Night Road(30)

She was out the door only an hour behind them. She dropped off Miles’s dry cleaning, picked up some paperwork from the college counselor she’d hired, got her nails done, returned the movies they’d rented, and stopped by the grocery store to order a fresh, free-range, organic turkey for Thanksgiving.

With all those island stops, she made it to the ferry terminal with seconds to spare, driving right onto the boat. The channel crossing took less than forty minutes. In downtown Seattle, she found a parking spot a few blocks from the gallery and pulled in at exactly 12:06. Only a few minutes late.

On the sidewalk out front, she straightened, stiffened her spine, and set her chin up, like a prizefighter about to face a bigger opponent. In taupe wool pants and a creamy cashmere turtleneck, she knew she looked good … but was it good enough for her mother’s critical eye?

She sighed at that. It was ridiculous, all this worry about her mother. God knew Caroline didn’t worry about Jude’s opinion. She resettled her purse over her shoulder and headed to the gallery. On the wall out front, a discreet sign welcomed her to JACE.

She stepped inside. It was a big, brick-walled space, dotted with large mullioned windows. Gorgeous paintings hung one after another, illuminated with precision. As always, there was a sadness to the work that made Jude frown. It was all in greens and browns and grays.

“Judith,” her mother said, coming forward. She was dressed in slim black pants and a rose-colored silk blouse. A gorgeous stone necklace offset her green eyes. “I expected you a few minutes ago.”

“Traffic.”

“Of course.” Mother’s smile was as brittle as old bones. “I thought we could eat outside today. It’s so unexpectedly lovely.” Without waiting for a response, she led Jude through the gallery and up to the rooftop patio that overlooked Alaskan Way. From here, the view of Elliott Bay and Pine Island sparkled in the pale autumn sunlight. Large sculpted evergreens grew from huge terra-cotta pots. A table had been set with silver and crystal. Everything was perfect, as usual. Lovely, as her mother would have said.

Jude sat down, scooting in close.

Mother poured two glasses of wine and then sat down across from Jude. “So,” she said, lifting a silver lid and serving up the salad ni?oise, “what are you doing with yourself these days?”

“The kids are seniors in high school. That keeps me pretty busy.”

“Of course. What will you do when they go to college?”

The remark was unsettling. “I saw a master gardener class that looked interesting,” she said, hearing—and hating—the anemic tone in her voice. Lately, she’d begun to wonder exactly the same thing. What would she do when her children were gone?

Her mother looked at her. “Would you ever consider managing JACE?”

“What?”

“The gallery. I’m getting older. Most of my friends retired long ago. You’ve a good eye for talent.”

“But … the gallery is your life.”

“Is it?” Her mother sipped her wine. “I suppose. Why couldn’t it be yours as well?”

Jude considered that. She had watched her mother work this gallery for years, giving up everything else in her life. She’d even given up painting. Nothing mattered to her mother except the artists she chose and their work. It was an empty existence. And then there was the real problem: her mother would never quit, and the idea of working together was horrifying. They hadn’t had an honest conversation in thirty-some years. “I don’t think so.”

Mother put down her wine. “May I ask why not?”

“I can’t see us working well together. And I certainly can’t see you actually retiring, Mother. What would you do?”

Her mother glanced away, looked out at the bay, where a boat was pulling up to the marina. “I don’t know.”

For the first time in years, Jude felt a kind of kinship with her mother. Both of them were facing changes in life, the natural consequences of aging. The difference between them was that Jude had people she loved around her. In that way, her mother was a cautionary tale. “You’ll never quit,” she said.

“You’re right, of course. Now, let’s eat. I only have forty minutes left. Really, Judith, you should try to be on time for our lunches…”

They spent the next forty-four minutes making agonizing small talk; neither one really listened to the other. Long silences punctuated every comment, and in the quiet, Jude all too often recalled her lonely childhood. Years she’d spent waiting for a kind word from this woman. When it was finally over, Jude said good-bye and left the gallery.

Outside, she stood on the street, unexpectedly unsettled. Her mother had struck a nerve with that what will you do? sentence, and it irritated Jude that she even cared. She walked down the busy street toward her car. She was almost there when she glanced in a window and stopped.

There, in a glass display case, was a gorgeous gold ring.

She went inside, looked closer. It was stunning: a perfect combination of edgy and sophisticated, modern and timeless. The shape was slightly asymmetrical, with a triangular flap on the top edge. The artist must have somehow wrapped heated metal around a form and then twisted it just enough to give the wide band a fun little tail. The empty jewel prong was also slightly off center.

Jude looked up. In response, an elegantly coifed older woman made almost no noise as she crossed the store and stepped gracefully behind the counter. “Have you found something?”