The drawing took less than ten minutes. Ashley leaned back and admired it, but something wasn’t quite right. She blinked and then it came to her. One of the children needed to be a girl. Yes, an older girl. Because that was the very tree where she and Luke had played. That way this painting would capture a precious slice of their childhood.
Ashley worked on the images, penciling with almost invisible lines. Artists all worked differently, but for her, the picture had to be sketched first. Once the framework was in place, the colors would come. Usually fast and with a rush of emotion. And that was a good thing. Because with work and Cole and time with her family, Ashley couldn’t take months on end to finish a piece the way some artists did.
In fact, the faster and more focused her work, the better it was. As though she needed to transfer all that was in her heart to the painting before a single color or brush stroke was forgotten.
By the time two o’clock rolled around, Ashley had nearly completed the painting. A bit more pale gold and cream in the summer field, and she’d be finished. They said good-bye to Cole’s friend, and since no one was at the Baxter house, Ashley gathered her things, set the drying painting on her easel in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and helped Cole into the backseat of the car.
When she pulled away, Cole reached his hand up onto the console between the two front seats. His sign that he wanted to hold her hand. She took his hand and sent him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes.” He yawned. “I like when you have a day off, Mommy.”
“Me, too.” Ashley pictured Irvel and the others, how much they needed her but how little they missed her—if at all—when she was gone. “If I sell enough pieces, maybe I won’t do anything but play with you and paint.”
“Are pieces and paintings the same thing?” Cole’s voice was tired. “Because if you mean Lego pieces, Mommy, I’ll give you some to sell. If you would be home more.”
Ashley’s heart melted at his words. “Actually they have to be paintings, but thanks. I’m glad you were willing to share.”
“Yep.” Cole tapped his foot against the back of her seat and then stopped. “Know what, Mommy?”
“What?”
“I miss Landon. When’s he coming back home?”
Ashley bit her lip and steered the car onto the two-lane highway. That was the question, wasn’t it? He had a few more months before his year was up, but what about after that? As often as Ashley and Landon were talking now, they still hadn’t made a decision on that. When exactly was Landon coming back to Bloomington, and if he wasn’t, what were they going to do about it?
She kept her voice even. “It’ll still be a while, honey.” There wasn’t much else she could say. “I miss him, too.”
“He loves us, huh, Mommy?” Cole leaned forward and craned his neck.
“Yes.” Ashley caught his eyes and felt a smile warm her expression. “Very much.”
They were home in ten minutes and Cole headed for the backyard. Ashley set her things down in the living room and checked the messages. There were three.
She hit the Play button and leaned closer so she could hear.
The first message was from William Wellington at the gallery in Manhattan. Her third and final painting had sold in what was a record time for any artist they’d showcased. When could she get another three paintings to them, and how long before she could supply them with twelve to fifteen pieces? They wanted to feature her in their annual fall show.
Ashley closed her eyes and gripped the counter. All three paintings had sold! It really wasn’t a fluke or a quirk or anything else. People actually liked her work, and not just any people. New York people. Manhattan people. Buyers who could’ve chosen from dozens of galleries and artists. God, thank you…thank you.
For an instant, the Bible verse from Jeremiah flashed in her heart. The one about God knowing the plans and hopes he had for her. Ashley treasured the notion in her heart, believing every word. She had Cole and Landon, Sunset Hills, and now her painting. All of it was playing out just as God had planned it, and that left her in awe.
The machine beeped and the next message began. “Hey, Ash, it’s me.” Landon’s voice was smooth, kind, even through the speaker of a tinny answering machine. “I had an idea.” Pause. “Call me, okay. I miss you.” A smile sounded in his tone. “You and Cole.”
Ashley tilted her head and grinned. The downside to how well things were going with Landon was how badly she wanted to get on a plane and return to New York City. Rather than waiting for the third message, she hit the Stop button on the machine, picked up the phone, and punched in Landon’s cell phone number.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey, I knew you’d call.”
She sat on one of the dining-room chairs and stared out the window at Cole playing on the swings out back. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since her last conversation with Landon, and already the time felt like an eternity. “You knew, huh?”
“Yeah.” Traffic sounded in the background. “I figured you’d go to your parents’ house, paint a masterpiece and, oh, about one o’clock you’d start missing me. You and Cole would head back home, get my message, and voilà. Here we’d be.”
“Where are we?” Ashley’s tone was soft and teasing.
“In the middle of Central Park, leaning against a tree, reading a book, and wishing Ashley would call.”
“I see.” She muffled a giggle. “Sounds like we’re having a wonderful time.”
“We would be—” the laughter in his voice faded—“except I miss you so much.”
“Yeah, it’s weird, isn’t it?” She stretched her legs out and her movement caught Cole’s attention. He waved and she did the same. “Every day feels like forever apart from you.”
“How’s Cole?” Landon’s voice was softened some by what sounded like wind through the trees.
“Good. He asked about you today.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He wants to know when you’ll come home.”
Landon paused for a second or two. “Tell him I feel the same way.”
She sat a little straighter and peered into the living room, the place where she stored her paintings. “Have you seen Reagan? I forgot to ask you yesterday.”
“No. She’s keeping her distance.”
Ashley sighed. “She hasn’t called Luke; at least I don’t think so. I’ve put a few calls in to him, and I think he’d tell me if he’d heard the news. In fact I’m sure he would.”
“It must be killing you.” His voice was tender, compassionate. “Knowing about the baby and not saying anything.”
“It’s impossible.” Ashley tapped her finger against the receiver. “If she doesn’t say something soon, I don’t know. Luke has a right to see his baby.”
They were silent for a few beats; then suddenly Ashley remembered. “Hey, guess what?”
“You’re moving here with Cole next week?”
Her heart lurched at the idea, but she put the thought of it on hold. “Besides that.”
“The Metropolitan called; they want your work in the front room?”
Her head fell back as a ripple of laughter made its way up from her throat. “Nothing quite that big.”
“Okay, sorry.” The silliness faded from his voice. “What?”
She hesitated. “The gallery called. They sold my third painting.”
“Ashley!” He did a loud hoot. “All three already?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “They want to feature my work at their fall show. I can’t believe it.”
“I can.” He was breathless, maybe more excited than she was. “So when’ll you be here?”
“Be there?” She loved this, the way their phone calls were filled with play these days. They’d wasted so much time. “You mean with my next paintings?”
“No, with Cole and your suitcases.” He paused and the teasing faded from his tone. “I’m serious, Ash. I’ve thought about it
a lot since you left. What if you and Cole moved here?”
“Landon, you know I—”
“Wait.” Fresh possibilities colored his voice. “Hear me out. The two of you move here. We get married and find a house in the country where you can paint. I commute to work for the fire department, and you’d be less than an hour from the gallery. It could work—” he paused long enough to grab a breath—“couldn’t it?”
Ashley heard the words he wasn’t saying. It was something he’d mentioned a few days ago. “You got the promotion?”
“The captain called this morning.” His words were slower now, measured. “They want me to train for lieutenant.”
Two distinctly different emotions filled Ashley’s head. Pride over all Landon had accomplished at the department in so short a time, and raw fear over what the news meant for their future. She grabbed hold of the brighter of the two. “Congratulations, Landon.” It took all her effort to sound as happy for him as he had sounded for her. “You’ll be chief one day if you stay in New York.”
His answer came without hesitation. “I won’t stay without you, Ash. I can’t.” Distant carnival music sounded in the background, an ice cream vendor maybe. “Nothing matters to me more than being with you.”
Ashley stood and sauntered to the dining-room window. Cole was playing with a yellow truck, pushing it along the wooden railroad ties that bordered his swing set. “A house in the country, huh?”
Landon chuckled. “With a gorgeous view in every direction.”
She’d never seriously considered such an idea, and much about it concerned her. First, New York was expensive. Finding a house like that, one that would be just an hour’s commute to the city, might be next to impossible. But more than that, if they stayed in New York, if Landon stayed with the FDNY, then the possibility would always exist that what happened to Jalen could happen to him.
And now, after figuring out what she felt for Landon, she couldn’t fathom losing him. Not for any reason.
But God held the number of their days, didn’t he? And Ashley had never been known for playing it safe, taking the most cautious path. Life was found by risking, wasn’t it? So why not move to New York, especially when the gallery wanted to feature her work?
“Ashley?” Another wind gust sounded in the distance.
“Can we do this…can we talk about it when I come?”
She could almost see his smile. “When?”
“The gallery wants me out there in the next few weeks. The first week of August, maybe, when I can bring them another batch of paintings.” A burst of sunlight colored the moment. Whatever she and Landon decided would be the right thing. Whether they were in New York or Bloomington, it didn’t matter. As long as they were together. “Let’s talk about it then, okay?”
“Okay.” A smile filled his voice. “I’ll be waiting.”
She closed her eyes, remembering the last time they were together, the way his arms had felt around her. “Hey, do you have a minute to talk to Cole?”
“My best boy?” He sounded happier than she’d ever heard him. “I have all day for Cole.”
Ashley knocked on the window, pointed to the phone in her hand, and motioned for Cole to come in. A minute later he rounded the corner into the dining room, his eyes wide. “Landon?”
She nodded and handed him the receiver. Then she relaxed in the chair and watched her son talk with the man she loved. Cole told him about the worm he’d found beneath a rock in the backyard and how he’d been the somersault champion earlier that day at his grandma’s house. When he was finished talking, he walked around the dining room, grinning and giggling at whatever Landon was saying to him. Finally Cole nodded. “Okay, love you, too.”
Ashley took the phone and gave Cole a kiss on the top of his head. “Go play.” He skipped off and she held the receiver to her ear again. A dozen thoughts played on the tip of her tongue. How grateful she was that Landon loved her son, how amazing that he had been the one to teach her to appreciate Cole in the first place; how badly she missed him and wished they could be together.
But she settled on the one that took precedence over all of them. “I love you, Landon Blake. I love you so much.”
He chuckled. “Why do I wish the next passing jogger would pinch me?”
“What, you don’t believe it’s real?” The giggling returned to her voice. “Okay, then listen to this: I love you. I love you. I love you.” She cradled the phone close to her, as though somehow the action might bring him closer as well. “I’ll never stop loving you.”
His tone grew serious again, quiet and as deep as the ocean. “I love you, too, Ashley. But then—” he paused—“I always have.”
When their call ended, Ashley returned the receiver to the base and saw the flashing 1 in the window of the answering machine. She’d forgotten about the last message. Almost as an afterthought, she pushed the button and turned toward the cupboard. She grabbed a glass and was filling it with water when the voice came on.
“This is Marie from Paris. I run the gallery where you worked several years ago. Your family gave me your number.”
Ashley turned off the faucet, spun around, and stared at the machine.
“I have some information you need to have. It is crucial that you call me.” The caller rattled off a phone number before the message ended.
Ashley set her glass of water on the counter, grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from the drawer near the telephone, and played the message again. This time she wrote down the number and for the longest time, she merely stared at it.
Common sense told her this was about some paperwork issue from her time at the gallery. But a knot formed in Ashley’s stomach, and her hands trembled as she picked up the phone. After so many years, would the gallery contact her about some bookkeeping issue? Would they even care about a detail they’d let go for so many years? And why the urgent phone calls?
She punched in the numbers, then lifted the phone to her ear and waited. From the backyard she could hear Cole’s silly-heart voice singing as he played in the heat of the afternoon.
Doubts—dreadful doubts—hung above her like so many swords, questions about Jean-Claude Pierre and the possibility that this call involved him or the fact that he was Cole’s biological father. But she stayed still so none of the swords would fall and slice her to pieces.
A ringing sounded in her ear once…twice. God, let this be nothing, please.
“Bonjour.” The voice belonged to a man.
Ashley cleared her throat and wondered if he spoke English. “Hello.” She returned to the seat near the window and focused her attention on Cole. “I need to speak to Marie, please.”
“Marie?” The connection wasn’t great, but she could understand the man. “Oui, oui.”
Half a minute passed while Ashley waited. Then a woman came on the line, the same one who had left the message earlier. The same woman who had once, a lifetime ago, told Ashley her art wasn’t welcome in a Paris gallery. “Hello, this is Marie.” Her accent was stronger than Ashley remembered. “How may I help you?”
Ashley looked down and noticed that her knees were knocking together. “This…this is Ashley Baxter. I’m returning your call.”
“Oui, I’ve tried to reach you. One minute, please. It is busy; I must go where it is quiet.” The background noise gradually faded to silence. “There. Now we can talk.”
For the briefest moment, Ashley wondered if her father was right. Maybe Marie had stumbled onto her Web site and somehow come to see her paintings in a new light. Maybe she wanted to offer her a chance to show her work there in Paris. She held her breath and waited.
“Ashley, I have not so good news for you.”
The room tilted. Ashley steadied her gaze on Cole. “What…what is the problem?”
“You remember Jean-Claude Pierre? The artist featured at our gallery when you were here?”
“Yes.” Ashley’s heart was in her throat, and she could barely concentrate. Get it out, woman. Just
say it.
“He is dying.”
The moment the words hit her, Ashley was seized by a wave of fear and nausea. Jean-Claude? Dying? Of what? And why would the news involve her? Before she could ponder that, before she had time even to inhale, the woman continued.
“Jean-Claude’s doctor prepared a list of names, people to call with the details.” She hesitated, her accent thick. “You, Ashley, are on the list.”
“I…I don’t understand.” The voice was hers, but she was a million miles away. Somewhere in Central Park, sitting beside Landon, kissing him, whispering promises of forever to him. She opened her mouth and forced another few words through her lips. “I haven’t stayed in touch with Jean-Claude.”
“Ashley…” The woman waited and for the first time, her voice held a modicum of sensitivity. “Jean-Claude is dying of Acquired Immuno-Deficiency Syndrome.”
A rushing sound filled Ashley’s senses, and Marie’s words ran together. Immuno something…a deficiency of some kind? A syndrome? What did that have to do with her? And why did Marie sound so grim? Ashley dug her fingernails into her brow. From outside Cole waved at her and flashed her a lopsided grin.
She waved back and somehow found her voice. “I don’t know what…what you mean.”
The woman sighed, and the weight of that sound hit Ashley from a continent away. “It is our law that doctors do what they can to alert people who…who have had contact with the patient.”
Ashley wanted to run, but nowhere offered her an escape from the freight train bearing down on her. She was stuck on the tracks, her feet anchored in cement, with no way out. She tried again to understand. “Jean-Claude has…”
“He has AIDS, Ashley. I’m sorry.”
AIDS? Jean-Claude has AIDS?
Ashley made it through the rest of the phone call, stood, and then collapsed against the window. She couldn’t cry, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but stare out the window at Cole and consider the only questions that still mattered.
Had Jean-Claude gotten the virus before or after her time with him? And if it was before, if she’d been carrying the deadly disease all this time, how much longer until she herself would die?
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