Angels in the Snow (14 page)

“You okay, kiddo?” Jeannie glanced her way.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“The show went pretty well, I think.” Jeannie sighed. “Well, no big sales as yet, but sometimes it takes time. People need to go home and think about it, look at their walls, and the next thing you know a painting is speaking to them—they wake up the next morning certain they can’t live without it.”

Claire nodded. “Hope you’re right.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jeannie tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “You seem a little depressed or something.”

“Just overwhelmed, I think.” Claire swallowed. “You know, after being alone—in the quiet—all those weeks, well, I . . .”

“Oh, I get it. Culture shock. Kind of like when the hermit comes back into society for the first time. Yeah, I bet tonight was a little taxing for you. Personally, I love these openings, but I must admit I feel a little frazzled afterwards. Still, I wouldn’t give up this life for anything.”

Jeannie continued to talk with enthusiasm, mentioning names of wealthy or important people—names that went right over Claire’s head—people who might buy a painting or tell a friend or whatever. Claire wasn’t really listening. She felt incapable of soaking in one more word, one more thought.

“Thanks for everything,” she told Jeannie, climbing out of the car with weary relief. “Sorry I’m not much company.”

Jeannie waved her hand. “Don’t worry, kiddo. You did great tonight. That’s what really matters. Now get some rest. Sleep in until noon tomorrow. Take it easy.”

Claire nodded and closed the car door. As she slowly walked up the three flights of stairs, she remembered Michael. Hopefully, he’d been okay while she was gone. She hurried to unlock her door, suddenly worried that something might be wrong. But there he was, trotting happily toward her.

“Oh, you sweet thing!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “How I missed you!”

Then she took him outside for a quick walk. The fog was thick tonight, not unusual for the Bay Area in December, but
when she looked up at the streetlight now shrouded in heavy mist, she found herself missing the star-studded sky in the mountains—and the snow. She also found herself wondering where Garret and Anna were staying tonight. In the city? Or perhaps they had family or friends in a nearby suburb? Or did Garret have a house himself? She’d never thought to ask where they lived when not staying in the cabin. And once again she wondered if there was a wife, a mother, somewhere nearby. She turned and began walking quickly back to her apartment, irritated at herself for wondering on these things. What difference was it to her anyway? Garret and Anna
were
nice people, yes, and they had helped her in a time of dire need. But the relationship would surely go no further than this. Why on earth should it?

Back in the apartment, Claire realized she was pacing again. She went over to the bookshelf, which was still only half filled; boxes of books and various memorabilia were stacked nearby. She picked up a framed photo, just a candid shot that she’d managed to catch at Jeremy’s soccer game, not long before the boating accident. Father and son were both smiling as they celebrated the win with a victory hug. Jeremy’s hair curled around his forehead, damp with sweat, and his eyes shone, big and brown—the mirror image of his dad nearly twenty years earlier, or so his paternal grandma liked to brag. And Claire had no reason to doubt her. What a pair they were! And, as usual, she felt that old familiar pain in her chest when she gazed at the photo, only now it felt slightly different. As if the knifelike sharpness had left her or become dulled somehow, what with the passing of time and emotions poured out along the way. She knew it was right, and yet it felt
totally wrong. Like a betrayal even. As if she had sneaked something behind their backs, or thrown away what was valuable, or simply run away.

“But you’re the ones who are gone,” she said aloud. “And you were the ones so bound and determined to go deep-sea fishing that day, even after I told you the forecast didn’t look good. You were the ones with all the confidence and bravado, ready to take on the weather and bring home your trophy fish to hang on the wall above the fireplace.” She set the photo down and sighed. She no longer felt angry at them, the way she used to during those rare moments when she allowed herself to remember that day and the way they so easily brushed off her warning.

She walked over to the window, the one that offered a view of the bay, on a clear day that is. Not tonight though. “I forgive you,” she whispered into the glass that reflected her own image, although it was them she was seeing. “And I realize it’s not your fault.” She felt her eyes filling, but not with tears of rage this time. “You never intended to go out there and die. And you never meant to leave me all alone like this. It’s just the way life happened.” She took in a deep breath. “And I release you both now. I release you to celebrate eternity—to fly with the angels!” She smiled, tears slipping down her cheeks as she imagined the two of them flying with the angels, just like she’d done in her dream. And in that same moment, it was as if a heavy coat of iron mail began sliding off her shoulders. And she lifted her arms like wings, and leaning her head back, with fingers splayed, she took in a slow deep breath, then exhaled. And it tasted just like mercy!

“Henri would love for you to make another appearance,” said Jeannie. “If you can manage it, that is. The weekend traffic was pretty good, and the ‘starry night’ painting sold, and we’ve had several promising bites on others too.”

“That’s great,” said Claire. Cradling the phone between her head and shoulder, she returned to her work in progress and picked up a brush.

“I know you’re not that crazy about public appearances, but Henri really thinks it would help to keep this ball rolling.”

“Yeah, I’m not much into that whole meet the artist sort of thing, but I’m willing to do my part”—she daubed a little more blue in a corner—“if you really think it’ll help the showing.”

“Oh, you’re a darling. How about both Thursday and Friday nights? That’s when most of the traffic comes anyway, plus it’ll still give me time to run another ad in Wednesday’s paper.”

“Sure.” Claire twirled the paintbrush between her fingers. “And I might even have another painting for you.”

“You’re kidding! Oh, I can’t wait. What’s it like? Can you tell me?”

Claire studied the nearly completed work. “Well, as you can guess, it’s angels again. But this time it’s more of a seascape, more blues than whites; it’s hard to describe really.”

“Oh, it sounds wonderful. Let me know when to have it picked up.”

“And Jeannie,” Claire considered her words. “I think it might be my last.”

“Your last?” Jeannie gasped. “What? What are you saying? You’re not—I mean, I know you were depressed—”

Claire laughed. “I don’t mean my last painting—ever! I mean my last
angel
painting. I just have this feeling that I’ve reached the end of my angel era. I’m ready to move on now.”

“Oh.” The relief was audible. “Well, that’s okay, kiddo. To be honest, I’m not even sure how big this angel market really is, but, hey, we’re giving it our best shot. And so far, we’re not disappointed.”

“Good. I think you can probably send someone by to pick this one up by Wednesday.”

The week progressed slowly for Claire. She found herself missing the snow and the mountains and, to be perfectly honest, Garret and Anna. Although she kept
telling herself this was completely ridiculous. Good grief, she barely knew them. Had only experienced two very brief and somewhat unusual encounters with them. But still, she missed them and wished for the chance to know them better. Not only that, she felt fairly certain that Michael was homesick too. He seemed to be lagging lately, and his tail didn’t wag nearly so often or so vigorously as before. The city was a poor place to keep a dog like him. She wondered if he might not even be happier in his old, albeit slightly neglectful home, penned up with the other dogs.

She stooped and stroked his head on her way out the door. It was her last night to make an appearance at the showing. “I’m sorry, boy, I have to go out again tonight. But I promise to take you for a nice long walk tomorrow. We’ll go to the park and chase sticks or something.”

She tried not to notice the lights and decorations for Christmas as she drove through the city. And, although it wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous year had been—her first Christmas without them—she still felt lonely. Her father had invited her down to Palm Springs again, to join him and some of his retired friends for the holidays, and she’d told him she’d think about it, but somehow she just didn’t think that was where she wanted to be this year. Not that she knew exactly.

Once again, Claire followed Jeannie and Henri around the gallery—the congenial marionette, jumping whenever they pulled the strings. She greeted potential customers, all the while smiling and conversing, trying to appear relaxed and comfortable when she was anything
but. Still, there did seem to be a good-sized crowd moving in and about—even better than the week of the opening.

“Word’s gotten around,” whispered Jeannie as the evening began drawing to a close with only a few stragglers remaining behind, picking at what remained of the cheese and crackers and finishing off a bottle of cheap champagne. “To think we had this much business tonight, and just a week before Christmas—not bad.”

“And Leo’s review didn’t hurt any either,” said Claire. “Remind me to send him chocolates or something.”

Jeannie laughed. “Don’t worry, I already did. And you’ve had a couple other good reviews too.”

Claire felt her eyebrows lift. “And no bad ones?”

Jeannie shrugged. “Hey, you can’t please all the people all the time.”

“I figured as much.” Claire smiled. “That’s why I still think ignorance is bliss when it comes to reviews.”

Jeannie patted her arm in a placating way. “For some people perhaps.”

After the gallery closed, Jeannie invited Claire to go across the street for a cup of cappuccino with her. “Unless you’re totally exhausted, that is. As for me, I always need several hours to unwind before I can even think about sleep.”

“Sure, that sounds good. As long as it’s decaf.”

“Well, Henri seems very pleased,” said Jeannie after a pair of large mugs were placed on the table. “He sold another painting tonight and expects to sell another to the Van Horns tomorrow.”

“Which ones?”

“Tonight was the foggy one. I’m not sure which one the Van Horns are interested in.”

Claire smiled. “That is so cool—three paintings sold within a week! I hope the paintings last as long as the show.”

Jeannie laughed. “Now, wouldn’t that be something? Oh, by the way, someone inquired about consignments the other day. Do you want to consider it?”

Claire frowned. “I don’t know if I could. I mean not with the angels anyway. It’s not your everyday kind of painting, you know? It’s like an idea just hits me, all at once like an inspiration, and I pour it out onto canvas—almost without thinking, although I know that doesn’t make sense. I don’t think I could have someone actually directing me in this.”

Jeannie waved her hand. “No problem. I sort of hinted at that to the woman. Besides, she seemed pretty interested in your latest one anyway, the seascape.”

Claire took a sip of coffee. She hadn’t really wanted to sell that one, but after already hanging onto two of them, she felt she’d better let it go. Especially since that’s what the picture had been about anyway—
letting go
.

“I’ve also had several people ask about the one with the bird in her hands. It’s a shame you don’t want to sell that one.” Jeannie drummed her long painted fingernails against her coffee cup, making a ringing sound, almost like bells. “But you know, Claire, perhaps that’s one we should consider having some numbered and signed prints made from, that and a couple of the others. Had you thought about that?”

“No, but it sounds like a good idea. If you really think they’d sell.”

“I’ll look into it first thing in the morning. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

Claire had to laugh. “You are such a businesswoman.”

“Good thing one of us is.” Jeannie studied her carefully. “You seem to be doing better, Claire. Or is it just wishful thinking on my part?”

Claire briefly told her about her recent letting go episode and how she felt more at peace than ever before. “It was such a simple thing to do really. I don’t know why it took me so long.”

“Just a matter of timing, I suspect. You can’t force some things.”

“But I have been thinking about something . . .”

Jeannie’s eyes lit up. “What? A new project? Tell me.”

Claire smiled. “No, not a new project. Actually, I was considering going back to the cabin—I mean if it’s okay with you—”

“You’re kidding! You want to go back up there again?”

She nodded. “I know it probably sounds crazy, especially this time of year—”

“You’re serious? You want to go up there now? Right in the middle of winter and just days before Christmas? Are you
really
all right, honey?”

Claire felt her cheeks grow warm. “Okay, Jeannie, I’ll tell you something, but it’s just between you and me, okay? Because I could be all wet and about to make a total fool of myself.”