“I don’t know. I think so.” Grace had sighed. “On the one hand, Mom deserves to have this time with Brett. She doesn’t need her grown daughter hanging around all the time. If she and Brett are ever going to work things out, they need time alone to be together. On the other hand, it’s a big step for me to commit to renting a place here when I’m not sure what I want to do in the long run.”
“Most rental places are going to require a one-year lease.”
“I don’t know where I’ll be in six months, let alone a year. Of course, if I found a place I loved, that could change.”
“Well, if I hear of anything, I’ll let you know,” Liddy had offered, and they’d gone about their business, Grace painting the front wall, Liddy washing down the bookshelves.
The bathwater had chilled while Liddy replayed her conversation with Grace. Immediately after getting out of the tub, she grabbed the closest towel and wrapped it around her. The evening air was cool, and she cursed having left the bedroom window open. She wrapped a second towel around her shoulders as she went to the window and closed it. Nearby her phone pinged to let her know she had a new voice mail waiting to be heard. She listened to the message on her way back to the bathroom.
“Hey, it’s Emma. I have something for you I know will put a big smile on your face. I’m coming by to drop it off. Be there around seven fifteen or so.”
Liddy checked the time and noted she had half an hour before Emma arrived. She lightly towel dried her long hair, then wrapped it atop her head and secured it before pulling on a pair of white cotton ankle-length pants. She reached for a vintage Blondie T-shirt. It was half over her head when she reconsidered, pulled it off, and exchanged it for the tee Emma’s son, Chris, had made to mark the occasion she, Emma, and Maggie had traveled to Charlotte, North Carolina, to see Chris’s band, DEAN, in concert. Liddy smiled as she pulled on the shirt, which sported an image of a shaggy-haired Chris. The three old friends had danced in the aisle that night, singing along with the much-younger crowd. They’d laughed when Maggie had tossed a package of Junior Mints onstage to Chris while women around them tossed their underwear. (Chris had pocketed the candy and ignored the rest, possibly in deference to his mother, who was seated in the first row.) They’d shed a few tears when Chris had introduced Emma to the crowd via a lovely tribute before jumping from the stage to hug his mom. The next day, they’d gone to a tattoo parlor and gotten matching tattoos—three curling ocean waves—to commemorate their lasting friendship. All in all, it had been a grand weekend, one they hoped to repeat when Chris’s concert schedule allowed.
Liddy made her way downstairs to the kitchen with twenty minutes to spare. She sliced some cheese and washed some grapes, arranging them on a pretty plate. She added apple wedges and wheat crackers and had just set an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses on the counter when the doorbell rang.
“Come on in.” Liddy opened the door and stepped aside to allow her friend to enter.
Emma was petite, just a few inches over five feet. She wore her dark hair in the same style she’d always worn it—a neatly trimmed pixie with deep bangs—and she hadn’t gained an ounce since high school. She wore pearls with just about everything except her bathing suit (With jeans? Yes, and so Emma!), and they never looked out of place. Even Liddy, whose own style tended more toward comfortable than stylish, admired the fact Emma could wear anything, and it always looked perfectly Emma. Tonight she wore a cotton shift in pastel colors and blue leather sandals. And, of course, a short strand of pearls.
“Nice shirt.” Emma’s eyes were shining as she waved an envelope at Liddy. “I couldn’t wait to come over to give you this. Honestly, it’s been burning a hole in my pocket since this morning. I would have brought it right to the bookstore, but there was no one else at the art center until late this afternoon, and we had classes going straight through till six.”
“So hand it over.” Liddy grabbed the envelope and headed for the kitchen, Emma keeping pace. A glance at the raised return address made Liddy’s heart skip a beat. The Toller was the big-time art gallery in Boston where Emma had arranged for a showing of some of Jessie’s work. She took a deep breath and came to a standstill. “Should I be sitting down?”
Emma nodded. “Not a bad idea.” She took Liddy’s elbow and steered her into the kitchen to the U-shaped nook overlooking the backyard. “Sit. Then open. Then happy dance.”
Liddy slid onto the banquette seat. Before pulling out the envelope’s contents, she glanced at Emma, who sat across from her. Emma was grinning ear to ear.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lydia, look at the damned thing,” Emma demanded.
“I’m looking.” She then raised her eyes to meet Emma’s. “This is real?”
“Of course it’s real. The gallery sold the five paintings we sent them, and if you read the letter, they’re looking for more. So whenever you want, I can send a few more from the canvases we have at the art center, as long as you’re okay parting with them. I’ll contact Malcolm Toller and let him know when you decide.”
“This is amazing,” Liddy said, still in slight shock. “I figured a few hundred for the big ones, but . . .”
“Oh ye of little faith.” Emma grinned and tapped the envelope. “There’s a breakdown there on the second sheet of the letter, showing how much each of the works sold for. I was very optimistic when we agreed to send those paintings to the Toller—they have a reputation of only handling what they consider sure things—but I have to admit, the numbers surprised even me. I mean, I did consult with them when they were pricing the work, but it’s not unusual for there to be a certain amount of negotiation when it comes to sales.” She reached for Liddy’s hand. “Oh, my friend, I’m so happy for you.”
“I can put a new roof on the bookstore if it needs it,” Liddy murmured. “I went up to the third floor yesterday after the storm and found water dripping down the wall. I damn near died. The last thing I need is another big expense outside what I’d already budgeted. But this . . .” She happily waved the check. “This gives me some breathing room.” She squeezed Emma’s hand. “Thank you so much for arranging this for me. I don’t know how to thank you.” She paused. “Actually, I do. You’re acting as my agent, so you should receive an agent’s cut. What would that be?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Emma waved a dismissive hand. “I was merely acting as your friend who happened to know someone who knew someone at the gallery.”
“That someone you knew is your son, and we both know he personally contacted the gallery owner to inquire if the Toller had any of Jessica Bryant’s work on hand. That sparked the interest in the showing here in Wyndham Beach.”
Emma shrugged. “Chris and Jessie were friends. He recognized her talent a long time ago. He welcomed a chance to bring her work to the attention of others. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d bought one of those paintings himself just to get the ball rolling.”
“I’d have given him any he wanted,” Liddy said, remembering the night of the concert in Charlotte how Chris had pulled her aside and shared a memory of growing up with her daughter and expressed once again how sad he was she was gone, how much he missed her when he came back to Wyndham Beach. She met Emma’s eyes across the table and quoted her friend’s understated praise of her son. “He’s a good boy.”