Water from Stone - a Novel (27 page)

“Did you go to Child Welfare, Social Services, whatever, pull the records?”

“Nah, I was gonna do it. Then, I got to thinking that what if they tip this woman off and she runs with the kid? Anyways, I’m glad I didn’t. Turns out the lady that runs the agency here is Mar’s best friend. She’d’a told her for sure.”

“It’s going to come out pretty soon anyway.”

“Course it is, and then we’re gonna need proof.”

“What, like DNA testing?”

“Well, yeah, sure, eventually. But first, why don’t you come out, meet them, see what you think? Maybe you’ll look at it different, tell me I’m way off-base.”

“But why don’t we just do DNA now and get it over with? I’ve waited a long time for this, Sy.”

“And you can wait a little longer. Look, Jack, you can’t just go in and fuck up these people’s lives like that. What if you get this mother all crazy and everything, and it’s not her?”

“What if it is her? Don’t I have some rights?”

“Jack, all I’m saying is, go out, meet these people, see the girl, get a feel for it. Hell, talk to the mother and hear the story yourself about how she adopted this kid. Then, if you think I’m on the right track, we take it to the next level.”

Sixty-Six

Mar.

“You’re not having lunch with Sy? That’s the first time this week,” Mar teases. She plops down into one of the chairs in the gallery. Picasso heaves down at her feet and spreads out like a frog. “You’re fat, dog. We have got to put this tub on a diet. Yes, you,” she says, when Picasso gives her a hurt look.

“His nephew’s coming in from New York and he had to pick him up. And the dog’s fat because Lizzie keeps feeding her. Haven’t you noticed that she’s not dropping food out of clumsiness, she’s doing it on purpose?”

“Yeah, I saw. This morning a whole pancake disappeared, syrup and all. I turned around for just a second and when I turned back, gone. At first I thought Lizzie had eaten it, but there she was, grinning, and there was El Tubbo Lardo under the table, smacking her lips.”

Diane smiles. “You should take her running. It’d do you both good.”

“I know, I know. But honestly? I’d rather eat dirt. Anyway, what’s up down here?”

“Things are going well. Very well, actually. I’m seriously thinking we should look into more space soon, though.” Several months ago, Mar had decided to expand the gallery to include the works of potters, sculptors, metal and glass workers and other assorted artists from around the country. The gallery is becoming the in place for interior designers to bring their clients and their current location is too small for the volume they are doing.

“I hate that,” Mar says. “Who’s stupid idea was it to expand anyway?”

“Yours.”

“Well then, fire me. It was a stupid idea.” She likes having her studio, home and the gallery all in one building and doesn’t want the hassle of having to drive somewhere to see her paintings or to meet with Diane.

“We could keep the majority of your paintings here and open another location for the rest.”

“No, no, no, that wasn’t the point. Besides, I want to get more artists involved anyway, and for that, we’ll need more space. It’s just that it’s been so cozy here and I hate change.”

“Well, you know what they say, change is good. Besides, you can have a studio at the new gallery, too. You spend too much time in this house anyway.”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“I will give it to you. Mar, you have got to get out more. Hell, you haven’t gone on a date in months.”

“Just because you’re in love, doesn’t mean we all have to run around like love-sick fools.”

“I am not in love. People my age don’t fall in love,” Diane says primly.

“Oh, bullshit. I can spot it a mile away. It’s all I ever hear anymore. ‘Sy this’ and ‘Sy that’. In just a week, you’re totally head over heels.”

“Well, when it hits, it hits. But, back to you…”

“Unh-uh. You’re not getting away that easy. Come on, fess up. Have you done the dirty deed yet?”

“Why, Miss Mar, I did not raise you to talk to me that way.”

“You did!”

Diane blushes and Mar lets out a whoop of laughter. “You slept with him! My god, Diane, what if he has AIDS or something?”

“Don’t get all prudish on me, young woman. At my age, we don’t waste time anymore. But, for clarification, we have not slept together. Yet.”

“Yet. Wow!” Mar grins. “So, when does Wonderboy get back?”

Diane checks her watch. “He should be here soon. He said he’s going to stop by on the way to the hotel. His nephew’s a fan and wants to see the gallery.”

“A fan? From New York? That’s a reach.”

“Now stop it right there. You are too famous. A fan from New York isn’t a big thing.”

“What’s he in town for?”

“I don’t know. Business of some sort. He’s a lawyer, I think. I don’t know, maybe it’s pleasure.”

Mar puts her hands on her thighs and pushes up. “OK, enough slacking. I’ve got to get back upstairs, just wanted to check on you. Come on, Fats Galore, time to move.” The dog only snarfs and closes her eyes again. “Fine, have it your way. Some loyal companion you are.”

“You’ll come down when Sy gets here? Meet his nephew?”

“For you, darling, anything.” And with that, Mar blows her a kiss and heads back to the studio.

Sixty-Seven

Jack.

After meeting Diane, Jack had spent a good fifteen minutes in the gallery. Even with his limited knowledge, he can tell that Mar Delgado is the real thing. She paints sea scapes, or sea life, that is.  Some of the sea life lives under the ocean, while others live in dusty canyons and deserts. It is strange, but arresting. Without understanding why or how, Jack acknowledges that her quirkiness works. When he gets to
Mother & Child
, his stomach lurches so strongly he has to take a deep breath to keep from tossing his lunch all over Diane’s desk.

“How much is it?” he asks Diane, his voice cracking with emotion.

Diane smiles quietly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that one’s for sale.”

He looks at her, dismayed, “Why not?”

“It’s one of Mar’s favorites. Quite a few people have made offers for it over the years, but she always makes up excuses why she can’t part with it. I could ask, but I’m sure her answer will be the same. If you’d like a reproduction, I can find out if anyone is willing to sell one.”

“Why? Can’t you print more?”

“No, not the giclees. Mar only does thirty of each and they were all sold years ago. It’s a remarkable painting, and it’s something a lot of parents, especially, can relate to, the needing to let go of your child, but the desperate urge to keep it close. Of course, Mar’s story is a little different. Do you have children?” she asks.

“Uh, no. No, I don’t, but I guess you don’t need to be a parent to feel its pull,” Jack answers lamely. He glances at Sy, who shrugs. They’d agreed to present Jack as his nephew, a bachelor attorney from New York, in case Mar remembers all the press from when the baby had been kidnapped and puts it all together. Sy had introduced him using his mother’s maiden name. Hence, he is now Jack Rollins.

“Yes, that’s true,” Diane agrees. “In any case, I’ll ask Mar, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. If you decide to look into a reproduction, it’ll most likely take a couple of days to track one down. Of course, there are prints available…” she lets her voice trail off.

“Uh, no, no thank you,” Jack replies, looking up at the painting. “There’s something very compelling about this one. I’d really like the original.”

Diane laughs gently, as if he’s told a joke. “Well,” she changes the subject, “Mar doesn’t seem to be answering upstairs, but she did say she’d like to say hello to you, Sy, when you got here, so I guess we can go up.”

Diane precedes them into the studio. Stepping aside, she allows Jack his first glimpse of Mar. In New York, where the artists he’s met, or even heard of, are so much about attitude, style and image, it surprises him that she looks so normal – at least from the back. She is smallish, at least compared to Caroline, and is tucked into a pair of form-fitting, hip-hugging jeans and a man’s undershirt. And she is dancing, actually dancing, to the music, splashing paint here and there on a large canvas positioned on an enormous easel. He smiles unconsciously.

“Uh, Mar?” Diane calls, competing with the sound of the music. “Mar?”

When Mar doesn’t answer, Diane walks over to the stereo and hits the mute button.

“Oh, shit!” Mar jumps, the brush sailing out of her hand. “Crap! You scared the hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry, but you didn’t hear me shouting at you,” Diane tells her.

“Sorry, I was just…” her voice trails off as she notices Sy and Jack. “Wow,” she blurts out and then blushes furiously. “Oh, god, I’m sorry, uh, that just came out.” She begins to look around for her brush, obviously embarrassed.

Jack laughs out loud. She is not at all what he’d imagined when Sy had said “foster mom.” He’d thought large as a bus stop, faded muumuus and cigarette-stained fingers. Not this, not this woman with the paint streaks in her unruly auburn hair and a body that stretches at the fabric of a man’s imagination. “I’m sorry if we surprised you,” he holds out his hand. “I’m Jack, Sy’s, uh, nephew. Diane thought it’d be OK if we came up.”

“No, no, that’s OK. I was just, uh, painting and you startled me, that’s all,” she holds out her own hand and Jack is completely unprepared for the jolt that shoots up his arm at her touch.

Mar snatches her hand back. “Static,” she supplies lamely, shaking off its effects.

Jack looks down at his hand, wondering what had just happened.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” Mar stammers and snatches his hand, turns it over and shows him the paint she’s smeared all over his palm. “Let me get you a towel to wipe it off.”

“It’s OK.” Jack takes the paper towel she offers him and begins rubbing at the paint, his fingers still tingling.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think when I’m painting. I kind of get messy.” She holds up her hands, the backs of which are covered in paint swatches.

“I guess I deserve it after barging in on you while you’re working.”

Mar smiles, “I’ll have to put a sign up – Caution, Artist at Work, Enter at Your Own Risk.”

“Who’d have thought artists are dangerous to society?” Jack says and mentally kicks himself at the triteness of the comment.

“Oh, hi, Sy,” Mar turns away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you there. How are you?”

“Good. Listen, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s just that Jack wanted to meet you.”

“I like your work,” Jack puts in. “Diane said that
Mother & Child
isn’t available, though.”

“Oh, well, that, unh-uh.” She waves vaguely and then changes the subject. “So! How do you like Colorado?”

“I haven’t seen much of it yet.”

“Right. Of course not.”

“Listen, Mar, we’ve got to go get Jack checked into the hotel and everything,” Sy says. “But how’d you like to join us for dinner?”

“But, um, don’t you guys want to catch up?” she asks Sy, but her eyes are on Jack.

“No, not at all,” Jack jumps in. “We’d love to have dinner with you and Diane.”

Mar picks up her cell phone, flips it over and looks at the time.

As if reading her mind, Sy suggests, “Why don’t you bring Lizzie? We can go early.”

Mar smiles up at him. “OK, if you’re sure you two don’t want to be alone, then we’d love to.”

“Great,” Jack says. “That’ll be great.”

Sixty-Eight

Jack.

Jack stares across the table at Mar. Her head is bent close to Lizzie’s and she is examining a crayon drawing the little girl has done. “That’s a beautiful flower, honey. I like the house, too. Shall we show Jack? Here, Jack, look.” She passes the paper across the table to him.

Jack really has no point of comparison for a four-year-old’s art. As far as he can tell, though, there’s a house and a flower. He looks up and smiles. “It’s beautiful, Lizzie.”

“It’s for you. It’s a flower and a house for you,” the little girl tells him matter-of-factly, her sweet little girl’s voice warming his heart. “I can draw you a dog, too, if you want.”

“I’d love it. Thank you.”

“Pays stay mean or lemony good?”

“Payne’s Grey,” Mar smiles at Lizzie and then explains to Jack, “Colors. She’s asking if you want a mean, old, ugly dog – in Payne’s Grey – or a happy dog in yellow.”

“Oh.”

“She feels colors.”

As this seems to make perfect sense to Mar, Jack turns back to Lizzie. “A happy, lemony dog would be great,” he says.

Lizzie screws up her face in disgust. “Pains stay are funner.”

“Oh, OK. Then how about a mean dog, instead?”

Lizzie sets the gray crayon down with a drawn out sigh and reaches for the yellow. “That’s OK,” she says, “some people are scared of mean dogs.”

As Lizzie returns to her drawing, Mar takes a sip of her wine, a smile curving at her lips. “She likes you.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Mar ruffles Lizzie’s hair and grins. “She is, isn’t she? And smart. Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

“I can count to a bazillion,” Lizzie tells Jack. “Wanna hear me? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, cetera, cetera, a bazillion!”

As if he is outside of his own body, Jack sees himself laughing, sees the little girl grinning across the table at him, the dimple in her right cheek deepening as her smile spreads across tiny white teeth. And, as he watches, a woman’s head bends into the scene as she leans in to kiss the little girl’s cheek. As the woman straightens up, her blond hair parting from her face, he catches his breath, watches as Lindsey looks across at him, pride gleaming in her eyes. He sees his own hand lift to stroke her cheek, his lips murmur I
love you, I’ve missed you
.

“Jack? Jack?” her smile is replaced by concern and concern by fear as she pulls back from him.

“Jack!” Sy’s voice cuts through the fog and in an instant Jack is back in his own body and Lindsey’s face melts into Mar Delgado’s. A sharp pain punches through Jack’s chest and he pushes away from the table and staggers to his feet.

“Jack, are you alright?” Sy moves to Jack’s side.

“Air. I need air,” Jack gasps, pushing Sy away in his hurry to get outside.