“I can’t look at it, Kate. Get rid of it. Please,” I begged her. She looked at me like I was nuts, but nodded. “It’s painful... Send it back.”
Kate pulled me back inside. Jack had never called me. He never followed up to say thank you for exposing the heinous witch that tried to send me to jail. He never took back his last words to me. He continued to let me think everything we shared was a lie, and the painting reminded me of that. Of him. I couldn’t stand it. It felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. Kate seemed to understand.
She rolled up the goddess version of me and shoved it back in the crate. Taking off the return slip, she turned to me, “Uh, Abby. This can’t be returned...”
I sat in a chair, trying to avoid looking at the offending painting until it was out of sight, “Why not?”
“There’s a certificate that says the painting is yours. You’re the owner. You’re supposed to file this slip of the estimated value with your insurance company.” She held up a piece of paper.
I held out my hand, “Let me see that.” Kate slid the slip between my fingers. It said Abby Tyndale was the owner of AWAKENING by Jonathan Gray, est. value $270,000. I clutched the slip to my chest, like it would revive me if I died. Why was he doing this to me?
Kate sputtered, “Isn’t that what you owe on your loans?” I nodded, crumpling the ball in my fist. “Hey! Hey!” Kate ran over and pulled the wrinkled paper from my hands before I shredded it. “Abby, you need that. Take the painting to Southerby’s or another auction house and get rid of it if you don’t want it—but don’t throw it away.” I glanced up at her, “You have that I’m-gonna-shred-stuff look in your eye.”
“I won’t shred it,” I slumped back in my chair. “Call them. Sell it. I’m staying until it’s gone.” Walking back to the hall, I grabbed my bags and tossed them on my bed.
I could hear Kate’s voice as she called the right people in the right places.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
A week passed while I waited. Jack fell off the face of the Earth. There was no mention of him in the press. He was just gone like I would be at the end of the week. The auction was Saturday night. Apparently I was lucky and made it just in time to include my painting in with some other big name artists, however Jonathan Gray would have been the biggest name before his scandal.
Kate explained, “It might not sell for much, Abby. It’s still very close to the scandal, but they also said there is the small possibility that it’ll sell for more than the estimate. Pre-scandal, it would have sold for millions, but now... they just don’t know.”
Leaning over the kitchen table, I reached for the sugar, dumping a bunch of it into my coffee. I shrugged, “I don’t care what it sells for. I just want it gone.”
She nodded, “I understand. I just wanted you to know that it might not solve all your problems. The loans may still be there after this, and if they are—you can stay with me, Abby. You don’t have to leave.”
I smiled at her, mixing my drink, “Thanks, Kate. I really liked having you around, but everywhere I go—I’m afraid I’ll see him. I need some space. I need the peace of mind that comes with distance. I wish you could come with me, but I know your life is here. Maybe you can visit once in a while?”
She smiled sadly, “I’d like that. Better go get dressed.”
I scoffed, “Why do we have to get dressed up?”
“Because the media will be there and you need to look like a million bucks. Wearing a burlap sack won’t mesh with the girl in the painting. Go. Take the little black dress I put on your bed. There’s a pair of heels with it. Make yourself look like Holly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” She took my coffee and shoved me out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
When we arrived at the auction house there was a lot of buzz and hushed whispers. Emily’s claims about Jack’s work being the first in a post-modern movement of sensual art were true. Since then people debated it on talk shows and it kept coming up in the news. Add to the fact that this was his last painting before the scandal, and that it was different than his other works, and people wanted to attend just to see the famous ‘scandal painting,’ as they called it.
Kate and I wandered around backstage, looking at items, waiting quietly for them to present my painting. When I’d first seen it that night, my heart sank. It was so beautiful. The auction house had it stretched and framed. The canvas looked perfect—completely perfect. A golden frame, thick and ornate surrounded the painting. AWAKENING was right. That was the perfect title for this piece. It was the day I realized there was more to me than a timid minister, floundering through life. I just wished that I’d learned the lesson in a less painful way.
I was smoothing my black dress, when Kate pulled me to the wing to watch the auction. The auctioneer said, “This is lot number 324, the AWAKENING by Jonathan Gray. It is the last painting created prior to the scandal, and is also known as THE SCANDAL. It is the only piece of work by Gray that is in full color with vibrant hues. Let the bidding begin.”
Kate’s hand clutched my arm as the bidding quickly soared over $1,000. “This is good,” she whispered in my ear, “They were afraid no one would bid, but with this much activity, you might be able to pay off your loans.” She squeezed my arm tightly, practically jumping up and down. The bids swiftly soared over $100,000, still climbing wildly. Paddles flew into the air, one after the other, each person wanting to claim a piece of the scandalous Jonathan Gray. Moments later the bids passed $300,000 and Kate and I watched in horrified silence, wondering how high it would go. There were still multiple bidders driving the price higher and higher. The way the lights displayed the artwork, it was difficult to tell who was bidding. There was an elderly couple in the front row. Every time the bid climbed higher, she would tug her husband’s arm and his paddle would fly up. She clearly wanted the painting. But there were others too. People I couldn’t see, concealed in shadows at the back of the room.
My stomach flipped in my chest as the price flew up. The auctioneer was saying, “A million two. A million four. A million six.” After every increase he pointed at someone. He was speaking so fast that I could barely understand him. My eyes had grown large and I was certain I’d stopped breathing, when the auctioneer said, “Two million eight. Going once, going twice...”
A voice rang out, “Seven million two.” Kate glanced at me, her eyes wide like big green dinner plates.
The auctioneer seemed startled, but continued, “Seven two going once, twice. Sold to the gentleman for seven million two. Please step forward.” Gasps followed as the man from the back of the room walked toward the stage. Murmuring came in cascades, but I already knew who it was.
Jack Gray took long confident strides toward the auctioneer. Several people snapped his picture, as he neared the stage. I stood frozen in the wing, Kate at my side. She whispered in my ear, “I think he just spent his entire fortune on a painting of you.”
Eyes wide, I couldn’t even nod. I couldn’t breathe. When Jack stood in front of the painting, he beamed. His black tux hugged his body perfectly, showcasing every beautiful angle. He posed for a moment before the painting. The press called for me, and I felt Kate’s hand on my back pushing me forward. Jack stood on one side of the painting, looking dashingly perfect as I blinked like a deer in the headlights. Did he really spend his entire fortune on this painting? Could he do that? I glanced at him, and his expression softened. Sadness haunted his eyes like it had when I first came back.
He nodded, “Miss Tyndale.”
I ignored his formality. Eyes wide, in shock, I asked, “Why? Why would you spend every penny you had on this?” My voice made it sound like the canvas was just a pile of paint, nothing special at all, but Jack thought otherwise.
“Some things are worth it. Sometimes I freeze, Abby. I don’t do what I should. I let precious things slip between my fingers.” The room was so silent that the only sound I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. He was speaking of our past, of that kiss that almost happened all those years ago. He was talking about the past few weeks, how he pushed me away, growing increasingly colder. He froze me, utterly chilled my soul, and made me think I was completely wrong about him. But this made no sense. The longing in his eyes, the emptiness that was so visible, made me freeze in place. My knees were stiff, my legs glued to the floor. They felt like they were made of iron and would not bend or move, no matter how much my mind screamed to run and never look back.
“I lost everything, and it was my own damn fault. I thought I was helping you, but I wasn’t. I should have seen it. I should have known,” he shook his head. His jaw was tight, his eyes filled with regret, “If this is the closest I’ll ever get to you again, it was worth it. Every penny.” Blinking, I stared at him, pulse pounding in my head. “Say something, Abby.”
Silence passed. It felt like hours, but it was only a matter of moments. Finally I shook my head, pressing my lips into a thin line, I said, “I have nothing to say, Jack.” He pressed his eyes closed, defeated. Slowly, he started to turn from me. Reaching for him, he stopped, blue eyes meeting mine with a soft worried expression on his face, pain in his eyes. Stepping toward him, I took his face between my hands. Our eyes locked. My body tingled as I touched him, as he gazed at me with those eyes. Our faces moved together, our lips nearly touching, but this time I didn’t stop. I didn’t wait for Jack. I knew what I wanted and I took it. My lips pressed against his lightly at first. Jack’s shock quickly faded as he threw his arms around me, pulling me tightly against his chest. An array of flashes went off as people erupted into chatter.
CHAPTER FORTY
Several weeks later Kate walked down the aisle ahead of me in a plum colored bridesmaid dress with a mammoth bow on her butt and a matching monstrosity on the top of her head. She wore it with grace, as she floated down the aisle of the little clapboard church. I peeked between the doors, watching, my heart fluttering in my chest.
