Breakwater Bay (36 page)

Meri crossed her fingers in her lap.

“He approached the Historical Preservation Group board last night about getting us a place on their spring gala event. And they’ve agreed, providing we can come up with enough of a presentation to show their donors and prepare a budget that is in keeping with the merits of Gilbert House.”

Doug started pacing. “Doesn’t mean shit if we can’t pull it off. Doesn’t mean shit if we can and it doesn’t interest someone enough to underwrite it.”

“How can it not?” Carlyn said, still looking at Meri.

“How could it not?” Meri echoed.

“But we have a lot of work to do,” Doug said and hurried out the door.

“Guess I’ll get back to my wallpaper,” Joe said and bounced off down the hall.

“Everett Simmons?” Carlyn asked as soon as the two men were gone. “How did you pull that off?” Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t resort to blackmail or anything did you?”

“No. He offered to bring it up before the board, but he didn’t make any promises. I wasn’t sure he would actually do it. Or if he did, whether they would listen.”

“Well, next time you see him, give him a big kiss for me.”

Next time she saw him.
Meri guessed she might see him again. They’d meet as friends, not father and daughter. But that was cool, she had a father already.

Meri grabbed her gear, determined to clean up enough of her ceiling to intrigue possible donors. She knew it was in awful shape, but they were used to imagining the final outcome, especially if they had a good representational artist.

When she reached the foyer, Meri stood for a minute just looking up.

She realized Joe was standing next to her, and he wasn’t bouncing but also looking up.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” he said.

“It is.”

“How art imitates science. It looks just like a cross section of a cuboidal epithelial cell. Wonderful.” He wandered away.

And Meri wondered how it would be to always be seeing things at their molecular level.

She climbed the scaffolding, already daydreaming about—and exaggerating—the final product. It would be incredible, but not in time for the gala. They would have to have an artist create a rendition of the final project, presented as a PowerPoint display.

A slide show presentation could show authenticity, works in progress, schemata of the building, but rarely showed the magic or stoked the imagination. A few did, and those artists were always working. She just hoped one of them owed Doug a favor, a big favor.

Because it took a special kind of artist to inspire potential patrons to see it through the artist’s eyes, as a living link to the past, something miraculous, beautiful, and inspirational.

She could see it all in her head just as if it were real. If they could just find the right artist.

A
fter three days of looking at apartments in Manhattan, Alden had to admit that maybe he’d been rash, if a man can be rash after forty-two years. He’d seen some beautiful places.

And contrary to what Meri thought, some of them had been filled with light.

They were light, but it wasn’t his light. The real estate agent suggested Brooklyn. Even larger apartments with even more light. But it still wasn’t right.

The agent suggested he take a break, that sometimes you needed to get some distance on things, rearrange your expectations. She obviously thought she was wasting her time with him, and maybe she was.

Maybe Corrigan House wasn’t his problem. Corrigan House without Meri was his problem. He’d known it for ages, but like he’d given up his children for their own good, he’d tried not to make Meri feel like she owed him anything.

When it was really the opposite. He owed her for bringing some joy in his life. From the first time he saw her, the first time they sat him on the couch surrounded by pillows and slipped that baby onto his lap, he knew she would always be his. Even when she was a kid, being a demanding obnoxious brat, annoying the heck out of him, he’d loved her. She’d brought the only glimmer of joy after the end of his disastrous marriage.

When he was younger, his heart ached with it. Now it had passed into comfort—most of the time. Until Peter. He’d always thought he would be glad when she found someone to love her. But he wasn’t. Not Peter anyway. There was nothing wrong with the man; he just wasn’t right for Meri.

Alden coughed and wished he had a cigarette. Peter at least was fun and outgoing, near her own age; they could grow old together, if they didn’t divorce first. Somewhere in the passing years Alden had grown old, too old for her. He didn’t think he could sing karaoke if his life depended on it.

The idea made him smile, though it was bittersweet; things would be better for him if he could. He’d communicate better with his children, with Meri. He’d be sociable instead of a semirecluse, living with imaginary people, animals . . . monsters.

He went over to the table the hotel had brought up for him to work on. He’d pushed it against the window, which as least had southern exposure—except for the building next door. Not ideal, but he was on the last few illustrations for his Odyssey.

The backgrounds were pretty much a matter of getting them on the page. He could have plugged them into his computer and drawn the figures in front of the same landscape.

But he was too old-fashioned for that. He liked the process, liked that his backgrounds as well as his characters changed with his changing relationship to the story. He only used a graphics program when necessary.

He spent the afternoon on rendering Calypso, the nymph who fell in love with Odysseus. An ethereal creature with the necessary gauze toga since it was for children. He never understood why publishers insisted that bodies had to be clothed for kids.

He was so tempted to drop one side of her gown, exposing one breast with its pink nipple like the great classicists. But it wasn’t a battle he was interested in fighting, so he sketched in the drapes over her supple limbs and torso. He drew her dancing on the beach of a lovely island, Odysseus crawling from the sea, battered and nearly drowned, his hand stretched out to her for help.

The hours passed and the noise of traffic and the day turning to dusk faded from his consciousness as the story took shape on his drawing paper. It turned out pretty well considering he was in a foreign environment. Probably because he’d already pictured the images before he left the beach.

He glanced at his watch. He’d better finish up if he planned to meet Paige for dinner. Good old Paige. He wondered if she’d ever been in love? They’d never talked about it.

What did they talk about? They talked—there was no awkwardness at all in their relationship—but it wasn’t about anything substantial, and nothing too personal.. He enjoyed her company, and she enjoyed his. He laughed with her. Had great inventive sex with her. It’s what they both wanted. Friends with benefits. What an appropriate name.

N
ews of Gilbert House’s inclusion in the spring gala swept through the few remaining staff members. The woodworkers put in overtime to finish the foyer. The glazier promised to have at least a mock-up of the transom window in time for the gala.

Meri continued to work methodically on her ceiling.

Doug commandeered the kitchen for viewing archive photographs. Sitting around the kitchen table, he, Krosky, and Carlyn studied, organized, and chose the most interesting ones.

“What’s the verdict?” Meri asked, walking into the room and leaning over the rows of old photographs.

“Looks good, looks good,” Doug said and exchanged the positions of two of the photos. “Too bad we don’t have a better photo of the ceiling. This was the only one?”

Carlyn shrugged.

It was a photo that had captured the original center chandelier and a blurred bit of the painted pattern. Black and white of course. There was nothing later that showed the original work.

After Mr. Gilbert’s fall from financial grace, the property had quickly fallen into disrepair. The heirs left it abandoned for years then sold it to a family who sold it several years later. It finally ended up barely standing and on the list to be demolished.

Doug had convinced the authorities that there was something worth salvaging there. It hadn’t been given historical status . . . yet. That’s why this was so important to finance the restoration. It deserved to live.

“I’ve got a cleanup crew coming in to spruce the place up. The glazier will have mock-ups of the replacement pieces.

“Geordie Holt offered to photograph whatever we can get ready. But I haven’t found an artist who can commit to getting projection displays done by the end of next week. And that’s a big problem.” Doug flashed his teddy bear grin. “How are your drawing skills?”

“I had the course as part of the architecture curriculum,” Meri said. “But I couldn’t do it justice.”

“I didn’t even have the course,” Carlyn said.

They all looked at Krosky.

Krosky shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Well, I’ll just have to keep calling,” Doug said and moved toward the door.

“Doug, wait.”

Doug turned to look at Meri. Carlyn and Krosky looked, too.

“We have to find the right artist, and not just anyone, someone with vision.”

“Yeah?”

Meri had an idea. And she had to try it. For the project. For herself. And if he said no, then that would be that. But if he said yes, he would have to work on-site. And she would use that time to talk him into keeping Corrigan House.

He might turn her down—maybe he was glad to be done with her—but for Doug and the project’s sake, she would ask. It would be the last time she asked Alden for anything, she promised herself, and if she couldn’t talk him into staying, she would let him go.

“I might know someone. I’ll give him a call.”

A
lden took the glass of wine Paige handed him. He was sitting on her couch, looking out her picture window at the skyline of New Jersey, while New Age music played quietly in the background. Across the Hudson, apartment lights clustered along the water’s edge; the bridge to New Jersey was lit up like a carnival.

A lovely place if you weren’t used to the open spaces of the Rhode Island shore.

Paige sat down next to him. “You’re in a pensive mood,” she said in her silken voice. “Not enjoying the apartment hunt?”

He shook his head. Touched his glass to hers and took a sip; the wine was full bodied, expensive. Good wine, good view, good lady. What was wrong with him?

“Well, don’t worry. You just haven’t found the right place yet. Don’t get stressed over it. It took me almost a year to find this place, then I almost lost it in a bidding war.”

It gave him a headache to think about going through something like that. “It was worth it though, wasn’t it?”

“Yes indeed. My little aerie above a crowded world.”

He smiled at her. He really liked her.

“So what shall we do tonight? There’s a new off-Broadway play a friend of mine is directing. He promises it isn’t too bad, and he has free tickets. Or shall we order in?” She turned her head, gave him a playful look, and he realized he’d just drawn her as the nymph, Calypso.

He took another sip of wine. His cell rang. He usually turned it off when they were together, but he was hoping that Nora would finally call him back. She usually didn’t stay mad this long.

“Sorry.” He pulled it out of his pocket.
Meri.
Something must be wrong. “I have to take this, sorry.”

He stood and walked to the window. “Hey, what’s up?”

“How’s the hunt for the perfect light-filled apartment going?”

“Is everything okay there? You don’t normally call to chat.” He glanced back at Paige. She had discreetly moved into her galley kitchen, giving him a little privacy.

“Everything is okay. Is that music? Where are you? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“It’s okay. Why are you calling?”

“Well, actually . . .” She paused, and a hundred horrible things went through his mind. Fire, flood, an accident, heart attack.

“Actually, I have a proposition I hope you won’t refuse.”

He frowned. What was she up to?

“What is it?” He was aware of Paige returning with a plate of cheese and crackers.

She didn’t answer.

“Meri, what’s going on?”

“Look, I know I told you I didn’t need you anymore. But actually I do. Not for me, but we have kind of a dilemma here at the project. Everett Simmons offered to get us a place on his next fund-raising gala but we can’t find anyone . . .”

He listened to her speed-of-sound explanation, spitting out the words without pausing or giving him a chance to comment or ask a question. When she finally ran down, he’d gotten the gist. They needed an artist, this week, or everything was lost.

He couldn’t help but smile, not just because she’d actually called him, but because she had such energy when she was excited, angry, sad, or celebrating. That’s what was missing for him in New York—that joy in living.

“So what do you say? We can’t pay, not a lot anyway, but Doug really believes in this project, and so do I.”

“Well . . .” What should he do? Go back and end up stuck in the same isolation he’d tried to leave?

“You can be back in New York in a couple of weeks. There will still be apartments.”

Still he hesitated. Paige was waiting for him, an enigmatic smile curving her lips.

“Please, just this one last time? Then I promise I won’t bother you ever again.”

“When do you need me there?”

“Yesterday?”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Yes, thank you. Thank you. I love you.”

I love you, too.

“See you tomorrow?”

“I guess so.”

He hung up and turned to Paige. She was smiling at him, this time with sympathetic amusement.

“I . . .”

“Have to catch a train,” she finished.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He reached for his coat. “I hate to have to cut out on you.”

“Alden, I understand. I really do.” She laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“You. Now get going, you don’t want to miss that train.”

I
t was raining when they locked up Gilbert House for the night. Pouring by the time Meri and Carlyn stood on the porch deciding where to go to dinner.