The Keeper of Happy Endings(109)
It was good to see Soline getting out again, and she was both thrilled and surprised by how quickly her mother’s cool beige persona had morphed into something vibrant and almost playful, thanks to a trip to Bella Mia and a series of consultations with Lila at Neiman Marcus. Apparently, Soline had become Camilla’s fairy godmother too. And Camilla had been happy to return the favor, inviting Soline to luncheons, shopping excursions, even a ballet performance last week.
Soline had filled a hole in Camilla’s life that even she hadn’t known existed, easing her need to cling and manage, which had allowed Rory time to focus on the gallery. And it appeared they were going to become a regular threesome for Sunday brunch.
It was more than even Rory had hoped for, but what would happen when they finally told Soline the truth? Not all the news would be bad—she would be reunited with her daughter and granddaughter—but even then, there would be bitterness over all the lost years. And of course, the news about Anson would be devastating. Would their newfound closeness be enough to pull her through the aftermath?
Camilla was starting to grumble about feeling disingenuous, and Rory worried that one day her mother would simply blurt out the truth, a gaffe almost certain to end in disaster.
She had agreed to give Thia time, but as of their last conversation, there’d been no movement on that front. Anson had gone abroad soon after their meeting in San Francisco and wasn’t returning calls. She wasn’t surprised, but a tiny part of her had hoped Thia might be successful, that the scales would suddenly drop from Anson’s eyes and there would be a happy ending after all. But with every day that passed, that was looking less likely.
“So,” Camilla said, clapping her hands eagerly. “We’re here for our tour. We said eleven, right?”
Rory pasted on a smile. “Yes, we did.”
Her gaze shifted to Soline, who was surveying her surroundings with an open mouth. It was the first time she’d been back since the night of the fire four years ago, and Rory had been worried about her reaction. Her last memories of the place could hardly be good.
“This is astonishing,” Soline murmured at last. “I worked and lived here for thirty-five years, and I barely recognize the place. It’s all so beautiful. And you left the original stair railing. How wonderful.”
Rory felt herself relax. “I’m so glad you like it. I wanted to leave some of the details as an homage to the building’s history. We still need to tweak the acoustics a little because of the bare floors—there’s quite an echo when the place is empty—but overall, I’m thrilled with how it all turned out.”
Camilla had just returned from a quick circuit around the front room. She peered at Rory’s face, frowning. “What’s wrong? Something is, isn’t it?”
“No. I’m just a little tense about the opening. And tired. The last few weeks have been such a blur, getting the invitations out, organizing the food and the music, working with all the artists to get the installations just right. It’s been a lot.”
“But you’re finished now. And just look at it. I can’t believe what you’ve done here. The colors and clean lines. The way you’ve used light to create a mood. It feels so . . . dramatic and yet calm too. You’ve managed the perfect blend of elegant and artsy.”
Rory waited for the inevitable but, followed by a list of things she would have done differently. But it’s a little . . . Perhaps you could have . . . Did you ever consider . . . They didn’t come. Her mother just stood there, smiling.
“Thank you. Are you ready to see the rest?”
“Lead the way. We want to see everything.”
Rory walked them through each of the seven collections, referring them to Plexiglas wall placards featuring each artist’s bio and photograph. Along the way, she pointed out her favorite pieces, explaining the specific types of media and techniques used to create them. It was good practice, and she was happy to find the talking points she’d memorized came easily.
She ended with her favorite collection, Kendra Paterson’s sea glass pieces, which turned out to be her mother’s favorite, too, particularly the large wave sculpture titled Crest. It was an absolute showstopper—an ocean wave created from thousands of sea-weathered shards ranging in color from frosty white and pale foam green to inky kelp and every shade in between.
“It’s just breathtaking,” Camilla sighed. “And such clever work. I can’t imagine the patience something like this requires, not to mention the pure skill involved. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
Rory was beyond pleased with her mother’s reaction to what she considered the pièce de résistance of all seven collections. “That’s what I thought too. I found her by accident, through another of my artists, and I’m thrilled to have her on board for the opening.”
Soline was moving slowly around the plinth, her gloved hands clasped before her, as if to stop herself from reaching out and touching. “The longer you look at it, the more it seems to be moving, like an actual wave. Does the artist know how many pieces of glass she uses for each sculpture?”
“She used to, but she’s stopped counting as her pieces got larger and more involved. But every shard of glass is collected by hand by her and her husband. They travel to beaches all over the world. You wouldn’t believe her studio. It’s filled—”