Chapter Thirteen
Melissa
The last week has been one surprise after another. Jeremy and I are together. He says he loves me. I’m cautiously optimistic because I know how quickly things can fall apart. He thinks he wants to be a father to my son, but I’m worried he’s made the decision impulsively. He lost his girlfriend. My biggest fear is that I’m just a rebound from that. I know that helping me has been a way for him to distract himself and do something good while he tries to sort out his feelings. I’m afraid that he’ll heal and leave me behind. He may not plan to, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
His confession about his job shocked me a little, but I’m not really worried about it. Child molesters don’t deserve my sympathy, and he explained that they don’t often have to go to extremes. My only concern is how it might affect my son, so I am looking forward to talking to his friends’ wives.
I’m not going to think about any of that today though. Today, I’m going to my first exhibition since I was seventeen years old. I’m so excited, I can hardly sit still. Being confined to a wheelchair is annoying, but I’m not complaining. It was such a thoughtful thing for him to do. I really need to find a way to repay him for his kindness. Maybe Justus will have an idea.
Jeremy leaves me to get ready for my special night, and I take my time dressing up for the first time in years.
Fortunately, I did buy one maternity dress, a simple black dress that isn’t hard to get into or out of. My feet have been swollen lately, so heels are out of the question, even though I won’t be on my feet. Instead, I opt for black ballet flats. I haven’t shopped for much jewelry, but I do have a pair of silver earrings that I can pair with my silver necklace which displays a crystal birthstone. My sister has an identical necklace. Our father bought them for us when we were young, since we were both born in April, two years apart. My gaze keeps catching on the necklace as I put my makeup on and throw my hair into an updo. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see Kelly again, and it tears me apart every time I realize it.
It terrifies me that she may not even survive them. After seeing what they were capable of before, killing all those innocent people in a shopping mall, I don’t doubt they’ll carry out some kind of violence again. And my sweet sister, who couldn’t stand to kill a bug when we were young, will be right in the middle.
As screwed up as they have her head, I’m not sure she wouldn’t kill for them.
“Mel?”
Jeremy’s voice pulls me away from my dark thoughts, and I force a smile before he sees me. I’m not putting a damper on this night. All that past baggage will be there tomorrow for me to brood over. Tonight, I’m going to go to my exhibition with a gorgeous man on my arm. Well, pushing my chair, but close enough.
When he steps into my bedroom, I bemoan the fact that he’ll be behind my wheelchair tonight because I don’t want to take my eyes off of him. He looks amazing.
His dark suit is obviously tailored to show off his assets, and the man has no shortage of those. Good god, it’s a three piece. Call me strange, but a man in one of those vests has always drawn my eyes. But this man makes all I’ve seen in the past wither away.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. I just stare at him, hunk struck.
“Mel, are you okay?”
“I’m going to need to see you without the jacket tonight.”
Chuckling, he strides over to where I sit beside the bed. “You have a thing for suits?”
“Only when you wear them. Fuck, Jeremy.”
He brushes my hair back over my shoulder and beams down at me. “You look beautiful. Every guy in the place is going to be jealous.”
I feel like a whale wrapped in a pretty tarp, but I’m not going to argue. My palm sweeps over his clean face. “You shaved.”
He shrugs. “Special occasion.” He turns his head back and forth. “Don’t you like the boyish me?”
“You’re too damned handsome no matter what you do or wear.” It’s true, but I do kind of want to stomp my feet and demand he return those bristles to his face. I loved the scruff.
“Are you ready?”
“Let’s go.”
#
Jeremy seems perfectly comfortable at the high-class event, and I remind myself that he grew up with money. He was probably trained from birth to attend these kinds of things. No matter how many I go to, I’m never going to feel comfortable. Watching people mill around and discuss my work is terrifying, humbling, and thrilling all at once.
Like most artists, I live my art. It comes from parts of me I’m not even familiar with. Every drop of paint is imbued with my joys and fears. The strokes reveal my deepest desires and greatest fantasies, explore my shameful faults and shortcomings, and lay bare my frailties and weaknesses for the whole world to see. It’s freeing, euphoric, and absolutely brutal. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.
“Ms. Sanders!” Penelope calls, rushing over to greet us. I warned her I’d be in the wheelchair and wouldn’t be staying for the whole event. “I’m so glad you could come.”
She leans down where the other guests can’t hear her. “It’s a raging success. Sold out already. We’ve had quite a few offers on ‘Mistake’ if you’ve reconsidered selling?” I can see the hope and dollar signs in her eyes.
Damn. Jeremy hasn’t seen the painting of him I did after the night he threw me out of his house. With the bed rest and everything, I totally forgot about it. “Let me think about it for a bit,” I tell Penelope, glancing back at Jeremy.
Understanding spreads across her face and she excuses herself. “I’ll just let you mingle.”
Jeremy pushes me to the first of my paintings. It’s rough and primal, the first I created after my newfound freedom. It brings back the memory of that moment, how it felt to splash house paint on the giant slab of wood, while my mind was in overdrive at all the changes taking place in my life.
The tree grows from the wood, and seems to melt around the edges, giving it a gloomy look, but the green leaves reach upward, showing the hope I felt for the first time in so long. I was surprised Penelope wanted to include this since it’s far from professional, not painted on a canvas, nor created with oils or watercolors.
I’ve always kept my studio private, and most of these were moved before Jeremy and I started seeing one another every day, so it’s the first work of mine he’s really seen.
“Damn, Mel, I had no idea,” he says, coming around to stand beside me and shaking his head.
“That a tree could look sad?” I tease.
“That you were so talented. I mean, I don’t know anything about art, but this…I could stare at it for hours. I want to take it home.”
His words fill me with joy. All he has seen from me is weakness and struggle. I’m proud to show him a part of who I really am. Who I was before I became the pregnant woman. A sticker beside the frame shows that it’s already been purchased.
I reach up and squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
“The dot means it’s been sold, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, actually, Penelope just told me they’ve all been sold, except one that I didn’t offer for sale. And I need to talk to you about that.”
A small crowd builds around us, so we move to the next painting, a more serene landscape of the lake. He wheels me to a small bench, then takes a seat so we’re side by side. “You need to talk to me about a painting?”
“Yeah, because it’s sort of…a painting of you.”
He blinks and a small smile leaps to his lips. “You painted me?”
“I did. And I should’ve gotten your permission to display it, but we weren’t really talking then. I’m not going to offer it for sale unless you’re okay with it.”
He turns his head, looking around the room for the painting. “It’s the featured piece, in the center of the next room,” I explain.
It’s almost funny how quickly he weaves us in and out of people to get to the painting, but my stomach is one big knot. It isn’t a smiling photograph of him we’re heading toward, but an emotional snapshot of the first time our worlds crossed.
There’s quite a crowd gathered around, but he cuts through it like butter, until we’re standing in front of his face.
All the feelings of that day come rushing back, the humiliation and pain, anger, and regret. That’s how I know it’s good. Maybe not to everyone, but to me. It makes me feel, puts me right back into that place and time.
It seems like hours pass while he studies it without a sound. The people around us have plenty to say, commenting on everything from technique and use of color, to the emotions it evokes. So far, no one has noticed the subject of the piece is standing near them.
His voice cracks when he finally speaks. “When did you paint this?”
It doesn’t occur to me not to answer honestly. “The day after I spent the night at your house.”
He doesn’t comment further, until Penelope approaches us. “Have you reconsidered?”
“Sell it,” he says.
My heart throbs as I realize he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. It makes sense, I suppose. No one likes being brought face to face with their own pain and suffering, which shines clearly from his likeness.
Looking up at Penelope, I nod, and she flashes a smile, rushing away.
“I’ll be right back,” Jeremy says, and walks away before I can answer.
So, that went well.
When he returns, we move around the room, mingling and talking with the patrons. I spend a few minutes in a question and answer session, then retire to one of the back rooms for a break. I don’t know why I feel exhausted when I haven’t done anything but talk from the comfort of a chair.
Sweat starts to pop out on my skin, and my head throbs in tune with my heart. I suddenly feel weak and shaky.
Jeremy’s voice sounds like it’s travelling through a tunnel when he asks, “Mel, are you okay? You look pale.”
The whole room jerks from one side to the other, and my hands grasp at the wheelchair arms. It’s the strangest sensation, to feel like you’re moving when you’re sitting still. “Dizzy,” I gasp out, before vomiting down the front of my dress. My only good maternity dress, I think, and it’s my last thought before everything goes dark.