The Keeper of Happy Endings(111)



Rory walked them out, lingering in the doorway until they had melted into the crowd of pedestrians along Newbury Street. Lunch and boot shopping. That was new too.



Rory was exhausted by the time she got home. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone trying to find an artist to fill Dheera Petri’s wall. Of the five artists she’d managed to reach, four said they’d be able to ship a piece or two in time for opening night, but none would be available to attend the opening on such short notice. It was looking like she’d have to settle for a selection of one-offs rather than a single collection. Unless she went with Soline’s suggestion.

She padded down the hall and flipped on the light in the spare room. Her eyes went immediately to the piece hanging behind the desk, the towering granite lighthouse standing defiant in a storm. It was the largest of all her pieces and one of her best. The four in the closet would make a total of five. She pulled them out, lining them up side by side. It might work until she found another collection to replace it. She just needed one more piece for balance.

She wandered over to one of the frames near the window, running a hand along the unfinished piece clamped between the stretcher bars. A winter harbor scene with a scrim of white fog sliding across the water. All it needed was the sky: the glimmer of a watery sun struggling to break through low shredding clouds. Pewter silk, periwinkle moiré, slivers of soft gray flannel. The light would be tricky. Maybe pleated silver tissue. She was pretty sure she had some scraps in one of the bins, and she still had a week to work. If she started tonight, she might be able to finish one more in time to have it mounted.

The thought set off a flutter of wings in her belly. Was she actually considering this? Her mother’s words had touched an unexpected chord in her this morning. Not just her declaration of pride but her reference to both of them—Soline and Camilla united in support of her, like a family. They were three women who’d been thrown together by a series of events none of them could explain, across seas and years and so many losses. Three separate strands woven to make one whole. Fragile alone but stronger now, because they were together.

And they would need to be strong when the time came—to help Soline through what was coming. The opening was eight days away. Once that was behind her, she was going to need to talk to Thia about an end date. She’d waited as long as she could in good conscience. Dragging it out only added to Owen’s lies, and there’d already been too many lies. It was time the truth came out, let the chips fall where they may. She only hoped that when they did, Soline would take comfort in her new family and continue to rebuild her life.





FORTY-THREE


RORY

October 26, 1985—Boston

Rory checked her watch, then took three more deep breaths. The doors were scheduled to open in an hour, and they were as ready as they were going to get. A bar had been set up near the front, offering a selection of wines and imported beers; platters of cold hors d’oeuvres had been arranged on a small buffet toward the back; the classical guitarist she had hired was setting up in a discreet corner; and all seven artists had arrived on time and were clustered up front, chatting and waiting for the doors to open.

Her mother and Soline were upstairs, pretending to powder their noses while they gave her some space. She was grateful for that. The week had been a blur of manic creativity and last-minute details, leaving little time for sleep, let alone reflection. Now, with nothing left to do but turn the OPEN sign around and unlock the door, she needed a few seconds of quiet to ground herself in the moment.

It felt almost surreal standing in this place that she had created out of thin air, as if she’d stepped into the middle of someone else’s dream. And in a way, she had. A few months ago, the row house had been abandoned, gutted but not empty. Her grandmother had dreamed here once and had left a little of her magic behind, like bread crumbs for her to find one day. And she had found them. Or perhaps they had found her. Now, whatever the sign above the door might say, Soline Roussel’s echoes would continue to live within these walls. And so would hers.

She stared at the acrylic placard for the gallery’s newest collection—DREAM WAVE BY AURORA GRANT—and blinked back the sting of tears. Suddenly she was with Hux, staring at her work through the window of Finn’s, hearing the words that had set it all in motion.

Dreams are like waves . . . You have to wait for the right one to come along, the one that has your name on it . . . This dream has your name all over it.

“Look what I did, Hux,” she whispered softly. “Look where I’m standing. It did have my name all over it. And now it’s real. Because of you.”

“I think it’s time, sweetheart.”

Rory batted away the last of her tears as she turned to look at her mother. She was wearing a calf-length skirt, a vest of plum-colored crepe, and gray suede boots with pencil-thin heels. Not a stitch of beige in sight. “Have I told you how amazing you look tonight?”

Camilla dropped her chin, smiling shyly. “Thank you. I think we have the same dresser. And look at you—the suit fits like a glove. You look beautiful. And so does everything else. You’ve done an amazing job with all of it. And I’m so glad you decided to hang your work. It deserves to be seen and appreciated.”

“It’s so strange. For months, I’ve been trying to imagine what this night would feel like, and now . . .”

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