Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze (189 page)

Natalie had liked the freedom of abstract painting—the swoop of the brush, the impulsive splat and dot, the fun of it, the play, the color, the movement. It opened her up to new insights into her own art, whatever that would turn out to be. It was childish for her, like finger painting, playing in the sand on the beach, like dancing with her shadow.

Yet for her it was superficial. It was not work; it did not call up from her depths the kind of determined involvement, the soul-baring struggle, the exertion, the reach, and the gloating
Yes!
of her still lifes. Because she’d paid good money for the course, she did not let herself drop out.

Quickly, Natalie became friends with some of the other painters.
They got together after every class in a local coffee shop or bar, depending on their moods. Everyone criticized Archie—he was manic-depressive, irrational, inconsistent in his instruction and his criticism. He exaggerated terribly, he raged and tore up their work, he wept and begged their pardon, he fell on his knees in front of a painting that pleased him. He was nuts. He was brilliant. He was amazing. He was someone important to know.

At the end of the first year, Archie actually admired one of her canvases. He praised her. She felt the other students watching enviously. She signed up for his next class.

Larry Somerkind was in the abstract class, too, and after a while, in an, well,
abstracted
sort of way, Natalie and Larry started dating. Like Natalie, Larry had a day job to support his art habit. Both were so busy with work and classes, snatching any spare moments for painting, that a relationship didn’t really interest either of them, although they did become friends and, briefly, lovers.

That had more to do with Natalie’s imagination than with Larry or lust. When Natalie first attended art school in Boston in her early twenties, she and a group of other students had become enchanted by the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood of painters in England: Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Holman Hunt, Millais, and their women models—especially Lizzie Siddal. Siddal painted also, becoming briefly famous before her tragic death. Natalie had idolized Rossetti and Siddal. Romanticizing love with an artist, in New York for the first time, Natalie had met a man who she thought had real artistic and romantic potential.

She spent Christmas with Larry, and New Year’s Eve. They critiqued each other’s work, they gossiped about the other artists, they were good friends. Natalie had never imagined a man caring much about her; her father certainly hadn’t. So she was satisfied with Larry’s lukewarm affection, and he seemed to be with hers.

Then came the exhibition organized by Archibald Mackintosh. It was held in a gallery on Second Avenue, and the work of only five of Mackintosh’s students had been chosen to be shown along with the works of students from other teachers. The exhibition dazzled
with champagne, canapés, chic art lovers, and critics from other art schools and Manhattan newspapers. Natalie wore her highest heels; Larry, who wore glasses and a plaid muffler around his neck no matter the weather, accompanied her, because his painting had been chosen for the exhibit as well as Natalie’s.

Natalie’s painting sold. Larry’s did not.

Of course, they had discussed this possibility before, both of them claiming with humble insistence that their own particular piece wouldn’t sell, that his, or hers, certainly would, and no matter what, they understood that someone else’s reaction to a piece of art was a purely personal emotion that would not make a bit of difference to their relationship.

Yet, when it happened, when the lights went out and the gallery door was locked and Natalie and Larry went with other artists to a pub to celebrate, Larry was so obviously miserable that he couldn’t wholeheartedly congratulate Natalie. And she was so sensitive to his hurt feelings that she couldn’t celebrate as flamboyantly as she wished.

Then Aunt Eleanor’s offer came. Buoyed with the knowledge of the sale, Natalie was willing to risk leaving the New York art scene and move to the country. By then it was obvious that she and Larry were not going to become a true couple. He raised no objection when she mentioned moving to the country. He didn’t suggest coming with her. She guessed that in his deepest heart, he was glad she was going.

Now here she was, the afternoon before the opening of Bella’s, and Natalie was hit with a panic attack like she’d never experienced before, not even in New York.

She was accustomed to these fits of fear before a show. She had always had a mini–nervous breakdown before any formalized exhibition of her work, but this time it was different. This time, for some reason, it seemed
real
.

Because this time, she had put her heart and soul into her work. Because with the three charcoal drawings, of Petey, Louise, and Aaron, she had truly surrendered, in a way she’d never dreamed of,
to whatever mysterious flame burned within her, flaring through her to reach out to the world. Of course her friends thought the pieces were good. They were her
friends
. But was her work genuinely good?

She wasn’t certain she could allow herself to trust her instincts. She’d been so absolutely sure that Ben Barnaby had been attracted to her that summer day in the boat when he took her to his private cove tucked behind the willow tree. It was the same kind of natural belief arising from the depths of her cynical heart that made her draw those lines of charcoal on a piece of paper. It was the knowledge, immediate, definite, undeniable:
This was hers
.

And yet, “I’ll call,” Ben had said. He hadn’t called.

She hated herself for equating her emotions, her physical response to a man, with her judgment of her own creative work. This was wrong; she knew it. She just couldn’t help it. Everything seemed to be off. The universe had tilted. Ben had never called, so Natalie couldn’t trust that when she walked into Bella’s this evening, she wouldn’t find people laughing at her work.

Still, she reminded herself, tonight was not just about Natalie. It was about Bella. It was the opening of her shop, Bella’s own creation. Natalie had to go there to support her, and she was going to look as fabulous as she could, and certainly Ben would be there, and perhaps another, strange man would be there, and Natalie could flirt with him in front of Ben.…

Natalie stood wrapped in a towel in her bathroom. It was almost time to go.

“You are an idiot,” she said to her reflection.

The phone rang.

It was Ben. “Natalie, I thought you might like me to drive you to the opening.”

Natalie actually looked at the phone in her hand. She looked at her shocked face in the mirror. Were her thoughts transmitting themselves without her control? She collapsed on her bed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why would I kid you?”

“Um, because you said you’d phone and you didn’t.” Pressure pushed against Natalie’s rib cage, against her throat, beneath her
eyes. “So how would I know you’d actually show up to drive me to the opening?”

“Damn, Natalie, I’m sorry. I was going to call you—”

“Oh, please. I have
so
heard this all before!”

“No, wait, you haven’t! Listen, there was a conference at the university.”

“I know. Dr. Macharacha. Morgan told me.”

“Dr. Takamachi. I had to present a paper. I had to get it ready. When I’m working, I go mentally underground. I don’t remember to eat or see other people—ask my parents, ask Bella! It’s like something’s wrong with me. Like some of my systems shut down. But, Natalie—Jesus, why am I talking to you on the phone? I’m next door. I’m coming over.”

“No, Ben, don’t.” There she was in the mirror, excited by the sound of this man’s voice and angry at him and hopeful but also determined not to let tonight of all nights be about whether or not some guy wanted to get in her pants. “Ben, I want to drive myself in.”

After a long silence, Ben said, “So you’re really mad at me?”

“No, Ben, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just about me, about how I feel right this minute.”

“Are you nervous?” Ben asked. “I’ll bet you are. Before I give one of my papers, I almost throw up. It’s not just stage fright. Lots of people have fear of public speaking, but it’s not that for me. It’s shyness, sure, but it’s also excitement because I’m revealing what could become an important scientific breakthrough.”

Natalie laughed. “It must be what striptease artists feel before they go onstage.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “That’s it exactly. Months of lab work, charts, and statistics to prove a point. Exposure of my intellectual abilities.” He paused again, then confessed, “I’m good with science, but not so great with people.”

“You had lunch with Morgan,” she interrupted.

“What? No, I didn’t. I have no idea—Oh. I did see her and Petey on the campus one day during the conference when Dr. Takamachi and I were taking a walk. Why would I have lunch with
Morgan? She’s all about hazmat stuff. I’m all about chemical engineering. Dr. Takamachi and I were discussing biofuels. I’m not good at small talk.” Another pause. “If I spend time with anyone, I want to spend it with you.”

She caught the ring of honesty in his voice. She smiled at the realization that he was just next door, probably in the kitchen, perhaps the living room, bent over his cell phone because any moment Brady might come stampeding in.

“Natalie?” he asked.

“I’d like that,” she told him. “I’d like to get to know you.”

“So, then, can I drive you to Bella’s opening?” His voice was eager.

“I think this is something I have to do on my own this time,” Natalie told him gently. “But I’ll see you there. Soon.”

Saturday night, Bella wore a tight black dress and black four-inch high heels. She’d let her hair grow so it was long enough for the hairdresser to sleek into a little knot at the back of her head. She wore dark eyeliner and red lipstick, and she’d practiced holding her head high and standing quietly. Her parents said she looked like Grace Kelly. Well, Bella thought, maybe a
short
Grace Kelly.

She gave herself a lecture during her shower, reminding herself not to be eager and sweet. Especially not sweet. She was smart, she had an eye, and she was savvy. The art critic of the
Hartford Courant
was coming to her opening, and a reporter from the
Daily Hampshire Gazette
. Morgan said Josh’s boss and his wife, Ronald and Eva Ruoff, were coming, and they were trendsetters. Of course, her parents and their friends were all coming, which alone ought to fill the room.

Earlier in the day, her father and Ben and Aaron had set up a table inside Bella’s, then covered it with one of her mother’s best white tablecloths and all the washed and shined wineglasses from the Barnaby, O’Keefe, and Reynolds’ houses. Bella had planned to rent glassware—she didn’t want to use plastic, even though it would make cleaning up easier—but Natalie had nixed that idea, pointing out that her aunt Eleanor had enough goblets and flutes and glasses for a party of hundreds. Bella’s father and Brady had bought two new plastic tubs from the hardware store, rinsed them out, and filled them with ice. The refrigerator at the back was stocked with white wine and champagne, and the red wine was already on the table.

Louise had been occupied in her kitchen all day, making canapés—dripless, she laughingly agreed with Morgan—to put out on silver platters. She and Dennis drove over early to set up the food table before the crowd arrived.

Bella prayed there would be a crowd.

At a quarter till six, Aaron knocked on the front door.

“Wow,” he said when he saw Bella.

“Wow back,” she told him.

Aaron wore a navy blazer, white shirt, yellow tie. His dark curly hair had been combed into submission, and he was freshly shaved. He was a hunk, and tonight he also looked distinguished. The night they’d gone out to celebrate his job offer, he’d been boyish, expansive, and slaphappy, but tonight Bella knew she was seeing the man who had walked into a prestigious architectural firm on the other side of the continent and comported himself with such distinction he was chosen from all other applicants.

“Ready?” Aaron asked.

“Ready,” Bella said. Tonight she was a woman who had created a shop full of magnificent treasures.

Aaron parked at the far end of the parking lot so there would be room for all the guests’ cars. He took Bella’s arm as she navigated across the pebble drive in her high heels.

Bella stopped in the doorway and looked around the room. Without display cases in the middle, the space looked larger than it had as Barnaby’s Barn. On one hand, she thought with a pinch of worry, perhaps she didn’t have enough inventory. On the other hand, in order to see the artwork, people had to be able to stand back and have an unobstructed view. Earlier in the day, her parents, Aaron, the O’Keefes, and Natalie had had flowers delivered. They were set around the room on the various pieces of antique furniture.

“It’s wonderful, Bella,” Aaron said.

“Thanks.” She chewed her lip and looked back out at the parking lot. No cars were turning in.

Aaron read her mind. “It’s one minute till six. Let’s have some wine.”