”
Lucy stood and shook her hand. “Welcome to New York.”
“Thank you.” She looked around at the paintings and photographs. “I love your gallery.”
“I want to take you on a tour, but first, I’d like to get you fed. Are you hungry?”
“Very much so.”
“Your car will be safe parked behind the gallery. We’ll take mine. I hope it’s okay that we eat at my parents’ place. They’re excited to meet you, and my mom cooks a lot better than I do.”
Brenna relaxed when Sinclair said, “That’d be nice.”
*
“They’re here!”
Sinclair heard what must have been Brenna’s mother’s voice as Brenna unlocked the door to their brownstone. A woman the height of Brenna, with the same brunette hair and chestnut eyes, hurried in with a wide smile.
“You must be Sinclair. I’m Sandy.”
Brenna’s mom hugged her tight and Sinclair involuntarily stiffened. She wasn’t used to this family gesture and hoped no one would notice her reaction.
“It’s very nice to meet you.”
Before wrapping Brenna in her arms, Sandy called out, “Mack, the girls are here. Beanie?”
Brenna introduced her father and sister, their arms also open wide. More bear hugs ensued but Sinclair managed to get through it all.
“I’ll give you the short tour.” Brenna took her hand while Sandy, Mack, and Beanie went to the kitchen.
Sinclair took in the hardwood floors and high ceilings of the living room. One wall had exposed brick, which she loved right away. It gave a nice textured backdrop to the teak furniture and contemporary fixtures.
“This is a pre-war brownstone that my parents bought right after I graduated from college. Beanie and I grew up in Yonkers, but my parents always wanted to live in the Upper West Side, so when I was on my own, they could afford a two-bedroom place.”
They peeked in each bedroom and Sinclair liked the tranquil feel of their home. It was worlds apart from where she grew up. No fist-sized holes in the wall or unmatched and broken furniture.
“Are you okay?” Brenna looked concerned.
“I’m just a little nervous.”
“Okay.” Brenna smiled. “I’m right here. Anything you need, just tell me. If you want to leave, no matter when it is, we’ll go.”
They walked through the dining alcove that had a beautiful teak table and matching china cabinet filled with what looked like very elegant china. They joined Brenna’s family in the kitchen, which had dark-green granite counters, cherry cabinets, polished chrome appliances, and a warm, amber glow from recessed ceiling lights.
“We’ve got wine, soda, and lots of juice, Sinclair. And Mack makes a mean mai tai. What would you like?”
“Wine would be fine, thanks.”
Sandy hugged Brenna again. “I missed you, honey.” She smiled at Sinclair and said, “It’s been a while since you brought someone over, Brenna.”
“It has.” Brenna’s answer seemed a bit clipped.
“Are you okay, honey?” Sandy’s voice remained chipper but her words puzzled Sinclair.
“Mom, I’m fine.” Brenna looked at her. “I’m better than fine.”
“I got into NYU!” Beanie said.
“That’s great!’ Brenna high-fived her sister and said to Sinclair, “She’s getting her Masters degree in international education, and NYU has a very good program.”
Mack put his arm around Beanie. “She’ll be close to home and she doesn’t even mind living with us for the next four years.”
“Congratulations,” Sinclair said. She didn’t want to compare the Wrights to Ozzie and Harriet, but she had no other applicable reference.
Dinner was unbelievable. Sandy made grilled flatbreads with caramelized onions, sausage, and manchego cheese before serving a grilled leg of lamb in what must have been red wine with mustard and sage. They also had grilled sweet peppers and corn followed by a scrumptious nectarine-blackberry crisp.
Throughout dinner, they all caught each other up on news and events, including Sinclair in everything, explaining backstories and family history.
Halfway through dinner though, Sinclair grew uncertain and scared. She was so far from home and more vulnerable than she’d ever been. She looked around the room, searching for a way to escape, but a squeeze from Brenna’s hand interrupted her. Brenna’s furrowed brow was asking if something was wrong, and Sinclair shook her head in response. Obviously Brenna knew something was up, but Sinclair couldn’t talk about how small and frightened she felt.
She took a deep breath and tuned back in to the conversation at the table. The Wrights were a close clan and really seemed to love each other. Peggy and her grandkids had been somewhat like the Wrights, but Sinclair had never felt a part of them. And witnessing the interaction between Brenna and her kin made her heart ache and yearn at the same time. They were an intact family who supported one another and cared for each other’s wellbeing. Sadness spread throughout her chest. She’d never imagined that such a loving family could ever really exist.
“What about you?” Sandy asked Sinclair when they started on dessert.
“Me? Well, I live in Maine, on the coast.”
“It’s a beautiful place, Mom,” Brenna said. “She’s right on the ocean.”
Sandy nodded slowly, as if placing more emphasis on her next words. “That’s quite a ways away. Is your family close by?”
“Peggy, the woman who raised me, has passed away, but I live in one of her houses now.” How much were they going to ask about her background?
“So, your parents aren’t around?”
She glanced at Brenna, who was watching her with compassion.
“No. I was on my own when I was fifteen. But I had someone who took care of me. And she encouraged my artwork and helped my career. That’s how I met Brenna.” Maybe fast-forwarding to her adult life would fend off questions about her childhood.
“So you two met recently?” Sandy seemed to be probing a bit, and Sinclair’s stomach tightened.
Brenna must have understood her feelings because she quickly said, “We’re going to exhibit her artwork. She makes amazing stained-glass windows from sea glass, but I already told you that.”
“You did,” Mack said, and turned to Sinclair. “She’s been talking nonstop about you.”
Brenna smiled and looked down at her food.
“Look at that, Sandy. Brenna got bashful.”
Sandy nodded. “Now that’s a trait we don’t see much.” She looked at Brenna as if she was almost happy about it, which confused Sinclair.
Beanie chimed in. “That’s not my sister. What did you do with my sister?”
“Stop it, you all. I do have some humility, you know.”
“My sister is the strongest, most confident person I know. Whatever she wants, she gets. I don’t mean people, Sinclair. I just mean things in life.”
“Okay, that’s enough about me.”
Sinclair liked Brenna’s family, and seeing her interact with them made her like Brenna that much more. Still, she fought the anxiety that roiled just below her skin.
Chapter Thirteen
It was close to midnight when they finally left. Mack had brought out a domino game called Mexican Train, which was easy to learn, and they played and laughed until Brenna finally put up her hands and politely dragged Sinclair away.
Brenna served as tour guide, explaining the areas they drove through on their way back to her place. She said she lived in Midtown West and pulled into the underground parking
structure of a tall building on 5th Avenue.
She held Sinclair’s suitcase and punched the elevator button for the eighteenth floor and soon they were standing at her door.
“How are you feeling?” Brenna’s voice was so gentle.
“Tired but good.” After a moment, she said, “Is your mother okay with us?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just a feeling I got.”
Brenna kissed her. “My mom is protective of me. Please don’t let that influence you.”
When they stepped into the entryway inside Brenna’s flat, Sinclair took in the entire place. It was very modern, with large picture windows that ran the length of the space. The romantic view of the city and its sparkling lights, framed by sheer drapes, overwhelmed her and filled her with anticipation. The large room that looked like a combination living room, dining room, and entertainment area was spectacular. Off to the right, an open kitchen hugged the far side of the same room.
They stepped toward the picture windows and onto a light-lavender rug that allowed only a small border of hardwood floor to peek out from underneath. A table in the middle of the room looked to be mahogany, with matching chairs. Beyond that, a low bookcase divided the room nicely, and on the other side, an off-white designer couch with charcoal pillows seemed to be in a comfortable conversation with two plum armchairs and a low-slung mahogany coffee table. Two standing lamps provided more ambient light than reading light but suffused the room with an inviting glow.
As she scanned the room, she paused briefly at each painting hanging on the walls. Obviously Brenna had some incredible pieces, probably from artists she not only knew but had exhibited. And then she saw her own stained-glass window, hanging in front of one of the large picture windows.
Her heart thumped harder knowing that her work had a coveted space in Brenna’s life. She couldn’t wait to see it in the daylight when the sun’s rays filtered through the glass and cast colors across Brenna’s floor and furniture.
“You have a beautiful home.” Sinclair turned to Brenna and pulled her close.
“Thank you.” She kissed her sweetly and Sinclair’s shoulders relaxed a bit. She hadn’t realized they’d been tense until they loosened, leaving a slight ache when she moved. She cupped the sides of Brenna’s face. “I’m still just a little nervous.”
Fugitives of Love Page 7
