On The Dotted Line (32 page)

In
an amazing act of defiance, she wrapped her arms around Argyle’s neck. “No. You’re
nothing but a hater of the arts. I have found a unique man who doesn’t want me
to gain a fortune. He thinks I’m beautiful.”

“You
are very beautiful,” Argyle mumbled.

“Thank
you.” She patted his shoulder.

Then
in a more incredible move, his father got down on his knees in front of her. “Lillian,
I think you’re beautiful. I’ve always thought you were the most magnificent
woman I ever laid eyes on.” He took her hand and pressed it to his heart. “For these
past days I’ve tried to figure out what to buy you for you to take me back and
prove my love for you. But then I realized nothing I purchased would do the
trick, but instead I had to give something up and in the process do right by my
son.”

“What
do you mean?” Tears glossed her eyes.

His
father held the envelope out to him, but spoke to his mother. “I love you, and
I love our son.” He looked up to Randolph. “I’ve made many mistakes, but as of
this moment I’m turning the bank over to him. He’ll be one of the youngest men
in the country with his position.”

Randolph
scanned the papers. His original contract had Junior heading the firm until he
retired, but with the new one, the bank would be his once he placed his
signature on the dotted line.

“Hopefully,
one day he’ll learn to forgive me and realize I thought I was doing the right
thing.” His father took a breath. “I was wrong and I ruined everything. These
weeks without you and your mother were the worst of my life. If that doesn’t
define love, I don’t know what does.”

“Van,
do you mean that?” Tears streamed out of his mother’s eyes.

“I
love you, Lillian. I don’t remember ever not loving you.”

“I
believe this belongs to you.” Argyle relinquished his hold on his mother

“Oh,
Van.” She flung her arms around his father’s neck. “I love you too.”

With
his mother in his arms, his father stood and held his hand out to him. “Hopefully,
I still have a job working for you.”

He
never remembered his father saying he loved him or his mother, or the man ever admitting
he was wrong. As if in a trance, Randolph shook his father’s hand. “Of course.”

“Let’s
go home, Van. You look just awful.” His mother attempted to straighten his father’s
jacket. “Did you see the art our son made? He’s the one doing the murals that
appear all over.”

He
stiffened, waiting for the backlash, talk of risks and wasting time.

“We’ll
discuss everything back at the house, Randolph.” His father’s voice possessed
power once more. “Including where to hang your work. For the record, I don’t
hate art.”

“Mr.
Angel Man, don’t worry about the art thing. My woman’s club would be more than
happy to finance it, and we don’t need collateral, we just want first dibs on the
art. We love to be on trend.” She held her hand out.

Argyle
took her hand, bent down and kissed the back. “You will have first choice.”

“Goodbye
now.” She giggled. “See Van? I do know about good investments.”

“Yes,
dear.” Junior kissed her once more.

Everyone
watched his parents leave.

“What
happened to no grants?” Randolph glanced around the shambles of the room.

“Your
mother is not the government.” Argyle turned away.

“When
do we get to do a showing?” Slate lifted one of Randolph’s pictures.

“Please
forgive me. I think at the end of the day I need to remember to be true to the
art and live my vision. We all want to make a name, be someone.” Argyle walked
the perimeter of the room. “These are really incredible, I never would’ve
guessed.”

Maybe
in a way he envied Argyle and his freedom of expression. Yes, everyone wanted
to be someone, have a name. He gave Willow her name, wanted her to keep it. Randolph
let the men examine the art and went to his desk, glancing at his cell phone in
hopes of any message, even from Peter. Yes, he stalked Willow and he also had
his personal assistant keeping an eye out for her. Though he couldn’t think of
the exact word to add on to his already illustrious titles he bestowed upon
himself, he wished he still possessed the one title he had…husband. He put the new
contract aside. Strange how life-changing a piece of paper could be.

“I’m
done entering all the ingredients.” Willow turned her new laptop in Peter’s direction.

“Great.”
Peter pushed himself back from the railing around the apartment’s balcony and
returned to her. “Now, once you enter the quantity you’re making, the
spreadsheet will calculate your cost per unit. You can take that number and
enter it over here, and then this column will calculate your markup and then
you will know how much to charge for each SKU.”

She
processed his words, or tried to. Along with learning to drive, she was
determined to get her business under control and not undo anything Randolph
created. A few days ago Peter walked into the shop asking for more tea. They chatted
a bit, and when she expressed concern about an upcoming order for one of
Randolph’s mother’s friends, he offered to help. She invited him to the apartment
for lunch. It was good to have someone around even for a few hours. “What does
SKU mean?”

“It
means stock keeping unit. It’s just a number or code we assign to each product.”
He leaned in toward the screen. “You did really good.”

“How
did you learn all this?” She furrowed her brow at the screen.

“Baptism
by fire with Randolph.” He typed away on the keyboard.

“When
you decided you didn’t want to be a doctor, what did you want to be?” She
leaned back and watched him.

“I
never wanted to be a doctor.” Peter stopped, looked up at the sky and inhaled. “I
think I just wanted to be successful.”

“How
do you measure that?”

“I
thought by money, but now I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “It’s that
whole unfulfilled dreams thing. You were right about that.”

“The
tarot cards?” She got up and poured him a glass of lemonade hoping he would
fill in on his own without her prodding though she always loved to hear what people
thought about the results of any reading. Since she walked out of Randolph’s
life, she avoided looking for answers when the answers were right in front of
her.

“Yeah,
I don’t know what my dreams are anymore, but I do feel unfulfilled. I keep
searching but I always miss something.”

She
put the glass next to him and sat back down. “Maybe the dreams are missing.” Or
maybe dreams were overrated. Maybe they were unattainable, and therefore destined
to remain dreams. It seemed every night she dreamed of Randolph in some way.
She wanted her slumber time messages to be a sign, and each morning she awakened
with the sense something would happen, but nothing ever changed.

He
gulped down the drink and nodded. “You were also right about the arguments.”

She
winced, hoping he didn’t take her reading as some self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Elizabeth
and I finally decided to end the misery.” He turned to her.

“Sometimes
when there’s so much misery, when it ends it’s almost a relief.” It would have
been much easier if she didn’t love Randolph and was relieved when they split. Of
course, it would be much easier if she didn’t love Randolph now. While she
tried to go about her life, even move forward, she seemed stuck. She needed to
let go and couldn’t and therefore landed in limbo. All her life she had been
taught to go with the flow, but she struggled when it came to Randolph. Her
husband, or ex-husband, battled the flow every chance he could. He might be at
war with himself, but he moved forward.

“I
agree. I actually feel a little lighter.” He gave her a huge smile and leaned
toward her as if to tell her a secret. “Do you want to know what the unexpected
change was?”

“Did
you memorize every word I said?” She couldn’t stop her smiling.

“The
whole thing sort of freaked me out. I relived it a few times.” He chuckled.

“Tell
me.” In Peter’s case the change seemed positive.

“I
was the one who did the leaving and for the first time I meant it.” He shook
his head.

“That’s
so good. I know it’s still hard, but when you know it’s right it’s liberating.”
She looked down. The problem with her and Randolph was that it didn’t seem
right that they weren’t together. There was no sense of freedom as she imagined
when they first got married. Instead, their separation seemed more like a
fracture with no brace. They were broken and couldn’t heal.

“As
you said, I needed to change my path and I did.” He stood and stretched. “You
even predicted a catastrophe.”

She
got up as well. “I don’t think I’m that good.”

They
went to the balcony railing and looked out over the boats in the marina. If
Randolph were here they could simply look out at forever together.

“I
think you were right about it being a sign. I think the catastrophe happened with
my family when I quit. Everything else has been the residual from that fall
out.” Once more he looked out. “I think something is telling me to deal with my
family before there’s another catastrophe. I didn’t fight hard enough for them.
I didn’t face them. I didn’t say all the things I wanted to. I just walked
away.”

At
his words, her chest constricted and the sick nausea that had come and gone for
weeks, reappeared. It was almost as if Peter relayed to her the last few weeks
of her life. “Peter?” Out of nowhere tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her
vision but at the same time clearing things up.

“What’s
wrong?” He took her by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Randolph.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears fell anyway.

He
gave her a hug. “Let it out.”

“I
did all that. I didn’t fight, didn’t face him, didn’t say what I wanted.” She
cried into his shirt, but managed to look up at him. “In the end, I walked
away.”

“What
are you going to do about that?”

“He
told me to leave. Paid me off.” She shrugged, wishing she had one tiny hint Randolph
wanted her, still cared, something beyond the intuition, something concrete,
maybe even signed in ink. “But it always feels like he’s around.”

“That’s
because in a way he is.” Peter stared into her eyes.

“Not
that way.” When at last she got everyone to understand her metaphysical world,
she needed reality.

“No,
seriously. Why do you think I showed up at your shop?” One side of his mouth
curled up in a smile.

“I
don’t understand.” She searched his face for answers.

“I
wasn’t supposed to tell you, but he has been following you or had you followed
since the day you left. The other day he called himself some animal wimpy
stalker or something like that, and when I asked if he wanted me to stop, he
just threw more money at me and told me to continue.”

“That’s
real. It’s real.” Her stomach lurched. She pushed him away and leaned way over
the railing. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I
shouldn’t have said anything.” He held her hair out of her face and rubbed her
back.

The
sea air washed over her. She waited until the wave passed and she lifted her
head. “No, I needed to hear it. I wanted to hear it.” No doubt Peter handed her
the proof she wanted, or did he? Was Randolph only checking on her out of some
obligation?

“You
okay?” He brushed her hair away from her face.

“Actually,
for the first time since I left, I think I am.” Randolph always fought for them
and she just went with everything. If she wanted him, she needed to show him
she loved him. “I need to act.”

“What
are you going to do?”

“I
don’t know yet. He always used to ask me what I wanted, and it’s about time I
answered.” Her mind went off in a million different directions, but she had
what she needed to go after her dream. Maybe they weren’t only dreams after
all.

“What
do you want?” Peter guided her back to the table.

“I
don’t want to be afraid.” She already lost him and survived. “I don’t want to
always wonder.” Going with the flow had its place, but for the first time she
realized she might have to walk against the tide to get what she wanted, even
if it ended in catastrophe.

“Don’t
get married.” Randolph shut his eyes as Slate hung one of his paintings in the
gallery.

“Yeah
well, after watching you all these months, Jade and I decided to go for it.” Slate
chuckled. “Take a look.”

He
opened his eyes and glanced at the artwork of a weeping willow tree.

“We
both love women whose names can be depicted by pictures.” His father walked
over to the picture of the lily, took it off the wall and handed Slate a roll
of cash.

“And
now you can say you are a professional artist.” Slate counted off some bills,
and handed Randolph his percentage.

He
shook his head. Once his mother declared
avant-garde
art sexy, his
father joined him in investing and appreciating. Willow always told him to look
for signals and messages from the universe, but unfortunately the universe put
him on hold and the flow he was supposed to go with went stagnant. “I’m going
to have to do something.” He groaned.

“Yes
you are,” his father and Slate said in unison.

“No,
I need to find out why she didn’t even fight for us. Was everything just a
means to an end?” These questions repeated themselves over and over in his mind.
No wonder he couldn’t sleep. He handed Slate the money. “I can’t part with the
willow tree.”

“I
had a feeling.” Slate took it down. “Cool boots by the way.”

Yes,
he finally wore the boots. He took in the image of the willow tree. He literally
made the tree weep, dripping with tears. For the first time, he signed his name
to a piece, making it sacred. “I have to do something.”

“Yes
you do.” Slate repeated.

“You
don’t understand. She never signed the divorce papers. Technically she is still
my wife. If she’s my wife, I demand to know what is happening!” He slammed his
fist into his leg.

“I
say you go grab her by the hair and drag her back to that mean old mansion of yours.”
Slate patted him on the back.

“Or
maybe I just need to let her be and stop ruining her life.” Randolph raised his
arms toward the ceiling. “The universe needs to tell me what to do.”

As
if on cue, the gallery door opened, and he turned to find Peter walking toward
them.

“I
normally wouldn’t interrupt, but this came for you.” Peter held out a manila
envelope. “It’s from Willow.”

The
size of the envelope was perfect to hold a signed contract or signed divorce
papers. If the way his stomach bottomed out was any indication of how Willow
felt when he presented her with a similar envelope, no wonder she simply left. “Well,
I asked for a sign.” He took the envelope from Peter and glanced around the gallery.
At least he had his friends and family here. His actions hadn’t allowed for her
to have similar comfort.

For
a moment he stared at the envelope, relishing in the last few seconds he would
be a married man. He created the situation and he would pay for it, maybe her
lack of fight said everything at the end.

“Son.”
His father came over.

“It’s
fine. It’s better this way.” Without further hesitation, he tore the envelope
open and took out the contents. He squeezed the bridge of his nose at the sight
of the divorce papers. “It’s over.”

“There’s
more in here.” His father took the envelope and turned it over. Some small,
ripped up pieces of paper spilled out on the table followed by one intact
smaller envelope. “These are pieces of a check.”

Her
final act to him was not cashing the check, which meant he left her with
nothing except an apartment. “Damn it.” He snatched up the second envelope,
tore it open, and pulled out what appeared to be an invitation.

Mrs. Willow Van Ayers

requests the honor of your
presence to her wedding vow renewal to

Mr. Randolph Emerson Van Ayers
III

If accepted, ceremony will take
place as soon as this invitation is read

at the location you first
proposed to me.

His
heart sped and he flipped through the divorce papers, the unsigned divorce
papers. “Vow renewal?”

“I
think that’s your sign.” Slate laughed.

“I
manipulated her.” He shook his head.

“Do
you love her?” his father asked.

“Yes.”
Once more he read the invitation.

“Then
let’s go to your wedding.”

Not
wanting one more second apart from her, he dropped the card and rushed out the
back of gallery, skidding to a stop at the scene in front of him.

Practically
everyone he knew, or at least everyone who mattered, had gathered in the alley,
including his mother, his grandfather and grandmother, Nan and Vincent, and
even Millicent and Jeb, but most importantly Willow. Dressed in a simple white
dress with flowers in her hair, she would always be the most gorgeous woman in
the world, or the universe.

Somehow
in record time, they decorated the alleyway with an aisle and flowers, blowups
of his murals, and everything.

Randolph
kept his focus on his bride and walked to her, the energy seeming to change
with each step he took. Willow would call it a connection, and he would as
well. “You used your name on my invitation.” He took her hand.

“You
said I could have it, but I can only have it with you.” She laced her fingers
in his.

“Are
you sure?” He shook his head. “I made you love me.”

“That’s
what you’re supposed to do.” She stepped closer. “And I was supposed to fight
for us.”

“You
did. Look at all this,” he whispered. Her actions in planning another wedding
told him everything about her and about them.

“I
planned everything. We even have cake.” She let out a light chuckle. “I wanted to
show you how much I love you, and I wanted to start fresh.”

Unable
to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Will you marry me?”

“First
I have a question.” A smile took over her face. “If we ever have a baby and if
it’s a girl can still name her after you? Can she still be the fourth? I don’t
want to buck tradition and I know it wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Willow?”
He pulled her closer. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I
don’t know. We’ll have to find out together.” She wrapped her arms around his
neck. “I suppose we do get a Part Two.”

“We
have as many parts as we can fit into our life.” When everything started, all
he wanted was what he felt was his due, but it all seemed worthless compared to
what he had ahead. “Now we’re ready.”

“Wait,
one more thing.” She shook her head.

“Why
do you always make me wait to get married?” He laughed.

“This
will be the last time.” She reached out and his grandfather handed her a paper.
“You have to sign something.”

“No
more contracts. We don’t need them.”

“No,
it’s time for your reading, you’re receptive now.” She held the paper and a pen
out to him. “You always said your signature was sacred.”

Without
even looking, he signed the paper.

“Oh,
look here, large signature, initials larger than the other letters.” She
studied the paper. “You have pride and self-confidence, and you’re very goal
oriented.”

“Strange,
I think it says, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He
turned them both toward his grandfather. “After all, I signed on the dotted
line.”