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“Mother,” Jed interrupted. “Have you seen the pictures Laura picked out for the show?”
“Not yet.” Maria paused a moment, then took a deep breath. “I cannot bring myself to see my darling boy’s work. I know I will be devastated all over again. It’s all I can do to make it through each day. Planning this retrospective has given me something to focus on. I’m sure opening night will be almost more than I can bear.”
For a moment Laura thought Maria might start crying. She’d been inconsolable at the funeral. Laura had visited a few times since, spacing the visits longer and longer apart. One day they would move back into the realm of gallery owner-artist, but for the time being, she was destined to play the part of grieving fiancée. Half the time she felt like such a fraud. The other half, she genuinely grieved and wished fervently that Jordan Brodie was still alive and she’d never walked in on him that afternoon.
“They are not up to your standards,” Jed said.
Maria waved her hands in the air as if that was of no importance. “Probably not yet. I’ve had twenty years more experience than he had. But the talent was there. Given time, he probably would have been one of the leading painters of the twenty-first century.”
Laura blinked. Maria was really living in a fantasy world. “No,” she said involuntarily.
Maria and Jed looked at her.
“What?”
Laura shifted position slightly, glancing at Jed in appeal. “The paintings are nothing like what you do, Maria. I don’t believe Jordan had the discipline you have to continue to grow in his work.” She stopped short. If what Jed said earlier was true, Maria needed to see the paintings to know her precious son would never have achieved her level of success.
Unless he stopped drinking, of course. Maybe his entire life would have been different had he not wanted to party more than anything. Why hadn’t she realized that at the time? She’d enjoyed their clubbing as much as he had. But she would not have continued forever. Would he ever have settled in marriage? She’d never know.
“Come by the gallery and see them,” Laura continued. “Help me choose which frames to use for the different subjects I’ve chosen. If you don’t like them, we have time to select others from his inventory.”
“Oh, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I shall be able to be at the showing, yet for my poor son, I shall be there. But I don’t believe I can see them more than once so soon after his death.”
“You need to view them before the show,” Jed said. “They aren’t very good.”
“How dare you besmirch your brother’s work! From the time he was seven or eight years old, he showed great promise. We all know you have no artistic talent, Jed. Don’t belittle what you can’t do yourself!”
Jed’s eyes narrowed as if in anger. But his voice remained calm when he spoke, “I can’t draw worth a damn, but I do recognize raw talent, and it’s not there.”
The waitress arrived with Maria’s sandwich.
“Wrap it up, I’m leaving,” she said imperiously. She rose. Jed rose. Laura watched bemused as they stared at each other for a long moment. Maria spoke again,
“I expect the show to proceed as planned. I trust Laura to have selected the best of his work and once the community sees the paintings, everyone will realize the loss to the art world his death caused. You’re the executor, figure out how to have those paintings be available for the show.” She followed the waitress back toward the restaurant proper to get her wrapped sandwich.
Jed sat and looked at Laura.
“She’s heading for a big disappointment.”
“The paintings aren’t that bad,” Laura said diplomatically.
“They aren’t that good. She expects to see masterpieces. Instead she’s going to see mediocre work. Are those the best?”
Laura nodded, fiddling with her iced tea glass.
“He liked to have a good time, didn’t want to be responsible, accountable, or grow up. And there was no need, as long as Mom subsidized him,” Jed said with frustration.
Laura said nothing. She began to eat again, but the sandwich tasted like cardboard. As soon as she could, without looking as if she were fleeing, she wanted to leave.
“So when can you come out to do the appraisal?” he asked.
He was relentless. “Not before Thursday afternoon,” she said. Today was Tuesday; if he was in such a rush, maybe he’d not want to wait that long. She began to think it would suit her better to have another appraiser handle the task. She felt battered from all the drama of the day.
“Fine. What time?”
“Two?” Drat. She should have said she was busy until next week, or next month. Or just flat out told him no. She glanced at him. She didn’t think many people told him no.
“I’ll be there. I have to clear out Jordan’s things. See if there is anything else worth selling. Most of his clothes I’ll donate. Do you have a recommendation where?”
“There’s a thrift store in Provincetown that supports a children’s group. If I were doing it, I would donate there.”
“What of his things do you want?” he asked gently.
Laura shook her head. “There is not one thing I can think of I want.” She was not truly entitled to anything, even if Jed thought differently. She had ended their relationship. Had her ending the engagement caused Jordan to crash his car? She hoped not, but the nagging doubt remained.
She tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “I have to get back to the gallery. Thank you for lunch. I’ll see you Thursday.” Unless an excuse presented itself before then so she could get out of doing the appraisals without questions being raised.
Jed rose with her and waited until she walked away before sitting down again.
Just as Laura was about to step away from the deck, she glanced back. He sat gazing out over the harbor. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of loneliness. She hesitated. Maybe she’d misjudged Jed Brodie. There was no denying the tug of her heart as she debated returning to the table. For what? To see if she could cheer him up? Nothing could do that. And any close association could lead to a revelation she didn’t want made.
Turning, she headed back to the gallery, planning her next appointment. And then she’d turn her attention to appraising the paintings that were currently awaiting framing.
She’d call in Jasper Mullins, as well. He owed her a favor and could give a second opinion. Not that she questioned her judgment. Hugo’s instructions over the years and her own experience since gave her confidence in her decisions. But for what she owed Jordan and his parents, she’d see if she could get another opinion.
Jed stayed at the table long enough to finish his meal. He hadn’t eaten regularly in the last couple of days with the time zone changes and three different flights. He was hungry and tired. And not looking forward to winding up his brother’s affairs. He wished things had been different. He loved his mother. He didn’t always understand her, but he knew what she considered important. It had never been about him, always about Jordan. He’d come to terms with that situation years ago.
His father was also in a dream world most of the time, sculpting from marble or granite—revealing what the rock hid, he said. He only surfaced when it was time to sell the piece. He drove a shrewd deal and his pieces were now sought after, by private collectors, as well as modern museums.
The clean salt air felt refreshing after the constant scent of rotting vegetation that permeated the area around the Amazon River basin. He had become used to the smell over the months, only now realizing how foul the air seemed in comparison.
Tossing some money on the table, holding his suit jacket with one finger, he slung it across his shoulder and headed back to his hotel. He’d call the office, let them know he was extending his visit. This was not something he could handle in a day or two.
To appease his mother, he’d let the showing take place. How that would affect probate, he’d have to find out from the attorney. Once he’d unpacked and changed into cooler clothes, he’d head for the cottage and assess what needed to be done there. He couldn’t believe he’d never see his brother again. That he wasn’t going to be called upon to bail him out of yet another scrape. Or hear some convoluted plan on how Jordan would make a million dollars.
They hadn’t been close, but he missed him like hell.
What had his life been like here? Jed had never visited Jordan’s cottage. Would the place remind him of Jordan? Or would it be so unknown to him no reminders would arise? He hoped for the latter. He wished Jordan had written his will differently. Jed wished he could still be in the Amazon Basin sweating over delivery of the next supply ship, haranguing the local laborers to work faster or the blasted bridge would never be complete. Wouldn’t that have antagonized his mother, to not even come home once he had learned of Jordan’s death?
Yet there was nothing to be done. Jordan was gone. It was hard to grasp he’d never see his brother again. Never find that magic moment when they’d be close as they had been as young boys, before the obvious favoritism of their parents had caused the schism. Death was very final.
CHAPTER THREE
LAURA sat on the sole lounge chair on her minuscule balcony, gazing at the narrow wedge of the sea visible from her third floor flat. The evening was pleasant. She’d put on a baggy T-shirt to sleep in, brought out a glass of white wine and propped her feet on the railing. No one could see her as she sat in the darkness. It was one of her favorite times of the day. As the ocean breeze cooled the night air, she let her thoughts drift. Time and again they returned to Jed Brodie and the ambivalent feelings she had around him. She didn’t like him. He reminded her of what she wanted to forget. Yet she felt sadness for his loss. Despite his relationship with his brother, it had to hurt when a sibling died. Laura was an only child, but she could use her imagination.
She knew better than to give into her softer side. Jed wasn’t Jordan. A man less needful of someone fussing over him she hadn’t met. She’d fallen for Jordan fast and lived to regret it. Could she trust her judgment about men? Especially Brodie men?
Yet she was not one to sugarcoat things. She’d been attracted to him. His tanned features looked rugged and masculine. The way he’d looked at her with those dark eyes, as if she was the only thing to focus on, she had one hundred percent of his attention when he looked at her. She shivered in memory.
Her phone rang. She went inside and got her portable, returning to the balcony as she clicked it on.
“This is Laura,” she said, settling down again.
“Is it too late to call?”
She recognized Jed’s voice instantly. Suddenly she was fully alert, on edge. Why was he calling?
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”
The darkness hid all things. She could talk to him and keep her secrets.
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
“Jed?”
“This is probably a bad idea,” he said.
“What is?”
“Calling to ask you about Jordan. You probably have a million things to do.”
“Actually I’m sitting on my balcony enjoying the night air. Where are you?”
“In a hotel room without a view. One of the last ones left and lucky to get that, according to the desk clerk. The television has nothing on it to warrant my attention. After eighteen months in Brazil, you’d think I’d have plenty to catch up on. I don’t know anyone in town except my parents and you. And I guess that’s a tenuous connection at best.”
“What can I tell you?”
“How he was these last few months. What he was interested in. Besides you, of course. Was he happy?”
She took a sip of her wine, stalling. She didn’t want to remember the last few months. “I think Jordan had the capability of being happy no matter what. He never seemed to take anything seriously enough to impact his outlook on life. It was one of the things about him that appealed to me. I worry about the gallery, worry about keeping a steady flow of quality artwork coming in and selling. Worry about taxes and the weather and lots of things. Jordan never did. And when I was with him, I’d forget and have fun.”
It was what she missed most about him, she realized.
“Yeah, he had an optimistic outlook that didn’t quit,” Jed said slowly.
“He used to make me mad sometimes, never thinking the worst would come. But he was so often right, the worst didn’t happen. He had a lot of friends, none close that I know of, but plenty to hang out with, go clubbing, or sailing. He loved being around people—which surprised me a little,” she said slowly. She was again coming to realize some things that should have given her clues to the real Jordan.
“Why’s that?”
“Most of the artists I know are content to be their own best friend. Jordan had scads of friends. He was not a loner.”
“We were different in that aspect. Actually we were different in many ways, not just that. He always seemed to have a flair for making friends. From the time we were in elementary school together, he had a circle of friends for any occasion.”
“Did you?”
“I had a few friends. Hung on the outskirts of his groups if I didn’t have anyone to hang out with. He was generous that way.”
“He was freehanded. I wish…” Laura trailed off.
“What?”
“That I had appreciated how he was before he died. I think I wanted him to change, and of course no one can change once they are a certain age—unless they wish it. I loved his carefree attitude, but wanted him to be more practical. I loved going to parties with him, yet yearned for quiet evenings at home. What does that say about me?”
“That you wanted a balanced life, not all one-sided.”
“You make that sound nicer than I think it was.” Not that any of it mattered once she’d discovered him in bed with that woman. She closed her eyes, wishing she had another memory to supplant that one. It was the worst one she could remember him by.
“You’re at the hotel?” she said a minute later. “Why aren’t you staying at your parents’ house? Or staying at the cottage? Your mother rents that cottage, you could stay there.”
“Let’s just say it’s easier to come and go if there are no family dynamics to get in the way.”
Laura frowned. What did that mean? “Did you get a lot done today?”
Again there was a pause. Laura could hear rustling in the background. Suddenly she wondered if he had gotten ready for bed as she had. Was he in boxers, or nothing at all? Jordan had slept in the nude, did his brother?
Her heart raced as her thoughts veered away from the conversation. Dragging them back, she chastised herself for the wayward ideas. Jed was Jordan’s brother!
“I went through his clothes, packed them all in bags. There weren’t as many ghosts as I expected,” Jed said.
“Ghosts?”
“Memories. We were inseparable as boys. We began to go our separate ways in high school and after our first year in college acknowledged we were too far apart in our philosophies of life to keep in close touch. I bet I only saw Jordan a half dozen times in the last decade.”
“Your choice, or his?” she asked. Jordan had not seemed to miss his brother. Had that been only a facade? There was so much she didn’t know about the man she’d once thought she’d marry. Another clue they weren’t suited. Why hadn’t she picked up on them at the time?
“Mutual.” He was silent. “Actually more on my part than his. I was tired of—” He stopped abruptly.
“Tired of what?” she asked.
“Cleaning up after him. It’s not important. Water long over the dam now.”
“It’s hard to hold on to anger when the person is gone, isn’t it?” she said slowly. “He was wonderful at first, then changed a little. Now I’d give anything to have him back—warts and all.” Could she have forgiven him as he’d begged? Once trust was shattered, she didn’t know how to rebuild it.
“Some things seem insignificant after all,” Jed said. He took a breath she could hear over the line.
“Changing the subject, what did you do this afternoon?”
“Instead of coming to the cottage, do you mean?”
“You had plans when I showed up. I was merely curious as to what.”
“I met with a client who loves to collect certain glass sculpture. She and I have been working together from the time I first joined Hugo. She’s a lovely elderly lady who has enough money to indulge herself.”
“Sell her anything?”
“Not today. I had nothing I thought suitable for her. But we had a lovely tea and I promised to keep my eye out for just what she wants.”
“That all?”
“There’s more to running an art gallery than sitting around and waiting for people to wander in and buy,” she said. Did he think she didn’t work hard at her job?
“I didn’t mean that. As I said, just curious. Sometime you’ll have to tell me all that’s involved in running a successful art gallery.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Jordan’s place was dusty. Did he have a maid or something? I can’t see my brother cleaning a house. Or am I wrong?”
She smiled, feeling the ache fade. “Actually I can’t see Jordan cleaning house, either. Planning for a blowout party, yes. He had a cleaning service once a week. Maybe your mother suspended the service after his death. I know she hasn’t been to the cottage since he died. She’s grieving so it hurts to see her so sad.”
“I know. It’s going to take her a long time to get over this, if she ever does.”
Laura wondered if it would take Jed a long time to get over his twin’s death. She wished she knew him well enough to ask.
“Do you want me to bring you your things from there? Or will you pick them up on Thursday?” he asked.
Laura felt as if she’d been slapped. She knew nothing of hers remained at Jordan’s. “There’s nothing I want,” she said slowly.
“Nothing?”
She didn’t recognize the odd tone to his voice. Should she have taken whatever was there and not raised questions?
How to explain she’d cleared out everything she’d had there the afternoon she’d walked in on Jordan and that young woman in his bed. Any feminine apparel had to belong to the other woman.
What a tired cliché. The hurt and betrayal rose again. She was so angry with Jordan she could slap him, if he were still here. How could he lie to her so?
“I want nothing—donate everything. Maybe I should have sorted through the clothing,” she said. She would have found anger a driving force to get everything packed up and donated. Anger at herself for being so gullible and falling for a glib charmer. And anger at Jordan for using her and not being honest. Anger that he’d been seeing someone else while professing he loved her. Anger at shattering the dreams she’d built of their future.
Anger that she had not proved to be what he needed as she’d once thought he was what she needed.
“It wasn’t that hard. I packed up the clothes out of the closet and drawers. The clothes still in the dirty hamper I just tossed. The rest I figured were clean. Maybe you can give me the address of the thrift shop and I’ll drop them there tomorrow.”
Quickly she ran through the things she needed to do the next day. Guilt made her volunteer, “I could go over with you if you want. It’s not hard to find if you know Provincetown, but a bit tricky to give directions as I don’t know the street names, just how to find the place.”
“I thought you were busy until Thursday afternoon,” he said.
“I said that’s when I could start the appraisals. The process takes time and concentration. I have a bit of free time tomorrow afternoon, take it or leave it.” She already regretted her hasty comments. Let Jed find his own thrift shop to donate to.
“I’ll take it. I’ll take you to dinner afterward in appreciation for your help.”
“No need.” She didn’t like the fluttering that sprang up at the invitation. This was not some man she could become interested in.
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