Doo 'awéé ééhoozIIh da-The Lost Child(M/M,TEEN)143-11/20/16
Posted: Sun Nov 20, 2016 12:49 pm
keepsmiling : Of course parents want their children to go to college. But we all know Michael, it wasn’t necessarily what he wanted. Maria had more freedom, because of how her mom raised her and because of her beliefs. But Michael’s parents expected it so much because they wanted him to have more options.
Part 143
Michael hooked the strap of Maria’s bag over his shoulder and grabbed his own bag before following his girlfriend off of the plane. The flight hadn’t been bad, but the hour layover in Phoenix had been an aggravation. It didn’t make any sense to him why the stop was necessary considering the length of the flight. He shook the annoyance off before it could gain a foothold and affect his mood. Maneuvering through the throng of people packed in the terminal could do that without any additional help.
“Oh look, Michael,” Maria said as she tugged on his hand.
“What?” he asked, his head automatically turning to follow her pointing finger. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the uniformed chauffer standing near their exit, a cardboard sign with their last names printed in large letters held in his hands. “I thought we were just catchin’ a cab to the hotel.”
“So did I but I’m not complaining.”
He rolled his eyes but stayed close on her heels when she made a beeline for the chauffer and immediately started chatting him up. Anything that kept her mood light wasn’t going to get a negative response from him right now. Although it didn’t keep him from glaring at the Limo Lothario when he started to flirt with her like her boyfriend wasn’t standing right beside her.
“He’s just being friendly,” Maria said as the door closed behind them and Geoffrey hurried around to climb in behind the wheel.
“Yeah, I got that.” He relaxed when her hand settled on his thigh and the car pulled out into the late morning traffic. Geoffrey’s annoying nasal voice continued to blather on about the sights in San Francisco and he was knowledgeable about the area so Maria was happy to engage him in conversation. He was sure the guy was taking the long way to the hotel because he’d looked at it on the map and it really shouldn’t be taking as much time as it was. They could’ve walked there in less time!
Mom had wanted to know where they were staying so Maria had brought out the brochure Savannah had sent along with the plane tickets. After countless handlings by Maria, Liz and Isabel as they practically drooled all over the stupid thing it had looked like something that had been picked out of somebody’s trash. And it had only looked worse after Maggie got finished with it. Thankfully, Mom had looked it over and after making a sound of approval there had been no more fuss over it.
He didn’t see what the big deal was. It was a hotel. No matter how nice they dressed it up, it was an overpriced room. A bed and a bathroom, what was all the excitement about? He didn’t wait for the driver to get out of the car when it finally came to a stop but before he could open the door it was pulled open from the outside and he found himself facing yet another uniformed man. He scrambled out as the guy launched into his welcome speech, quickly turning to give his girlfriend a hand before anyone else could offer.
He shook his head when Limo Lothario came around with their bags and Romeo reached for them. “I’ve got it.”
Maria smiled at Geoffrey and thanked him when he saw her reach for her purse and he hurried to assure them that the tip had already been taken care of. She bumped her hip against Michael to get him moving when the doorman opened the door and she managed to control the urge to laugh until they were inside and the men were out of hearing range.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he grumbled. “Or why he thought he was getting a tip for doin’ his job. Hell, he took the longest possible route to get here.”
“You don’t need to be jealous. They were both really sweet and Geoffrey was just giving us the scenic tour.”
Yeah, he’d seen the scenic tour that moron was taking every time his eyes had landed on Maria. He snorted when the rest of her words registered. Him, jealous? Yeah, right. Jealous of those two? It was laughable. He stewed over those thoughts while she handled the check-in and talked up the elderly woman behind the desk.
“Would you just look at this place?” Maria whispered reverently while they were walking to the elevator. “These floors are Italian marble.”
A floor was a floor. Sure, some were nicer than others, but when it came down to it, a floor was still just a floor. You walked on it whether it was wood, dirt or marble. He turned his head when the scent of something mouthwatering drifted past him. Food, now food was a different story altogether.
Maria rolled her eyes. The floors and décor might not impress him one way or the other, but the food? Yeah, it figured that would have his full and undivided attention. Admittedly, it did smell appetizing. But then, the hotel brochure did boast a world class restaurant with one of the finest chefs in the country.
They took the elevator up to their floor and Maria led the way down the corridor, checking the room numbers and stopping when she located theirs. She swiped the keycard and pushed the door open, stepping inside and stopping suddenly as she gazed around the beautifully furnished room.
“Maria,” he growled when he nearly plowed into her back.
“Just look at it, Michael. Have you ever seen anything like it?” Her voice was low, the words almost whispered in awe.
He looked around and shrugged. “It’s…” and whatever he was about to say locked up in his throat when he spotted not one, but two large flat screen televisions. “You’re right, it’s pretty cool.” He shuffled past her and tossed the bags on the bed before throwing himself down beside them and twisting around to get his greedy hands on the remote control. “Check out the picture on this thing, Maria.”
“We’re supposed to meet Savannah at her art gallery at two o’clock.”
He was already busy scanning through the channels. “Yeah, yeah, that’s at least three hours away.”
Maria shook her head at him and wandered off to explore the room. There was a comfortable sitting area with the second wall-mounted flat screen television, a large bathroom with a sizeable vanity area, and a picture window with a panoramic view of the Bay. She stepped out on the balcony and leaned over the railing to look down over the city, smiling as she watched the people moving around.
She was so excited about moving to San Francisco in a few months and starting their life here together. Her gaze drifted away from the activity below to the coastline, smiling as she imagined the houseboat that was just waiting for them to move in. She had been in contact with Dominik Laszlo, the owner of Antiquities shop. He loved to talk and she had learned that he had come to the States with his parents as a child, refugees fleeing their homeland during the Hungarian Revolution. She had an interview with him scheduled for Monday morning. It might not be the most interesting job, but she was willing to give it a shot and see if it would be a good fit. She couldn’t imagine the conversation would ever be dull or boring.
The job writing articles would only be part-time for a while, but Sandra Markland, the woman who owned the online magazine, was hoping it caught on as internet use exploded and the online availability of written formats such as newspaper publications became more widespread.
Michael was meeting with Trang Stevens on Saturday morning to talk to him about the courier job. She had been curious about the man’s name so she had called Deanna and learned that Trang’s parents had met during the Vietnam War and his father had only found out that he had a son when the boy was four years old. He had been contacted by a woman working for the Red Cross after the boy’s mother had died of malaria. It had been a struggle to bring him to the States, but he had finally succeeded.
Trang had started the business with his father’s help a few years ago and he was still fighting to gain a solid foothold in the industry. She had talked to him when he had called to confirm that Michael would be able to make the scheduled appointment and he seemed like a very pleasant man. He was only about fifteen years older than they were and he owned his own business. Michael hadn’t said anything but she could tell that he respected that.
She knew he’d be great at taking on the handyman job in their little floating home community. He was always doing something on the Rez, helping others out, and growing up the way he had he’d learned all kinds of things about making repairs. Both jobs would keep him free of the confinement of a normal nine-to-five job and as long as he was happy so was she. A different job might pay better, but neither of them felt that being miserable was worth a few more dollars.
“Hey, you wanna get somethin’ to eat before we head over to the gallery?”
She turned to look at Michael when he spoke up from the open balcony doors and she nodded with a smile. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Okay, lemme know when you’re ready.”
She shook her head when he went back inside and before she’d made it in and closed the door he was already involved in whatever game he’d found to watch. She walked around him and she smiled when she leaned over to grab her bag and his fingers ghosted over her arm. She bent down to give him a quick kiss. “Give me ten and I’ll be ready.”
He nodded and watched her walk away, enjoying the view and mentally doing the math. Ten minutes? No, the current situation combined with her mood… thirty-five to forty minutes would be their actual estimated time of departure.
*****
Kinsey Abrams glanced over the couple as they entered the Montague Gallery. They were underdressed for their normal clientele, but she had a feeling they were the two o’clock appointment Savannah was expecting. She stepped away from her desk and crossed the floor as they paused in front of one of their most recent acquisitions. Vibrant splashes of color made an astounding statement on the canvas, but it was apparently lost on the young man.
“Welcome to Montague Gallery,” she greeted them.
“Hi, we’re here to see Savannah Paisley. I’m Maria and this’s my boyfriend Michael.” She motioned to the painting. “We were just wondering what the artist’s statement is.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” Michael mumbled under his breath. Hell, Shysie could paint better than that! He shifted just a moment before his girlfriend’s elbow would have impacted with his ribs.
“It represents hope.” She gazed at it fondly. “Hope for the future, hope for mankind.” She sighed and motioned to the one beside it. A piece that was much darker, more forbidding. “As you can see, this one represents despair.”
“Really?” Michael frowned at it. It was completely black with an off-center blotch of red.
“Oh, yes. The lack of light in the world, the overwhelming presence of fear and the hidden desire to let it swallow us whole, this piece just screams of despair.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone said he wasn’t impressed or buying her explanation. “So what’s a piece like this go for?”
“This particular piece is priced at $97,000 while its companion is priced at $87,000.”
“Someone’s seriously gonna pay that kinda money for a red spot on a black canvas?”
“It’s so much more than that. When you look at it you can just feel the artist’s pain.”
He felt more pain from the price tag. “Well, to each his own I guess.” He wasn’t sure what it said that the so-called darker piece was priced ten grand higher than the one that supposedly represented hope, but whatever.
“Maria, I’m so glad you could make it.”
They turned and she smiled at Savannah before introducing her to Michael.
“I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory?”
“Oh, it’s really too much. You didn’t have to put us up in the nicest hotel on the Bay.”
“Nonsense! I keep a handful of rooms booked at their establishment for clients that fly in for showings and I had that room free this weekend. Please, it’s very important to me that your stay here be comfortable.”
“I can’t imagine any way for a stay there to be anything but comfortable.”
“Wonderful!” She turned to her assistant. “Kinsey, Mrs. Covington just called. She’s on her way to see the new piece we received from Enrique. You know how she feels about his work. Oh, and show her that magnificent piece that Bartok delivered to us yesterday. I have a feeling she’ll love it the moment she sees it.”
Michael shot another glance at the pieces Kinsey had been gushing over and he sincerely hoped whoever Mrs. Covington was, she wasn’t coming to see that crap. His gaze roved over the walls as they followed Savannah back to her office. There wasn’t a single thing there that looked like anything he’d call art.
“I don’t remember my dad painting anything that looks like what you showcase,” Maria said as the office door closed behind them.
“Your father’s work is considerably different than what we have on display, but I assure you there is a huge demand for work of his caliber.” She led the way to another door but before opening it she turned to her guests. “This room is for private viewings and I’ve had everything removed so that I could display your father’s work for you.” She smiled and pulled the door open. “I’ll leave you alone and come back in a while. If you need anything before then I’ll be out front.”
When they had been left alone again Michael took Maria’s hand and pulled her around to face him. “You okay?”
“This… it’s almost like seeing him again. When he painted he put everything into it, like he was putting pieces of himself on the canvas. Dad was a true artist, passionate, emotional and so immersed in the moment when he was working. I know he sold a few pieces, but a gallery like this doesn’t sell smalltime paintings.”
“Then she sees the depth of his connection to his work and she understands its value.” And he really hoped it wasn’t as weird as the pieces on display out front were because it wasn’t going to be easy to agree with how great they were if they looked like that.
She smiled and took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold and into the dimly lit room. As she moved forward a light came on above the first painting and she inhaled sharply. She couldn’t help reaching out and letting her fingers graze the brushstrokes swept across the canvas by her father’s hand.
Michael studied the desert landscape, his eyes automatically finding the details that someone unfamiliar with the beauty of the New Mexican desert would miss. Her father had obviously loved the desert as well as the ocean. Both were heavily showcased as they moved down the wall. There were paintings of the grasslands, desert and prairie, the desert at night when the sky was laden with stars, during the day when the sun beat down on the sand and sent every living creature into hiding, paintings of San Francisco, the ocean and even a few abstracts that he didn’t really understand.
“Michael, look,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out to another painting.
He moved to join her and he stared in shock at the herd of mustangs drinking from the river at dusk. “Santana and Mirage.” His voice was hushed as if speaking any louder would destroy the moment. He counted the horses in the painting. “This had to be the first or second year they were on the Rez.”
“It’s so beautiful.” Her fingertips traced over the frame she knew to be hand carved from driftwood. Her father had found beauty in imperfection. She could remember running on the beach with him on a long ago trip to San Francisco and her curiosity making her stop when he crouched down to pick up something half-buried in the sand. She had watched him as he pulled seaweed off of it and brushed sand away and then listened to him as he explained what it meant to find beauty in the most unexpected places. All of his paintings had been placed in unique frames, but there were a select number that he had crafted himself.
“Your dad made this?” he asked, sensing it was true from the way she caressed the wood.
“Yeah.” Her voice cracked but she held a hand up and shook her head when he took a step closer. She cleared her throat and raised her head to look at the painting once more. “He was a genius with a paintbrush.”
“Yeah, he had the touch.” He touched the edge of the frame, tracing over the smooth polished lines of the gnarled wood. It was a beautiful job and he’d managed to capture the mystical bond between Santana and Mirage on the canvas.
“I never knew he spent so much time in the desert.” She could remember her dad telling her that to really reveal any truth through art you had to immerse yourself in your subject. “I know before he and my mom got together he lived near the ocean most of his life,” she gestured to the paintings featuring the ocean before once again focusing on the one that had so completely captured her attention, “but…” her fingertips gently grazed over Santana’s mane as her words trailed off.
After a while she continued moving down the wall to view the rest of the paintings. She could feel Michael keeping pace with her, a protective, caring shadow, his very presence reassuring in its promise to be there if she needed him. She turned to glance at him when she felt him move away and she watched him when he stopped in front of a desert landscape, his head tipped to one side as he studied it. She moved back to his side, wondering what had captured his attention.
It was the desert at night; the sky so black it almost appeared a deep indigo, countless stars scattered across its expanse with shadowy outlines of rocky outcroppings far in the distance. He leaned in closer, hands resting on his knees as he studied the details of the scene. There was something about it that seemed so familiar. He shrugged it off after a few more minutes of staring at it, straightening up and motioning for her to move along.
There were a couple more paintings of the desert, one more of the ocean, but it was the last one on the wall that stopped her in her tracks. She stared in disbelief at the image of herself at four years old, perched atop her dad’s shoulders as he nodded at a painting hanging on the wall of a museum. He’d captured her innocence and curiosity as well as his own fatherly pride and love.
“The museum in Santa Fe?”
His voice startled her. She had been so caught up in the memories stirred up by the poignant painting that she’d almost felt as if she’d been drawn back into that moment, as if she was there, listening with rapt attention as her dad explained the artist’s use of color. She could almost feel his forearm resting against her legs, his hand, an artist’s hand, wrapped securely around hers and keeping her balanced on her perch.
After a moment she remembered Michael’s question and she nodded. “Yeah.” She was surprised that he remembered that little bit of information, she’d only mentioned it the one time, sitting on the tailgate of his dad’s truck on the side of the road, halfway between their homes.
His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her back against him. “Didn’t I tell you you’re not forgettable?” he murmured against her ear.
Maria smiled slightly and relaxed back into him as her hands came up to rest on his forearms. If not for Michael she wouldn’t have made this trip and she would’ve missed out on experiencing this reconnection with her dad. All these years she’d unfairly judged him, believing the worst of him, and she had been so wrong.
“I want to visit him, Michael.”
“Any idea where he was laid to rest?”
“No, but it can’t be that hard to find, can it?”
“We have his name, we know where he was living and we know the date he passed away so it should be easy enough to find him.” He knew it was important to her to know where her dad’s final resting place was so that made it important to him.
She smiled and nodded. “Let’s find Savannah. I need to talk to her about a couple of the paintings and then we’ll go.”
He lowered his arms but maintained a hold on her hand as she led the way out of the private showing room, pausing at the entrance when she stopped to turn and stare at the paintings once more. He didn’t need her to point out the ones she intended to speak to the gallery owner about. He already knew which ones would be gracing the walls of their new home.
Part 143
Michael hooked the strap of Maria’s bag over his shoulder and grabbed his own bag before following his girlfriend off of the plane. The flight hadn’t been bad, but the hour layover in Phoenix had been an aggravation. It didn’t make any sense to him why the stop was necessary considering the length of the flight. He shook the annoyance off before it could gain a foothold and affect his mood. Maneuvering through the throng of people packed in the terminal could do that without any additional help.
“Oh look, Michael,” Maria said as she tugged on his hand.
“What?” he asked, his head automatically turning to follow her pointing finger. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the uniformed chauffer standing near their exit, a cardboard sign with their last names printed in large letters held in his hands. “I thought we were just catchin’ a cab to the hotel.”
“So did I but I’m not complaining.”
He rolled his eyes but stayed close on her heels when she made a beeline for the chauffer and immediately started chatting him up. Anything that kept her mood light wasn’t going to get a negative response from him right now. Although it didn’t keep him from glaring at the Limo Lothario when he started to flirt with her like her boyfriend wasn’t standing right beside her.
“He’s just being friendly,” Maria said as the door closed behind them and Geoffrey hurried around to climb in behind the wheel.
“Yeah, I got that.” He relaxed when her hand settled on his thigh and the car pulled out into the late morning traffic. Geoffrey’s annoying nasal voice continued to blather on about the sights in San Francisco and he was knowledgeable about the area so Maria was happy to engage him in conversation. He was sure the guy was taking the long way to the hotel because he’d looked at it on the map and it really shouldn’t be taking as much time as it was. They could’ve walked there in less time!
Mom had wanted to know where they were staying so Maria had brought out the brochure Savannah had sent along with the plane tickets. After countless handlings by Maria, Liz and Isabel as they practically drooled all over the stupid thing it had looked like something that had been picked out of somebody’s trash. And it had only looked worse after Maggie got finished with it. Thankfully, Mom had looked it over and after making a sound of approval there had been no more fuss over it.
He didn’t see what the big deal was. It was a hotel. No matter how nice they dressed it up, it was an overpriced room. A bed and a bathroom, what was all the excitement about? He didn’t wait for the driver to get out of the car when it finally came to a stop but before he could open the door it was pulled open from the outside and he found himself facing yet another uniformed man. He scrambled out as the guy launched into his welcome speech, quickly turning to give his girlfriend a hand before anyone else could offer.
He shook his head when Limo Lothario came around with their bags and Romeo reached for them. “I’ve got it.”
Maria smiled at Geoffrey and thanked him when he saw her reach for her purse and he hurried to assure them that the tip had already been taken care of. She bumped her hip against Michael to get him moving when the doorman opened the door and she managed to control the urge to laugh until they were inside and the men were out of hearing range.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he grumbled. “Or why he thought he was getting a tip for doin’ his job. Hell, he took the longest possible route to get here.”
“You don’t need to be jealous. They were both really sweet and Geoffrey was just giving us the scenic tour.”
Yeah, he’d seen the scenic tour that moron was taking every time his eyes had landed on Maria. He snorted when the rest of her words registered. Him, jealous? Yeah, right. Jealous of those two? It was laughable. He stewed over those thoughts while she handled the check-in and talked up the elderly woman behind the desk.
“Would you just look at this place?” Maria whispered reverently while they were walking to the elevator. “These floors are Italian marble.”
A floor was a floor. Sure, some were nicer than others, but when it came down to it, a floor was still just a floor. You walked on it whether it was wood, dirt or marble. He turned his head when the scent of something mouthwatering drifted past him. Food, now food was a different story altogether.
Maria rolled her eyes. The floors and décor might not impress him one way or the other, but the food? Yeah, it figured that would have his full and undivided attention. Admittedly, it did smell appetizing. But then, the hotel brochure did boast a world class restaurant with one of the finest chefs in the country.
They took the elevator up to their floor and Maria led the way down the corridor, checking the room numbers and stopping when she located theirs. She swiped the keycard and pushed the door open, stepping inside and stopping suddenly as she gazed around the beautifully furnished room.
“Maria,” he growled when he nearly plowed into her back.
“Just look at it, Michael. Have you ever seen anything like it?” Her voice was low, the words almost whispered in awe.
He looked around and shrugged. “It’s…” and whatever he was about to say locked up in his throat when he spotted not one, but two large flat screen televisions. “You’re right, it’s pretty cool.” He shuffled past her and tossed the bags on the bed before throwing himself down beside them and twisting around to get his greedy hands on the remote control. “Check out the picture on this thing, Maria.”
“We’re supposed to meet Savannah at her art gallery at two o’clock.”
He was already busy scanning through the channels. “Yeah, yeah, that’s at least three hours away.”
Maria shook her head at him and wandered off to explore the room. There was a comfortable sitting area with the second wall-mounted flat screen television, a large bathroom with a sizeable vanity area, and a picture window with a panoramic view of the Bay. She stepped out on the balcony and leaned over the railing to look down over the city, smiling as she watched the people moving around.
She was so excited about moving to San Francisco in a few months and starting their life here together. Her gaze drifted away from the activity below to the coastline, smiling as she imagined the houseboat that was just waiting for them to move in. She had been in contact with Dominik Laszlo, the owner of Antiquities shop. He loved to talk and she had learned that he had come to the States with his parents as a child, refugees fleeing their homeland during the Hungarian Revolution. She had an interview with him scheduled for Monday morning. It might not be the most interesting job, but she was willing to give it a shot and see if it would be a good fit. She couldn’t imagine the conversation would ever be dull or boring.
The job writing articles would only be part-time for a while, but Sandra Markland, the woman who owned the online magazine, was hoping it caught on as internet use exploded and the online availability of written formats such as newspaper publications became more widespread.
Michael was meeting with Trang Stevens on Saturday morning to talk to him about the courier job. She had been curious about the man’s name so she had called Deanna and learned that Trang’s parents had met during the Vietnam War and his father had only found out that he had a son when the boy was four years old. He had been contacted by a woman working for the Red Cross after the boy’s mother had died of malaria. It had been a struggle to bring him to the States, but he had finally succeeded.
Trang had started the business with his father’s help a few years ago and he was still fighting to gain a solid foothold in the industry. She had talked to him when he had called to confirm that Michael would be able to make the scheduled appointment and he seemed like a very pleasant man. He was only about fifteen years older than they were and he owned his own business. Michael hadn’t said anything but she could tell that he respected that.
She knew he’d be great at taking on the handyman job in their little floating home community. He was always doing something on the Rez, helping others out, and growing up the way he had he’d learned all kinds of things about making repairs. Both jobs would keep him free of the confinement of a normal nine-to-five job and as long as he was happy so was she. A different job might pay better, but neither of them felt that being miserable was worth a few more dollars.
“Hey, you wanna get somethin’ to eat before we head over to the gallery?”
She turned to look at Michael when he spoke up from the open balcony doors and she nodded with a smile. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Okay, lemme know when you’re ready.”
She shook her head when he went back inside and before she’d made it in and closed the door he was already involved in whatever game he’d found to watch. She walked around him and she smiled when she leaned over to grab her bag and his fingers ghosted over her arm. She bent down to give him a quick kiss. “Give me ten and I’ll be ready.”
He nodded and watched her walk away, enjoying the view and mentally doing the math. Ten minutes? No, the current situation combined with her mood… thirty-five to forty minutes would be their actual estimated time of departure.
*****
Kinsey Abrams glanced over the couple as they entered the Montague Gallery. They were underdressed for their normal clientele, but she had a feeling they were the two o’clock appointment Savannah was expecting. She stepped away from her desk and crossed the floor as they paused in front of one of their most recent acquisitions. Vibrant splashes of color made an astounding statement on the canvas, but it was apparently lost on the young man.
“Welcome to Montague Gallery,” she greeted them.
“Hi, we’re here to see Savannah Paisley. I’m Maria and this’s my boyfriend Michael.” She motioned to the painting. “We were just wondering what the artist’s statement is.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” Michael mumbled under his breath. Hell, Shysie could paint better than that! He shifted just a moment before his girlfriend’s elbow would have impacted with his ribs.
“It represents hope.” She gazed at it fondly. “Hope for the future, hope for mankind.” She sighed and motioned to the one beside it. A piece that was much darker, more forbidding. “As you can see, this one represents despair.”
“Really?” Michael frowned at it. It was completely black with an off-center blotch of red.
“Oh, yes. The lack of light in the world, the overwhelming presence of fear and the hidden desire to let it swallow us whole, this piece just screams of despair.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone said he wasn’t impressed or buying her explanation. “So what’s a piece like this go for?”
“This particular piece is priced at $97,000 while its companion is priced at $87,000.”
“Someone’s seriously gonna pay that kinda money for a red spot on a black canvas?”
“It’s so much more than that. When you look at it you can just feel the artist’s pain.”
He felt more pain from the price tag. “Well, to each his own I guess.” He wasn’t sure what it said that the so-called darker piece was priced ten grand higher than the one that supposedly represented hope, but whatever.
“Maria, I’m so glad you could make it.”
They turned and she smiled at Savannah before introducing her to Michael.
“I hope you found your accommodations satisfactory?”
“Oh, it’s really too much. You didn’t have to put us up in the nicest hotel on the Bay.”
“Nonsense! I keep a handful of rooms booked at their establishment for clients that fly in for showings and I had that room free this weekend. Please, it’s very important to me that your stay here be comfortable.”
“I can’t imagine any way for a stay there to be anything but comfortable.”
“Wonderful!” She turned to her assistant. “Kinsey, Mrs. Covington just called. She’s on her way to see the new piece we received from Enrique. You know how she feels about his work. Oh, and show her that magnificent piece that Bartok delivered to us yesterday. I have a feeling she’ll love it the moment she sees it.”
Michael shot another glance at the pieces Kinsey had been gushing over and he sincerely hoped whoever Mrs. Covington was, she wasn’t coming to see that crap. His gaze roved over the walls as they followed Savannah back to her office. There wasn’t a single thing there that looked like anything he’d call art.
“I don’t remember my dad painting anything that looks like what you showcase,” Maria said as the office door closed behind them.
“Your father’s work is considerably different than what we have on display, but I assure you there is a huge demand for work of his caliber.” She led the way to another door but before opening it she turned to her guests. “This room is for private viewings and I’ve had everything removed so that I could display your father’s work for you.” She smiled and pulled the door open. “I’ll leave you alone and come back in a while. If you need anything before then I’ll be out front.”
When they had been left alone again Michael took Maria’s hand and pulled her around to face him. “You okay?”
“This… it’s almost like seeing him again. When he painted he put everything into it, like he was putting pieces of himself on the canvas. Dad was a true artist, passionate, emotional and so immersed in the moment when he was working. I know he sold a few pieces, but a gallery like this doesn’t sell smalltime paintings.”
“Then she sees the depth of his connection to his work and she understands its value.” And he really hoped it wasn’t as weird as the pieces on display out front were because it wasn’t going to be easy to agree with how great they were if they looked like that.
She smiled and took a deep breath before stepping over the threshold and into the dimly lit room. As she moved forward a light came on above the first painting and she inhaled sharply. She couldn’t help reaching out and letting her fingers graze the brushstrokes swept across the canvas by her father’s hand.
Michael studied the desert landscape, his eyes automatically finding the details that someone unfamiliar with the beauty of the New Mexican desert would miss. Her father had obviously loved the desert as well as the ocean. Both were heavily showcased as they moved down the wall. There were paintings of the grasslands, desert and prairie, the desert at night when the sky was laden with stars, during the day when the sun beat down on the sand and sent every living creature into hiding, paintings of San Francisco, the ocean and even a few abstracts that he didn’t really understand.
“Michael, look,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she reached out to another painting.
He moved to join her and he stared in shock at the herd of mustangs drinking from the river at dusk. “Santana and Mirage.” His voice was hushed as if speaking any louder would destroy the moment. He counted the horses in the painting. “This had to be the first or second year they were on the Rez.”
“It’s so beautiful.” Her fingertips traced over the frame she knew to be hand carved from driftwood. Her father had found beauty in imperfection. She could remember running on the beach with him on a long ago trip to San Francisco and her curiosity making her stop when he crouched down to pick up something half-buried in the sand. She had watched him as he pulled seaweed off of it and brushed sand away and then listened to him as he explained what it meant to find beauty in the most unexpected places. All of his paintings had been placed in unique frames, but there were a select number that he had crafted himself.
“Your dad made this?” he asked, sensing it was true from the way she caressed the wood.
“Yeah.” Her voice cracked but she held a hand up and shook her head when he took a step closer. She cleared her throat and raised her head to look at the painting once more. “He was a genius with a paintbrush.”
“Yeah, he had the touch.” He touched the edge of the frame, tracing over the smooth polished lines of the gnarled wood. It was a beautiful job and he’d managed to capture the mystical bond between Santana and Mirage on the canvas.
“I never knew he spent so much time in the desert.” She could remember her dad telling her that to really reveal any truth through art you had to immerse yourself in your subject. “I know before he and my mom got together he lived near the ocean most of his life,” she gestured to the paintings featuring the ocean before once again focusing on the one that had so completely captured her attention, “but…” her fingertips gently grazed over Santana’s mane as her words trailed off.
After a while she continued moving down the wall to view the rest of the paintings. She could feel Michael keeping pace with her, a protective, caring shadow, his very presence reassuring in its promise to be there if she needed him. She turned to glance at him when she felt him move away and she watched him when he stopped in front of a desert landscape, his head tipped to one side as he studied it. She moved back to his side, wondering what had captured his attention.
It was the desert at night; the sky so black it almost appeared a deep indigo, countless stars scattered across its expanse with shadowy outlines of rocky outcroppings far in the distance. He leaned in closer, hands resting on his knees as he studied the details of the scene. There was something about it that seemed so familiar. He shrugged it off after a few more minutes of staring at it, straightening up and motioning for her to move along.
There were a couple more paintings of the desert, one more of the ocean, but it was the last one on the wall that stopped her in her tracks. She stared in disbelief at the image of herself at four years old, perched atop her dad’s shoulders as he nodded at a painting hanging on the wall of a museum. He’d captured her innocence and curiosity as well as his own fatherly pride and love.
“The museum in Santa Fe?”
His voice startled her. She had been so caught up in the memories stirred up by the poignant painting that she’d almost felt as if she’d been drawn back into that moment, as if she was there, listening with rapt attention as her dad explained the artist’s use of color. She could almost feel his forearm resting against her legs, his hand, an artist’s hand, wrapped securely around hers and keeping her balanced on her perch.
After a moment she remembered Michael’s question and she nodded. “Yeah.” She was surprised that he remembered that little bit of information, she’d only mentioned it the one time, sitting on the tailgate of his dad’s truck on the side of the road, halfway between their homes.
His strong arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her back against him. “Didn’t I tell you you’re not forgettable?” he murmured against her ear.
Maria smiled slightly and relaxed back into him as her hands came up to rest on his forearms. If not for Michael she wouldn’t have made this trip and she would’ve missed out on experiencing this reconnection with her dad. All these years she’d unfairly judged him, believing the worst of him, and she had been so wrong.
“I want to visit him, Michael.”
“Any idea where he was laid to rest?”
“No, but it can’t be that hard to find, can it?”
“We have his name, we know where he was living and we know the date he passed away so it should be easy enough to find him.” He knew it was important to her to know where her dad’s final resting place was so that made it important to him.
She smiled and nodded. “Let’s find Savannah. I need to talk to her about a couple of the paintings and then we’ll go.”
He lowered his arms but maintained a hold on her hand as she led the way out of the private showing room, pausing at the entrance when she stopped to turn and stare at the paintings once more. He didn’t need her to point out the ones she intended to speak to the gallery owner about. He already knew which ones would be gracing the walls of their new home.