Local Girl Swept Away (21 page)

I had to admit, it was a scene I'd been imagining: the four of us back together again, stitching up our wounds, putting everything back the way it used to be. And it was true Charlotte wasn't in that picture. Could she be?

“When it comes to Lorna, you're still ten years old,” Char said, her face tight and twisted. “You'd do
anything
for her, wouldn't you?”

I should have realized Lorna's return would stir up Charlotte's old jealousies. She was right that Lorna's disappearance had been terrible for Finn and Lucas and me, and I
didn't
entirely understand why she'd had to do it that way. But she was back now, and I couldn't turn away from her. Is that what Charlotte expected me to do?

“Char,” I said, pleading, “she's my best friend.”

Charlotte threw back her head and looked up into the sky. “I was waiting for you to say that. You haven't changed at all.” She walked away then, her backward glance freezing me to the bone. The shrieks of hungry gulls echoed her accusation.

As the gallery began to fill up, I was grabbed and hugged by people I'd known my whole life and by people I hardly knew at all. It was so overwhelming I was almost able to push Lorna to the back of my mind. Almost.

“I did not know you were such an ar
teest
,” my mother's friend, Sal, said, smacking me lightly on the hand. A whole herd of Mom's friends had shown up with her, women I'd known forever, all of them dressed in oversized flowery shirts as if they'd decided together this was the only outfit that would do. Had my mother asked them to come? Begged them? They seemed a little lost wandering through the two rooms, nodding their heads at the strange cut-up images of the town they'd lived in all their lives.

Al Anthony, one of my father's fisherman friends, stalked around the gallery, his six-and-a-half-foot frame allowing him to see the pictures over everyone else's heads. Finally he came up and shot a finger gun at me. “I told your dad you were somethin' else. I told him.”

And, oh no, Mr. Carver was here, too. The high school art teacher from whom I'd purposely never taken a class grinned at me over his three chins as if I were a side of barbecued ribs. “I'm so proud of you,” he said, and I could tell he was taking a certain amount of undeserved credit for my success.

By six-thirty the place was so full I couldn't see my photographs at all anymore, and I'd completely lost track of my mother. All the newly arrived Fellows had shown up, looking a bit lost, and a sampling of local artists, some celebrated, some self-proclaimed, sipped wine from plastic glasses while scanning the walls with their laser vision. It would have been unnerving even under ordinary circumstances, and today had been anything but ordinary.

I wondered if Charlotte would come and was glad to see her arrive with Lucas and his dads. Fortunately, Simon and Billy were chatty enough that no one but me noticed how quiet Charlotte was.

“I've been looking forward to this all week,” Simon said, kissing my cheek. “You are on the move, kiddo, and we knew you
when
.”

I tried not to look at Charlotte as Billy complimented the dull outfit I threw on in desperation at the last minute. My mother, in her Lane Bryant tunic, looked more fashionable than I did in gray pants and a dark blue cardigan sweater. (I'd stuffed the bright pink scarf from Elsie into my backpack, but now that I was here, I wasn't sure I wanted to stand out any more than I already did.) If Charlotte had helped me get ready, I might have put together something a little quirkier, more daring, but after our argument at the beach, I couldn't ask her.

Not that I thought her anger was fair. I
liked
Charlotte—Lorna coming back wouldn't change that. After all, I wasn't a child anymore. But my relationship with Lorna was deep and wide—it felt
ancient
. Lorna came first. Period. If Charlotte couldn't accept that, well then, maybe our friendship
was
over. I was pretty sure anyone seeing the two of us this evening would assume we were barely even acquaintances.

As I was pulled from person to person, I somehow managed to skirt the wine and cheese table where Finn was busy uncorking bottles. I was afraid my face alone would give away the secret I couldn't tell. If I opened my mouth to say anything at all to him, everything I knew might spill right out.

“This is so awesome! Aren't you psyched?” Tess asked. She danced around me enthusiastically, and then bounced off across the room in sparkly ballerina flats. Just a few years ago Tessie would have been padding around the gallery in her stocking feet or even flannel pajamas, everyone's favorite mascot. I kind of missed that little girl. Anyone seeing her now, wearing a tight JSAC T-shirt, her eyes thick with black liner and metallic dust, would think she was much older than thirteen. Suddenly I was blinking back tears, appalled at how close to the surface my emotions were. Like the days just after . . .
Don't think about that! Just concentrate on here, now.

Finally there was a moment I wasn't being pulled at by anyone, and I found myself looking around the room, studying all the young men, wondering who might be the one Lorna loved. Could it be Kip Michaels, the young reporter from the local paper who didn't seem to own a pair of shoes that weren't Birkenstocks? Or that painter who stayed on after his fellowship ended last year, the one who called himself “Jag”? Or maybe it was someone from out of town. Wellfleet or Orleans. But how did she meet him? Did I know him? Was he a summer person? A tourist? My imagination touched down on every guy in the room, which gave me a headache. I couldn't imagine Lorna with anyone but Finn.

I'd been too agitated to eat anything since that half a croissant early this morning, and now my stomach was growling so loudly the couple next to me turned and stared. No doubt it was cowardly to want to escape the people that came to see your work, but I needed a break, so I ducked into the office. There, in the shadowy light of a desk lamp, Elsie and Cooper sat huddled together.

Elsie jumped up from her chair, her wine-red skirt grazing her ankles, long, silver earrings peeking out from beneath her hair. “There you are!” She gave me an excited hug. “Isn't this fabulous! What a crowd!”

I couldn't keep myself from sneaking a glance at Cooper who was leaning back as far as the office chair would allow, his legs sticking straight out in front of him. His smile was full and confident, and just for me. I was so grateful there was at least one person—one important person—for whom Lorna's return wouldn't have any particular significance.

“We were just talking about you,” Cooper said with a lazy sweetness. I could feel the blush creep up my cheeks all the way to my hairline, and I was thankful for the dim lighting.

“I'm getting ready to give my little speech,” Elsie said. “And I need you. You're the star of the evening!”

I leaned back against the wall. Why did anyone ever want the spotlight to shine on them? It was much too bright. “Oh, Elsie, I don't think I have enough twinkle left to be a star. I'm not used to everybody looking at me. It makes me nervous.”

“Well,
get
used to it, Jacqueline.” Cooper narrowed his eyes at me. “Ninety percent of stardom is
acting
like a star.”

I groaned. “But I hate being the center of attention. They all want to talk to me and I don't know what to say to them.”

Elsie thought for a moment. “Did you bring your camera?”

“It's in my backpack, in the closet.” I almost hadn't brought it, but it didn't feel right to leave it home. After all, I wouldn't be having the show without it.

“Get it,” Elsie said. “It's your shield. If you're taking pictures, no one will bother you.”

I got the camera and hung it around my neck. “I don't usually take pictures of people though.”

Cooper stood behind Elsie and gave me a secret smile. “First time for everything. Remember?”

I froze where I stood. Cooper was flirting with me right in front of Elsie! What if she picked up on it? But she grabbed my hand, oblivious, and led us back into the gallery where someone had set up a small platform with a microphone in one corner. Elsie stepped up to the mike, dragging me behind her.

“Can I have your attention, please?” she said in her melodious, but commanding, voice. The talking subsided and people turned toward her. “I want to introduce you all to my talented young friend whose work is on display here tonight.”

Elsie put an arm around my waist. “She's a local girl—born and raised right here in Provincetown. Tonight you lucky folks are the first to see her remarkable photographs hanging in a gallery. This is her first show, but I predict there will be many more to come. Ladies and gentlemen, Jackie Silva.”

Elsie started clapping and so did the entire audience. I was stunned to be standing up in front of a roomful of adults, all of whom were staring at me and applauding. What was I supposed to do now? Did I have to make a speech? Why didn't I ask Elsie before we got up here? As the applause died down, I could feel myself starting to panic, and I scanned the room, searching for help. When my eyes collided with my mother's, way in the back of the room, I realized that she was mouthing something to me. She was saying . . .
thank you
.

Of course. I stepped to the microphone and took a deep breath. “Thank you so much,” I said. “I'm so grateful to Elsie and to the Jasper Street Art Center for the opportunity to show my work, and to all of you for coming to see it. I'm just . . . flabbergasted.” The audience tittered kindly. I looked at my mother and repeated her words. “Thank you, again.”

I stepped back to another brief round of applause, and then, before the crowd could return to their interrupted conversations, Elsie grabbed the mike again. “The other order of business this evening is an announcement. I'm sure you all know how much the Jasper Street Art Center has meant to me since Rudolph and I opened these doors twenty years ago. However, as of this evening I will be stepping down from my administrative position here in order to concentrate on my painting.”

There were a few gasps of surprise, but Elsie kept on going. “I'd like you to welcome the new director of the Jasper Street Art Center, a man who has helped us grow for the past eight years, and who has himself grown from a youthful Fellow into a well-respected writer—our own Cooper Thorne.”

This time the applause was enthusiastic, accompanied by a few whistles. I couldn't help but feel proud that someone so well-liked and respected liked
me
. Cooper jumped up onto the platform, bowed deeply, and laughed his sweet laugh. He gave an overview, with jokes, of his years at the Center, and within minutes, he owned the room. People smiled and laughed, and when he finally wrapped up his talk, they cheered appreciatively. I couldn't help feeling embarrassed by the difference between our two speeches. It was obvious how much younger and less sophisticated I was than Cooper. Did that bother him?

We stepped off the platform and Cooper unplugged the mike while people came up to congratulate him on his promotion. Thank God for Elsie's suggestion that I hide behind my camera. That would help me get through the rest of the evening with less anxiety.

As I passed through the crowd, I snapped randomly, sometimes framing the shot, sometimes not. It was a different way of working for me, but it was kind of exciting. The pictures might be composed of a chin, two hands and a pair of wine glasses, or a window with a blond ponytail swinging in front of it. No one interrupted me as long as the camera was up to my face. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed juxtaposing unrelated elements: elbows, eyebrows, shoes. I imagined the ways I might use the images in my collages.

As the crowd thinned out, I saw my mother putting on her jacket in the doorway and hurried over.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I'm tired. I figured you'd want to go out celebrating with Charlotte or Finn or somebody. You can get a ride home with one of them, can't you?” She patted my shoulder awkwardly and turned to go.

Cooper,
I thought. Maybe I'd celebrate with him and he'd drive me home. Still, I wasn't going to let my mother slip away so easily. She had to say
something
about the show. “Did you enjoy yourself?” I asked.

“Oh, Jackie, I don't know beans about art,” Mom said, but she stopped trying to hustle out the door. “I'm a fisherman's daughter and a fisherman's wife. I've never even been to an art show before. I didn't know what to expect.”

“Really? Never?” It was hard to believe that someone who grew up in Provincetown, a place with at least two dozen galleries and a small, well-respected museum, had never been inside any of them.

“Wasn't the kind of thing we did, your dad and me. I always figured I wouldn't know what I was looking at,” she said. “But I can see why people like looking at pictures. It's fun and kind of exciting. Or maybe I just feel that way because these are my daughter's pictures.” She gave me a hesitant smile. “Maybe when the show's over, you might want to hang a few of them in our house.”

“In
our
house?”

“If you want to,” Mom said. “That way I can look at them some more.”

Nothing anyone had said to me all night meant more than that. “I'd love to, Mom.”

“Good.” She zipped her jacket, but hesitated at the door. “Being here tonight, seeing all this,” she said, waving her hand around the room, “I had a feeling maybe I
could
see your future after all.” Before I could think of a response, she gave me a speedy hug and was gone.

The opening was over and I didn't know whether to feel grateful or sorry.

Elsie and Cooper corked the leftover wine bottles while Finn put the remaining fruit and cheese into plastic containers. Rudy grabbed a chunk of watermelon from a plate and said, “I'm taking you all out for dinner.” He gestured grandly to those who were left, which seemed to include Charlotte and Lucas, whispering in a corner.