Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) (27 page)

“How are you?”  He fired his question at her.

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”  He exhaled and she could hear the relief in his
voice.  “I was concerned.”

“Thank you.  Other than this huge crater inside of me, I’m
fine; anyway I think so, or at least I’m going to be fine.  I should’ve
realized how much room he took up in my life.”  A brief nervous laugh escaped
her.  “I didn’t expect to feel so empty.”

“I’m sure as the days go by and this all sets in, you’ll
feel a lot of different emotions.”

“That thought is unsettling,” she said.

“I didn’t mean it to be.”

“I know, and I know that you’re right.  I just wish I
could see what’s coming up around the next turn.”

“The good news is that at some point things will feel
normal again.  You’ll get down to the business of living your life, one that
doesn’t include him.”

Ben’s calmly spoken words reassured her.  She settled back
into the sofa cushions, a tiny grin tugging at her lips.  “I hope you’re
right.”

“You will.  You’re on your way.  You’re painting again. 
That alone will fill up a lot of the void.  And Florence; I was doing some
reading up on the city; that’s a whole treasure trove to explore.  An art
lover’s paradise.”

Her grin faded.  She didn’t want to talk about Florence. 
Why did he bring it up?  She thought about him flipping through books on
Florence.  Was he trying to figure out what the city offered her that he
couldn’t?  Was he assessing his competition, or was he merely curious about the
place she’d call home?

For her benefit, he hid whatever pain he felt behind an
encouraging voice to soothe her.  Now she wanted to comfort him, even though
she knew there was nothing she could do to take the sting out of his pain
except to stay in New York. 

But the part of her that wanted to stay wasn’t strong
enough to resist the part that wanted to run away.

“I look forward to painting,” she said, moving away from
the conversation about Florence.

“I hope someday to see your work in the galleries here. 
You’re good enough, Tess.”

“Thanks for being such a big fan of my work.  At least I
know I might have one painting sold.”

“How did you spend your day?”

“I worked, then took the afternoon off and spent it
alone.”  She didn’t mention Kenyon’s interruption; after all, he was an
unplanned and unwelcome part of her day.

“I swung by Times Square and didn’t see a party.”

She smiled, remembering their conversation when she’d
first told him about Randall Wright.  “You know, it seemed like a good idea at
the time.  But when the day was actually here, dancing on someone’s grave just
didn’t feel right.  It’s strange, Ben, I believe he got what he deserved, but I
didn’t get out of it what I’d always imagined I would. 

“His death doesn’t change anything.  It couldn’t undo the
life I’ve lived.”

“You might not feel it, but you sound at peace.”

“I’m getting there.  I suppose the only thing his death
can change is the hold his life had on my mother’s.”

“Has she contacted you?”  Ben asked.

“No, but I expect her to.  I’m surprised there wasn’t a
message from her already.”

“Have you thought about calling her?”

“That thought terrifies me.”

“Think about doing it.  It’s your last hurdle.”

She wanted to tell him she thought there was one more, but
that involved talking about the two of them, and that thought terrified her as
well.

“I’m not sure exactly what day you’re leaving,” he said,
“but if you have the time to squeeze in a bite to eat, a drink or even a few
walks around the block, I’d like to see you before you go.”

She liked the idea.  She wanted to know he was going to be
all right.  Eventually, he would be; they both would.  Seeing his face and
seeing him smile might give her closure.

“I leave Saturday.  Tomorrow night I’m having dinner with
my boss, Mr. Mazzaro, and my mentor, Francesca.  I just learned today that
they’re sending me to Rome first to spend a few days at the office there.  I
have a feeling it’ll be a working dinner as well as a bon voyage.  Does Friday
work for you?”

“I have a show to review at Suzanne Hopkins’s studio, but
maybe we can both find an hour or so afterward for a drink.”

“My, my, she’s a busy art junkie.  You just reviewed an
opening at her studio the other month,” Tess said without mentioning Kenyon’s
name.

“She’s one of the movers and shakers around here, and
believe me no one who’s anyone in the art community will complain they were
just there and pass up the opportunity to be seen again.”

“Who’s the artist?”

“Actually, it’s a special show; a compilation of about a
dozen artists, and none of them small fish.  I don’t know how she convinced all
those egos to share the stage with each other, but she did.  It should be a
good show.”

“Sounds intriguing.  Well, let’s say we have a drink
afterward.  I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of that show myself.  I can meet
you there.”

“First night is invitation only, so I’ll leave your name
at the door.  Suzanne won’t mind someone piggybacking on my invitation.  I’m on
her good side after the review I did of the last show she put on with Kenyon
LeMere.  How’s nine sound?  That’ll give you an hour to meander through the
show, and we can be out by ten.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

“You’re going to work right up to the very end, aren’t
you?”  Sharon leaned over Tess’s shoulder while she worked on a notebook-sized
painting.

“I can’t leave Francesca with all of this work.  She fell
so far behind tutoring me.”

“I’d love to help her get caught up.  I’m hoping Mr.
Mazzaro will see the wisdom of finally letting me take a crack at this.  I do a
poor imitation of an administrative assistant.  He must know that by now.”

She chuckled.  “Oh, he does.”

“Then my plan is working.  So, will you hurry up and go to
Florence so I can have your seat?”

Tess grinned.  She’d miss Sharon, too.  “Are you going to
be able to concentrate on learning all of this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“A certain Irishman.”

Sharon giggled.  “As long as he’s not sitting next to me
while I work, I’ll be able to keep my eyes and my hands on my job.  Now that
you’ve brought him up, I’m going to spend the next half hour having hot flashes
thinking about him.”

“Good luck with him.”

“You mean that?”

Tess paused, lifted her fine-tip brush from the painting
and glanced over her shoulder at Sharon.  “I do.”

Sharon straightened.  “Thanks.  I was starting to think
you didn’t like him.”

Gianni Mazzaro’s baritone boomed through the cavernous
room as he bellowed Sharon’s name.  They both looked up.  He marched toward
them.

“Oh no,” Sharon murmured.  “My plan is working a little
too well.”

“Sharon,” he snapped.  “Do you expect me to watch the door
as well as answer the phones while you interrupt others back here?”

“There’s someone here?”  Sharon looked surprised. 

Tess looked down at her painting, hiding her amusement at
Sharon’s fearless response. 

“Your mother is here,” he said.

Sharon poked Tess in the shoulder.  She jerked her head up
and looked back at Sharon, but Sharon pointed her chin toward Gianni.

He tucked his hands in his suit coat pockets and rocked
back on his heels.  “I said your mother is here.” 

“Me?”  Tess asked.

“Sí.  Mamá.”  He shook his pinched fingers in the air for
emphasis then glared at Sharon, looking more melodramatic than angry.  “Would
you mind relieving me?”

“You’re doing a good job,” Sharon smirked as she walked
past him.

“Grazie,” he said sarcastically and followed her.

Francesca appeared.  Tess hadn’t even seen her walk over
until she was standing right over her.  “This is unexpected?”

Tess gaped at the floor, numb.  “What’s she doing here?”

“We could venture a dozen guesses, but it is best if you
go out there and find out for yourself.”  Francesca’s words were absent of
reassurances, but she gave Tess’ knotted shoulder an encouraging squeeze.  “You
can use the conference room up front or you can take her somewhere.”

Tess hardly felt her own footsteps in her zombie-like walk
through the studio.  Her mother stood in the lobby gazing out the window.  She
was thinner than Tess recalled, not that she could see her frame beneath the
silver-colored fur draping her body, but her face told on her.  With barely
enough skin covering her cheekbones and jawbone, it looked as if their sharp
edges would cut through her pale skin.  Sometime during the past few years,
she’d dyed her hair a platinum shade of blonde instead of allowing it to turn
gray as her father had.  An oversized black leather bag hung from a strap on
her shoulder.

“Mrs. Olsen,” Sharon called from her desk.

Tess’s mother turned around with a smile that looked like
it would tear her paper-thin facial skin.

“Wright.  Mrs. Wright,” she said, then turned her smiling
face toward her daughter.  “Tess, oh Tess, you look beautiful.”

“Hello, Alish.”

She shook her head and strode toward her with her arms
out.  “Call me Mom.  I can’t get used to anything else.”

Tess returned a halfhearted hug and stepped back as soon
as Alish released her.  “I didn’t expect you.”

“Is that all you can say after how many years…what is it,
three, four?”

“Five.”

Alish crinkled her brow and contemplated the answer. 
“Well then, that’s a long time.  I hope you think it’s a pleasant surprise.”

“Sharon?”  Tess looked behind her and found the
receptionist soaking in the baffling exchange.  “We’ll be in the conference
room.”

She escorted her mother out of the lobby.

“What do you think?”  Alish twirled, modeling her coat
while Tess shut the conference room door.

“I’m not into the dead animal thing, but I’m sure you’ll
get a lot of use from it in Florida.”

Alish chuckled at her daughter’s sarcasm and swept her
hands down the front of her coat.  “So, I’m not practical, but I had to do
something with the advance my publisher gave me.”

“How about invest it?”

“Out of all my children, you were always the practical
one.”  Alish stretched out her arm to admire her fur-clad limb.  “It’s not that
impractical.  They’re sending me on a promotional tour in February.  I saw the
schedule and there are lots of states where this will come in handy.”

“What do you want?”

Alish dropped her to arm to her side, her face suddenly
sullen.  “You don’t sound at all excited to be reunited after all these years.”

“I wasn’t prepared to see you.”

“You have to prepare yourself to see your mother?”  Alish
exchanged an equally perplexed look with her daughter.

“Considering the circumstances, yes.”

“You’re right.”  Alish pouted and bit her lip.  “He was my
life.  What am I going to do without him?”  She gasped and hurried her hand
over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, then lifted her hand to say, “I’m
sorry, this happens every time I try to talk about him.”  She covered her mouth
again and walked around the conference table, composing herself.

Tess slowly lowered herself into one of the oversized
swivel chairs and watched her mother’s trek around the table.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have to go on
that damn tour and talk about us.”  Alish used her index finger to dab her wet
eyes, careful not to smear her makeup.  “It’s a good thing the ink in books
doesn’t run.  They say it’s supposed to get easier over time, but I don’t know
how that’s possible.

“Tess, he was so brave, right up to the very end.  I was
so proud of him.”

Tess dropped her head and stared at her reflection on the
glossy tabletop.

“I know,” Alish groaned, “it’s hard to believe one could
be so brave in the face of death.  But he was.  He did it for me.  He didn’t
want me to hurt for him.  He was unselfish to the end.  But how could I not be
hurt?  He was my prince charming.”

“Please, stop!” 

Alish froze, then slid a legal-sized envelope in front of
Tess.  “He wanted me to deliver this to you.”

Tess looked up.  “What’s this?”

“I don’t know.  The last time I was allowed to visit with
him, he told me the warden would have an envelope for you and to make sure you
received it after his death.  Since it was his final wish, I thought I ought to
personally see to it that it was fulfilled.”  Alish took the seat next to her
daughter. 

“The warden gave me the strangest look when I asked him
about it.  It was almost as if he didn’t want to give it to me.  When he
finally did hand it over, he said it should’ve been mailed days ago but that
Randall had requested through his lawyer that it not be mailed; that I was to
receive it after his death.  So, here I am without wasting a moment.  I took
the first plane I could get out of Florida.”

Tess stared at the envelope addressed to her at work. 
She’d left her work address with the warden in case Randall Wright decided to
invite her to his execution.  He hadn’t and she wondered what final good-byes
were hidden inside.

“Are you going to open it?” 

They both stared at the envelope as if waiting for
instructions.  Finally, Tess snatched it up, tore it open and removed the
letter inside.  She read it and then slowly shook her head.

“It looks official.  What is it?”

She handed it to her mother, who took it and quickly
scanned it.

“An invitation to his execution?”  Alish waved the letter
between them.  “What is this all about?”

Tess sat back, resting her hands in her lap.  “I visited
him over Thanksgiving to ask him to invite me to his execution.”

Alish sighed while browsing the letter again.  “I wish
you’d been there.  I could’ve used your support.  That was so thoughtful of you
to think of me.”