“Do you know what you’re going to do?” River asked. “We’re here to help if you need us.”
“Are you going to tell Georgie?” Maisie asked pointedly.
River winced. “Not unless there’s something I need to tell.”
“I have an idea,” Finn said. He took another sip of tea, somewhat surprised to discover he’d reached the bottom of the cup.
“Oh good, let me take that,” Dottie said, and she did.
A smile curved her lips as she studied the bottom, which looked like nothing but a mess of soggy leaves to Finn’s eyes. “Yes, I think everything will work out just fine.”
He sure hoped so. Because he couldn’t bear to lose Adalia for good.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Adalia had comfortably lived in New York City for over a decade, but now that she was back, she was anxious. It wasn’t just the situation that had brought her there, it was the realization that it no longer felt like home.
Ultimately, the gallery director had given them the choice of a remote meeting or a face-to-face, and Lee had come down hard on them to make the trip. So they had. And now Adalia couldn’t stop tossing and turning in the hotel room she shared with Georgie. Based on the occasional sighs she overheard, her sister wasn’t having an easier time of it.
Finally, Georgie cleared her throat and said, “Addy, are you awake?” in a stage whisper.
Adalia threw a pillow at her. “Does that count as a yes?”
She expected her sister to roll over or maybe ask if she wanted to turn on the TV, but instead she said, “Addy, I think I may have made a huge mistake.”
“For the tenth time,” she said, her tone soft even though her words were not, “I think we handled this as well as we could in the beginning. I feel so much more capable of handling it now.”
Alan was still sending her texts, but his threats felt hollow now that Lee was in direct contact with the gallery. Maybe he’d heard from the gallery that his account had been disputed, because in his last few messages he’d gone back to calling her baby and begging her to at least talk to him, which she’d also ignored.
“No,” Georgie said. “I mean by discouraging you with Finn.”
Adalia’s heart stuttered. The last thing she could handle right now, the night before her meeting with the gallery director, was talking about Finn. She opened her mouth to say so, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“I don’t know what happened between you two,” Georgie continued, “but I was wrong, Addy. He’s good for you. You seemed so happy with him. Happier than I’ve ever seen you. And River says you’re good for him too.” She stared at her across the small distance between their beds, her eyes pleading. “Can you tell me what happened so I can help you work through it?”
Adalia shook her head. “I think I have to do this on my own.”
“Sometimes it’s okay to let people help,” Georgie said softly. “It doesn’t mean you’re weak. It only means you’re blessed to have people care about you.”
Adalia changed the topic after that, asking if Georgie was interested in watching Golden Girls reruns, and they both fell asleep listening to the theme song. She dreamed about Finn.
They met Lee for breakfast the next morning, sans Victoria, thank goodness. “Just stick to the facts like we practiced,” he said, his expression grave. They’d already ordered food, although Adalia wasn’t so sure she could eat. “And if they don’t ask something, don’t volunteer the information.”
Adalia nodded, fingering the short strand of pearls around her neck. Georgie had insisted she wear it along with the dark gray sheath dress she’d borrowed.
Georgie, who sat next to her in an equally “serious” navy blue dress, nodded. “Agreed. Just stick to the facts.”
Adalia frowned. “You both look like I’m about to march off to my execution, and I feel like I’m already dressed for the funeral.” She tugged lightly on the pearls. “Are you sure these are necessary?”
“They make you look more mature,” Lee said, then quickly added, “Not that I’m suggesting you’re not. But you’re trying to make an impression here. We have to make sure it’s a good one.”
“You thought I’d show up in my overalls and headband?” She was teasing, sort of, but that was her outfit of choice in Asheville now, since she spent most of her time working in Blue’s studio…well, now partially her studio too, since she’d pinned Blue down on paying her fair share for the space.
Now that she’d cut back at the brewery and was only working the part-time hours the position required, she was constantly at the studio with Tyrion, working on her sculptures. Or digging through dumpsters or taking Bessie to the junkyard or flea markets. Of course, she had to work around Blue’s yoga classes. She covered her work with sheets before visitors came to the studio, and Blue, genius that she was, had apparently incorporated them into her classes, telling her students they represented the unseen baggage they were carrying.
Her art had helped fill the Finn-shaped void in her heart. Somewhat. But she still missed him like crazy. She’d had a week to figure out there was no way Finn had only spent time with her because he was on some one-man mission to fix her. He’d truly enjoyed her company—both in and out of his bed. Altruism didn’t spark the heat she’d felt between them. Nor did it make two people laugh so hard they doubled over with it.
She’d tried not to show Georgie how much her words last night had affected her, but they’d dug in deep.
Sending him that text last weekend had been the coward’s way out. But while the act of texting such a thing rather than communicating it in person was wrong, she stood by the message. She needed time to sort herself out. She’d come to Asheville broken, and Finn deserved someone who was whole.
The sad part was she’d never believed in soul mates—in two people who belonged together, cosmically speaking—but now that she’d lost Finn, she wondered if she’d been wrong. Maybe it didn’t matter. She couldn’t help thinking she would have lost him eventually anyway.
Georgie quickly veered the topic away from the meeting, and they had an agreeable meal. Maybe Adalia’s siblings were just trying to keep her calm, but she hoped the laid-back vibe had something to do with the phone call Georgie and Lee had last week, which supposedly had nothing to do with Adalia’s legal issues.
Soon it was time to go, and they walked the two blocks to the gallery.
A younger woman who looked slightly familiar met them at the door and led them to the director’s office. On the way, Adalia searched for any lingering evidence of her attack, relieved when she saw no splashes of red paint.
“Adalia,” the older woman said as she got to her feet and walked around her impressively clean desk for such a small space. “I’m Henrietta Higgins, the director of the gallery. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. We’re very interested to hear your version of events.” While she wore a severe business suit and her hair was pulled back into a bun, she had friendly eyes.
“That’s why we’re all here,” Lee said in his best stick-up-his-butt voice. There was a soft edge to it, though, like he wanted to sound both professional and approachable. Lee could act when he needed to. It was how he managed to spend so much time around their father without pissing him off.
“Please, have a seat.” Henrietta gestured to three chairs that had been crammed into the narrow space in front of her desk.
The siblings all took a seat, with Adalia in the middle, and the woman who’d escorted them sat on a stool on the other side of Henrietta’s desk.
“As I’m sure your brother has told you,” Henrietta continued as she got settled behind the desk, “we’re only interested in learning the truth. We’d already decided not to press charges.”
Because Alan had made up a story about her being a sad-sack psychopath.
Criminal charges weren’t the only danger, Lee had warned her. They could file a civil suit if they thought there was just cause.
“That’s why we insisted on no attorne
ys being present,” Henrietta continued. “To make this all less antagonizing.”
The other woman remained silent.
“I understand,” Adalia said, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’m eager to tell you my side of the story as well.”
“Good,” Henrietta said, her smile widening. “How about you start with what prompted you to come to the gallery the night you were arrested.”
A bit of fire rose up in Adalia’s chest. “Is that your polite way of asking why I came into your gallery and threw paint on the sculptures?”
Georgie gasped and Lee stiffened.
Sorry, sibs. Addy’s tired of playing the sad sack role.
Henrietta’s smile spread. “That’s another way to put it, yes.”
“Let me give it to you straight, Henrietta,” Adalia continued. “Alan Stansworth is a thief. He instigated a relationship with me after he saw my work at a show about a year ago, taking advantage of his previous position as my instructor to exert authority over me. Then he stole my work by gaslighting me into believing he was putting several of my pieces in storage. I only figured out what he was up to when I showed up at your gallery and saw he’d attached his name to my work.”
“So you resorted to destroying them?” Henrietta asked, her smile gone. “You expect us to believe that you would destroy over one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of your own work to spite him? Why not just bring the issue to our attention so the situation could be resolved in a more civilized manner?”
That stung, because Henrietta was right. In hindsight, there were a half dozen better ways she could have reacted.
“First of all,” Adalia said, “I had no idea my work was worth anything. Alan had convinced me it was mediocre at best but that I should ‘keep trying.’” She used air quotes for the last two words. “Second, he’d been playing mind games with me for several months, building me up only to tear me down.” She narrowed her eyes. “Like any good abuser would do.”
Surprise filled the director’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Adalia said, her head held high. “At the risk of sounding like a hysterical female, I just accused the great Alan Stansworth of emotionally abusing me.” She steeled her back. “Are you an artist, Henrietta?”
The director gave Adalia a weak smile. “While I love creating art, I don’t have the talent to be really good.” She held her hands out. “So I run a gallery. This way I can be surrounded by what I love. Even if I can’t create it.”
Was she suggesting she didn’t believe Adalia had created the pieces because she’d destroyed them?
“Has someone ever claimed something of yours as their own?” Adalia asked. “Something that you poured your heart and soul into?”
Henrietta was quiet for a moment, then said, “No.”
“Suppose you had a piece you were exceptionally proud of and someone else claimed it. How would you react?”
She took a breath. “I’d be upset, of course, but I wouldn’t destroy it. I would rather it continue to exist apart from me than take it from the world.”
This wasn’t going at all like Lee had suggested it would. Then again, Lee and Georgie had expected Adalia to play the meek, submissive role they’d written for her. They hadn’t expected her to hit the ground running.
“Fair enough,” Adalia said, “but tell me, did you have a good childhood? Has life been good to you?”
“Adalia!” Georgie whisper-shouted.
“That hardly seems relevant,” Henrietta said, clearly offended.
“Where does art come from?” Adalia asked.
“The artist, of course,” Henrietta said.
“Of course,” Adalia conceded, “but we both know it goes much deeper than that. Think of the great artists who have contributed breathtaking work to the world. Vincent van Gogh. Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Edvard Munch. Hell, even Caravaggio. They experienced great tragedy and emotional upheaval in their lives. And it showed in their work, because they put their everything into their pieces. Their art was their life. Their reason for living. For breathing. Their names have become synonymous with it.”
“Several of those artists were mentally ill,” Henrietta said in a dry tone. “Are you suggesting you have such an excuse?”
“Now hold on!” Lee exploded, scooting forward in his seat. “That question is out of line.”
“She’s the one who brought it up,” Henrietta said.
“That’s a fair question,” Adalia said, holding up a hand. “And no, to the best of my knowledge, I’m not mentally ill, although I suspect I need a few years’ worth of therapy. But that’s my point. I have a deep emotional well to draw from, so when I put my soul into my work, it carries a piece of me. It’s like little pieces of me are scattered throughout the world. And as long as I know they’re out there, with my name on them, I’m good with that. But then Alan took parts of my soul and tried to claim them as his own. He’d already beaten me down emotionally and stolen my sense of self-worth. I couldn’t let him take my work from me too.”
She took a breath. “Was destroying them the logical thing to do? We all know the answer to that. Should I have tried to set the record straight instead? We all know the answer to that too. But that deep emotional well I mentioned is always there. It’s not a spigot I can turn on and off whenever I create. And when I saw what he’d done…I had to stop him. I had to reclaim myself.”
“By destroying them?” Henrietta asked dryly.
“In my mind, they were already destroyed before I ever threw paint on them. Even if I’d followed the proper channels and managed to do the impossible and prove they were mine—because the photos Lee possesses were taken in Alan’s studio, and we all know it would have come down to his word against mine—I still would have destroyed them.”
Henrietta was stone-faced, but Georgie’s eyes were glassy and Lee’s jaw looked hard enough to crack granite.
The other woman, who had yet to utter a word, swiped at her eyes. “I believe her. I saw her that night. She was clearly upset.”
That’s when Adalia placed her. She’d been at the gallery that night. She was the one who’d called the police.
“She could merely be a woman scorned,” Henrietta said.
“No,” the other woman said softly. “She was reclaiming pieces of herself. Like Horcruxes.”
“Except I didn’t murder anyone,” Adalia said in a light tone, only to be met with looks of horror from her siblings and weak smiles from the two women.
They were all silent for several seconds before Henrietta asked, “Why haven’t you sued Alan Stansworth for stealing your property or tried to file charges?”
“Because I would have had to relive it all over again,” Adalia said. “And frankly, I was not in a good emotional place for months after that.”
“But you’re better now?” Henrietta asked in a softer tone.
Adalia gave her a small smile. “I’m getting there.”
Still, she had to wonder if she’d taken the chicken’s way out by not pursuing a legal route. All she’d wanted to do was hide away and lick her wounds, but now she realized that she’d let him get away with it. Could she find the gumption to go through with the torture a legal case would ultimately bring her? Was it too late? The thought of fighting him should have felt empowering, but the prospect seemed exhausting.
Henrietta shifted in her seat, looking away for a moment, and when she met Adalia’s gaze again, her eyes were friendlier. “I suppose I can understand why you did what you did, although I truly wish you hadn’t destroyed them. The first time I saw them, they took my breath away. I feel like the world is a little bit dimmer without them in it.”
Adalia’s mouth parted in surprise.
“That being said,” Henrietta continued, “I would love to discuss the possibility of showing a new collection.” Then she added with a grimace, “Under your name, of course.”
Adalia blinked. “I’d be open to a discussion.”
“I have an available spot in February,” Hen
rietta said. “I can hold it for you for a few weeks if you’re not ready to give me a definitive answer.”
The Brewfest competition was in March. Adalia didn’t feel right about committing to something so big that close to the competition that sealed the brewery’s fate. But when she turned to glance at Georgie, she found her beaming with pride.
“She’ll have an answer for you soon,” Georgie said. “She’s working in Asheville now, so shipping will be a consideration.”
“I’ll see what we can do to help,” Henrietta said with a small nod.
“Thank you for the offer,” Lee said, “but there has been some interest from another gallery, so she’ll need to take that into consideration as well.”
Henrietta looked a little stricken. “I’m more than willing to negotiate, so feel free to let me know your terms before you make a final decision.”
“I definitely will,” Adalia said, struggling to keep a straight face. Lee had lied through his teeth, but he’d done it so well that Henrietta was none the wiser.
Lee got to his feet. “If there’s nothing else, we’ll let you get back to your day.”
He led his sisters out of the office and out to the sidewalk. They walked a block without saying a word until he ducked into a coffee shop.
“You didn’t do what we discussed, Addy,” he said, his tone that of a lecturing teacher.
“When do I ever do as I’m told?”
“Do you realize it could have ended up backfiring?” he said, then took a breath. “But I confess, it worked to your advantage.”
“And you got to use those negotiating skills Dad paid so handsomely for,” she teased, but the momentary flash of pain in his eyes made her sorry she’d gone there. “I’m teasing, Lee. Thank you. For everything.” She turned to her sister. “You too, Georgie. I couldn’t have done this without either of you.”
“We love you, Addy,” Georgie said. “We wanted to help.”
“Speaking of which,” Lee said. The words seemed to spill out of him. “Are you interested in putting together an exhibit for Henrietta’s gallery? Or having an exhibit at all? There’s no shame in waiting a while if you need to. Or not doing it at all. Whatever you want, Addy. You don’t need to prove anything. We believe in your work whether you ever sell another piece again. But if you are interested, I can help negotiate the terms.”
Better Luck Next Time Page 31
