Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) (27 page)

Her stomach twitched. But did Evan want her there? She hoped so. “You’ve confirmed the transfer in New York as well?”

“Of course. There’s a helipad on the building next door to the exhibition. You’ll be there on time.”

Carly hung up and breathed out. She hoped she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. She hoped Evan would be happy to see her. He hadn’t called her in the week since he’d left. But there was no point worrying about it now. She needed to focus on why she was here. Her speech was straight after lunch.

She walked over to her mother and Zita.

“How do you think it’s going?” Zita asked.

“I overheard a few government officials chatting during the morning break. It’s definitely sparking debate.”

The problem was, many of the presentations so far had dealt with statistics and costs. They needed to bring humanity into the picture. She had to talk about the girls’ stories.

They went back into the auditorium and finally it was Carly’s turn to speak. Her legs were wobbly as she walked on to the stage and looked out at the audience. There were thousands there to hear her talk. She swallowed. She had to connect with them. She had to drop her professional persona and speak to them as people. She had to be Carly, not Carolina.

All of her nerves melted away. She could be herself.

She explained her background, giving an overview of Casa Flanagan. Then she took a deep breath. “This situation is not about money, it’s not about the legality of the refugees’ actions, it’s about humanity. My family started our charity because we were fortunate. Our refugee application was accepted before we arrived, but we paid the price to wait. My father was killed by the people we were fleeing from, the week before our application was approved.”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

“It was difficult starting in a country so different from El Salvador, and in such a huge city, but we had each other to hold on to when things got tough, when US customs were confusing, and we were trying to figure out this new world. The unaccompanied children don’t have that. They are far away from everything they know and everyone they love, but they have one thing in common. They want a better, safer life.”

A few people nodded in the audience, but there were some who sat stony-faced.

“They’ve come from countries where gender inequality is at a peak, where they are treated like meat, and where violence is so bad that a father would give his own daughter to the gangs in order to ensure his own safety. They understand that fleeing their village or their city will not help because the issues are rife throughout the country.” Carly told the stories of two of her foster sisters. “There is nowhere safe for them to go. And so they flee to the United States, the land of the free and the home of the brave, in hope of a better life.”

A few people smiled.

“There is no one braver than they are, leaving their homes, risking their lives in search of freedom and hope. Now they are here, they don’t sit around all day, living off handouts. No, they are some of the hardest workers I have ever met, practicing English, studying their lessons. They all have dreams of what they want to become: doctors, lawyers, teachers, and some dream of returning home and fighting to improve their country so they can stop the exodus of refugees. All they need is a little time, a little support, in order to be able to make a difference.”

Carly swallowed the lump in her throat. “When I meet these children I always think, what if the situation were reversed? What if it was my sister fleeing the country, trying to find somewhere she wouldn’t be raped and abused? Wouldn’t I do everything in my power to help her? Wouldn’t I want people to support her, to protect her, to give her the opportunities she wasn’t able to get here?” She paused to let that sink in. “Of course I would. These refugees aren’t faceless masses. They are people like you and me, they are mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers. They are your neighbors, your friends, your colleagues. They are people who deserve as much of a chance at a good life as you or I. So, please, stop thinking of them as numbers, as wasted dollars, and start thinking of them as people. Thank you.”

The applause was loud and even the stony-faced people at the front clapped. Her heart lifted. She hoped it was enough to make a difference.

She went backstage and Hayden was standing there clapping.

“That was a sensational speech.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want to miss your speech. Plus, I wanted to make sure you didn’t get caught up with people wanting to talk to you and miss your helicopter.”

She hesitated. Could she really race off now? Shouldn’t she be around to talk, to answer questions, to cement what she’d said in her speech?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Am I doing the right thing?” she asked.

“Hell yes, Carly. You’ve done all you can here. I’ll stay and represent Comunidad. Your mother and sister are here somewhere too, aren’t they?”

At that moment Zita and Carmen came backstage.

“That was awesome, Carly.” Zita hugged her and Carmen nodded, dabbing her eyes.

“She needs to get on a plane,” Hayden told them both.

“What plane?” Zita asked.

“She’s flying to New York tonight.”

Zita grinned. “Evan’s exhibition?”

Carly nodded.

“What time’s your flight?”

“Now. I’m taking a private jet, so it’ll wait.”

“You should go, Carly. You’ve done all you can here.” Zita said.

“What if people have questions?”

“They know where to find you, or they can ask us,” Hayden said.

“Go,
niñita
,” her mother urged. “Evan needs you.”

She was right. Carly turned Hayden. “Where do I go?”

***

E
van had another couple of hours at least before he needed to get ready for the exhibition, but he couldn’t sit still. He’d already taken McClane for the marathon of all walks, and his dog was recovering in a corner. Karl was still at work and Sarah was in her office working.

If he didn’t find someone to talk to now, he was going to go mad.

He briefly considered calling Zita, but there was no knowing whether she’d talk to him. Breaking up with Carly meant he’d probably lost Zita’s friendship as well. He sighed.

He walked past Sarah’s door, hoping to catch her attention. She was on her computer, watching a video.

“Taking a break?” he asked, going in.

She turned to him. “No. This refugee symposium is work related. It’s being live-streamed from Houston.” Sarah worked for the Department of Homeland Security. “I’m really interested in the next speaker. She’s been running a trial whereby unaccompanied child refugees are given housing in the community while awaiting the processing of their applications. People are totally against it because they fear the refugees will disappear and never be heard from again, but there has to be a better way than those detention centers. Her speech could change people’s perceptions.”

Wasn’t it just his luck that his brother’s fiancée was a big advocate for refugees like Carly?

He turned to go, not wanting to think about the woman who had broken his heart, when he heard the words, “Carolina Flanagan.”

He froze. He’d forgotten all about the symposium. Slowly, he turned back to the computer as Carly walked onto the stage amid polite applause.

She looked good. So very good.

She held herself with such confidence, and as she spoke Carly shone through, not Carolina. She wasn’t speaking as a billionaire philanthropist, she was talking as the woman who’d been a scared refugee and had grown from her experiences into someone who wanted to help those like herself.

As she spoke, Evan hung on to her every word, happy to hear her voice again.
This
was why she couldn’t come to his exhibition. This was what was so important. This
was
more important than his exhibition. This was about improving people’s lives. She spoke with passion, with determination, and as she spoke Evan couldn’t understand why people could even question the legitimacy of refugees in the first place. He was one hundred percent behind her all the way.

When she finished her speech and walked off stage, he applauded along with Sarah.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Sarah said. “She does fabulous things with the migrant community in Houston, and Comunidad is used all over the world.”

“She is amazing.”

Would she forgive him for his childish mistake? He’d been a fool. No, a jackass. He’d forgotten an important event in her life. He had to apologize.  But what he needed to say shouldn’t be said over the phone.

Evan ran his hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. He’d let his insecurities rule him, and this was where it got him. He’d lost the one woman who had actually understood him.

He needed to get back to Houston. But he couldn’t miss his exhibition opening. Heading for his computer, he checked the first available flight to Houston. It was tomorrow morning. He booked it and sat back.

He hoped she would forgive him.

***

E
van stared at his reflection in the mirror of the gallery’s bathroom. He couldn’t shake the nerves that had never affected him this badly before. Perhaps because he’d never had an exhibition this large. If the critics loved him, it could mean being able to concentrate on what he wanted to do, rather than having to grab every job that came his way. But the gallery had recommended ridiculous prices for his work. He didn’t think anyone would pay that much – not for something he did.

His thoughts went to Carly and how she dealt with her nerves. Her speech had been streamed nationally, perhaps even internationally, and despite her fear of public speaking, she had been poised and in control. He needed to take a leaf out of her book.

“Evan, are you ready?” the curator, Georgia, called.

No. He wasn’t, but it was already seven thirty. The gallery had been open for half an hour and now they would do the official opening. He was supposed to be out there, schmoozing with patrons, but his stomach hadn’t been up to it. “Be right there,” he called.

He washed his face, dried it with paper towel and stared into the mirror. “Don’t mess this up.”

He walked out and smiled at Georgia. “Are we ready to go?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. People have already been saying good things.”

Evan followed her into the exhibition space. There was a crowd of people there, far more than he’d expected. As he joined Georgia on the stage, he noticed there wasn’t a lot of standing space left. Hopefully it would create some buzz.

He scanned the crowd, and spotted his brother with Sarah and their parents. Karl grinned at him and gave him the thumbs up. Evan smiled, some of the nerves calming.

Georgia began to speak and he turned his attention to her.

“I’m so pleased to be bringing you this exhibition. When my colleague told me about an artist he’d seen in Houston and showed me some of his work, I knew immediately I had to have him. His art draws you in, has you feeling the experience and touching part of you. He doesn’t just capture a landscape, he captures its soul. I challenge you to look at his paintings and
not
feel something. Trust me when I say, you will want one of his works in your house. But enough from me. Let me introduce you to the man himself, Evan Hayes.”

There was a round of applause and Evan stepped forward to the microphone. Georgia had told him to talk about one of his paintings and he’d chosen the one in the square. It was the only painting that didn’t have some kind of connection to Carly.

“Thank you. I’m not sure I deserve those platitudes from Georgia, you’ll have to make up your own minds.” He gazed around the crowd and saw polite interest. “My painting ‘The Square’ is of somewhere you might recognize. It’s in New York, not far from this gallery, and it was where I spent every weekend as a teenager. It’s so familiar to me that I could paint it without a photo. I used to love watching people go by, and drawing them, and it didn’t take long before people would stop, see what I was doing, and ask me to draw them.”

Someone in the crowd gasped and murmured to the person next to her. Perhaps she remembered him.

“So I spent my weekends drawing and earning money doing what I loved.”

There was movement at the back of the room as a latecomer arrived. The bright emerald green of her dress caught his attention. His breath caught.

Carly.

She was wearing her favorite color and her hair fell in riotous curls around her face. It was the first time she’d been out in public without straightening her hair. And she’d come to see him.

She gave him a small smile.

But she’d been in Houston. How had she gotten here?

Georgia cleared her throat, and Evan realized everyone was waiting for him to continue. His heart beat faster and he focused. “Thank you so much for coming and I hope you enjoy my work.” He stepped back.

There was polite applause and the crowd split into smaller groups. Evan wanted to run over to Carly, but as he moved off the stage, he was stopped by a man.

“Evan, my name is Sergio Abate.”

The name stopped him in his tracks. Sergio was the curator for one of the biggest galleries in New York. Evan shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I really love your work. You trained at the Rhode Island School of Design, didn’t you?”

Amazed the man knew even that much about him, Evan nodded, glancing to see where Carly was. She was standing in front of the painting of her mother.

“Georgia has been raving about you, so I had to come. What other work have you done? What’s your favorite medium?”

He had to focus. “I love oils, but I like experimenting with different media as well. I tend to do a lot of sketches before I do the painting.”

Sergio raised an eyebrow. “And what do you do with the sketches?”

“They’re in a folder at home.”

“I’d love to see them.” He handed Evan a card. “I won’t take more of your time now, but call me during the week, and we can talk.”

“Thank you.” Sergio walked away and Evan clutched the card. Wow. Only in his wildest dreams had that conversation ever taken place. He couldn’t get over his luck. He grinned and then saw the green out of the corner of his eye.