Love Hurts (16 page)

“I bet she loved them.”

“I got so tired of reading the same bedtime stories over and over that I decided to make up new ones with Jilly as the main character. One night I started, ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl named Jilly—’” Anna laughed remembering her little sister’s surprise and delight. “‘That’s me, I’m the girl in the story’,” Anna said, mimicking a tiny girl’s voice. “After making up a dozen or more stories, I decided to put them together into a book for Jilly’s birthday. I went to Mamma for help.”

Anna remembered the day clearly.

“Mamma, I want to make my stories into a book for Jilly. Do you know how I can do it?”

Mamma was in the kitchen making a cup of coffee. It was rare in those days for Anna to find her outside her studio and she wondered why Mamma didn’t just put the coffee maker in there, then she’d never have to come out as the studio even had a bathroom. Mamma didn’t eat much when she was working, but she couldn’t do without her coffee. Anna looked forward to Mamma’s breaks.

Mamma looked at Anna with a confused face. “A book? Why would you want to make a book?” Mamma couldn’t seem to comprehend time spent on anything other than painting.

“I write stories for Jilly. Stories about her, for her bedtime. They help her calm down and sleep at night.”

Mamma studied Anna. “You made the stories up yourself?”

“Yes.”

“That’s very good, Annabella. I’m impressed with you.”

Anna beamed at her mother. It had been so long since Mamma had used Anna’s nickname. “Would you like to read one?”

“Later, okay. I’ve got a lot of work to do right now.” Mamma put her tiny espresso cup in the sink and left the kitchen. Anna watched her back recede down the hallway, tears blurring the image. She still didn’t know how to make the book.

“She said she was proud of me for writing the stories, but as usual I had her attention for all of five minutes and then she was gone.”

Mel squeezed Anna’s arm.

“In the end, I wrote and illustrated the stories myself. I’m not a great artist like my mother, but I could draw well enough. I took all the stories and pictures and stapled them together into a book.” Anna laughed. “I made a cover out of thick construction paper and glued the pages in. It wasn’t the prettiest book ever created, but Jilly loved it. She saved it in her special box and wouldn’t let anyone touch it. She wouldn’t even let me read from it. She said she liked it better when I made up the stories ‘out of my mind’.”

“That’s a special thing you did for your little sister. You were a mother at such a young age, weren’t you?”

Anna shrugged. “The point is, I never wanted Jilly to feel she didn’t matter, like I always did. My writing was never going to be as important as Mamma’s painting. No one but Jilly appreciated them. So I wrote for Jilly. By the time I graduated I’d written hundreds of Jilly stories.”

“Do you still have the stories?”

“No. Maybe Jilly does, but we haven’t talked about them in years. I gave them all to her and I think with the last book, I gave up on my writing ever being important like Mamma’s painting.”

“You still write. You’re a journalist.”

“I know, but it doesn’t feel the same as the Jilly stories did. I felt so alive when I wrote them.”

“Why did you give up then?”

“Maybe it’s something to do with competing, like you said. If I didn’t write, I didn’t have to feel second-best. So I gave up.”

Mel made a humming sound in her throat. “You gave up. I don’t think Jilly did.”

“What do you mean?” Anna shifted her weight.

Mel waved at the comfortable chairs by the window in the gallery. “Come, sit with me.”

Mel crossed her long legs and clasped her knee between her long-fingered hands. “You felt your writing wasn’t as important as painting. Jilly, on the other hand, was also an artist and very talented.”

Anna nodded in agreement. “Yes, Jilly has crazy talent, but she stopped painting. How is that competition?”

“It’s a passive-aggressive form of competition.”

Anna shook her head. “What does that mean?”

“First Jilly tried to mimic her mother, right? Isn’t that what her earlier work was? Jilly showed me some of her paintings when she first came here. They looked like weak copies of Ms. di Rossi’s work. She didn’t tell me Ms. di Rossi was her mother, just that she’d studied her work.” Mel rolled her eyes, like she couldn’t believe she’d been so naïve. “I could see strokes of genius, but the work lacked life and depth. It felt emotionless.”

“That’s what her teachers always told her. There was no life to her art. I know it hurt Jilly so much.”

“I believe it’s because she wasn’t painting what’s in her heart. Passion denied can destroy a person.” Mel sat back and studied Anna’s face like she was afraid she’d gone too far.

Anna leaned forward. “You’re right. Actually, Jilly has been denying her true passion for far too long. I think it’s eating her up inside.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but it’s been years since I’ve written anything other than a piece for the newspaper.”

“It can’t hurt to try, right? I’ll bet you’ve got ideas rolling around in your mind for a novel.”

The thought sent panic skittering along Anna’s nerves. “Actually, it could hurt. It’s terrifying. What if I tried and couldn’t do it?”

“I know. I know how you feel.”

“How could you?”

“I felt it the first time I ever displayed one of my paintings.”

“So, you’re the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Maybe a little,” Mel conceded, “but I still paint. I just don’t show anyone because I’m not very good.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m an art expert, Anna, I know. But for me, I don’t care. I paint because art is my passion. I display it and tell others about it, educate people. I don’t have to be a famous artist to be happy. I’m thrilled just to keep company with them and dabble in my own little way. Not everyone needs to be famous. Some people shouldn’t be.”

“Maybe that’s me too.”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you sound dubious?”

“Because there’s never been any other option for you. Catarina di Rossi is your mother. It will come out and people will buy your books. It’s the hand you’ve been dealt and you’ll have to live with it. You’re fading into the wallpaper, my friend, and it breaks my heart. Now that I know about your mother, all the pieces finally fit. I understand, maybe not everything, but I have a good idea why you are who you are. You’re a wonderful woman and I love you deeply. But there’s a huge part of you missing. I can see it in your eyes.”

Anna looked at her lap, ashamed.

“Look at me. I wasn’t supposed to say anything and now I know why. But, I love you and I’m going to tell you.”

Anna looked back at Mel. “What do you mean you weren’t supposed to say anything?”

“Catarina di Rossi herself called me and asked me to put on the show. She offered me her painting.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t know why she would pick our small gallery, but I do now, of course.”

“What are you talking about?” Even Anna could hear the shrillness of her own voice.

“She said she had a new painting she wanted to lend to a small gallery. She wanted me to put on an art show and feature it. She said the whole town must be invited.”

Anna sat stunned, her stare never leaving Mel’s face.

“She asked me not to tell anyone where I got the painting or why I was putting on the event, but of course, I had no issue with it. It was the coup of a lifetime for me. I’m sure you understand.”

Anna nodded.

“She wanted you and Jilly to see it, I’m sure of it. Why else would she pick here? Why our tiny gallery? She knows you both live here, even if you didn’t tell her, and she’s reaching out to you.”

Chapter 16

Anna pulled up outside Jilly’s house. She took a minute to collect herself before she got out of the car.

Gregg answered the door and invited her in for dinner.

Anna followed Gregg into the kitchen. Chinese takeout sat on the counter. Matty and Jilly were at the table, each with a full plate.

Jilly looked up and Anna had to hold in her gasp. She leaned down and kissed Jilly’s pale cheek. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.
 

“Auntie, Auntie!” Matty bounced in his chair until Anna gave him a kiss and a hug too. Then he dug back into his dinner. She smiled at Gregg. He smiled back, but it looked a little strained at the edges.
Uh oh, what’s going on here?

“Would you like a plate, Anna?”

“Sure, thanks.”

They ate and talked about inconsequential things. Anna felt anxious to get Jilly alone so she could bring up her talk with Mel, but Jilly ate like a turtle. Anna finished her meal first, even though she’d started much later. Soon, though, Jilly pushed her plate away. Matty had already finished and Gregg had taken him to his room.

Anna helped Jilly clean up the dishes and then asked, “Would you like to go for a walk with me?”

“Actually, I’d like to show you something.”

“Okay.”

Jilly dropped the tea towel on the counter and Anna clenched her fists, resisting the urge to put it away properly. Jilly led the way to her studio.

Anna looked at Jilly’s determined face with surprise. She hadn’t been in there since Gregg first unveiled it and her sister had showed it to her with pride. There was a much different mood going into it this time, although Anna couldn’t pinpoint exactly what kind of mood.

She froze on the threshold. She had never seen a painting like it. It drew her in, though.

“It’s shocking, isn’t it?” Jilly asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, yes,” Anna said. “But in a good way.”

“What?” Jilly turned to her. “What do you mean a good way?”

Anna approached the canvas and studied it. “It speaks to me strongly.” She examined it and let her words flow, just like Mamma always did. “A part of my self recognizes it. I’ve felt that way before. Like I could scream with all my might but no one would hear me.

“The colors are rich, full of emotion. I see anger, but I also see sadness, depression, and small spots of happiness. It’s not all negative emotion, in fact the negative emotion is trying to overtake the positive, but it’s not succeeding.” Anna stepped back and turned to Jilly, satisfied with her assessment.

Jilly didn’t respond, just stared at Anna, disbelief on her face.

“What, Jilly, what is it?”

“You like it?”

“Are you serious?” Anna asked. “I love it.”

All the stiffness went out of Jilly’s body and her face began to light up with hope. “I thought it was horrible, that it would repel people. I wanted to show it to you, I don’t know, I had to show it to you. If you were disgusted by it, I don’t know what I would do.”

“Actually, it’s a breakthrough,” Anna said in her serious older-sister voice.

“How?”

Anna could tell Jilly had thought the same thing, but she wanted it confirmed by her sister.

“You’ve never painted what was inside you, Jill. You are crazy talented, but you’ve only painted what you thought was
nice
or
acceptable
. Mamma knew that too.”

Jilly closed her eyes and shook her head. “Let’s not talk about her, okay?”

“Okay, for now. But, this,” Anna waved her hand at the painting. “This is you. This is what you should have been painting all along. You were repressing your real passion. I don’t know if it will always come out like this. This painting was your subconscious finally saying enough!”

Jilly smiled, a look on her face Anna had never seen before. Her eyes were soft and sparkly, her mouth turned upward just a little. Her face no longer had the sharp outline she normally carried. Even the stiffness had gone out of her shoulders.

Anna pulled her little sister into her arms and hugged her. “I’m proud of you, Jilly-girl. Unbelievably proud of you. You’re going to be famous, you know.”

Jilly squeezed Anna hard and then pulled back. “How do you know I’m going to paint again?”

Anna laughed. “You will.”

Gregg poked his head into the room. “Isn’t that an incredible painting?”

“Yes!”

Jilly looked at Gregg, a bewildered look on her face. “I thought you hated it.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The look on your face when you came in a while ago. After I finished the painting.”

“I was worried about you, silly.” Gregg put his arms around Jilly’s back and turned her toward the painting, his chin resting on the top of her head. “It’s really good. Astonishing, in fact. I think you should show it to Mel. I bet anything she’d want to put it in the gallery. You’d get a good dollar for it, baby.”