Bright Lights, Big Christmas(79)
Kerry and Heinz exchanged a knowing glance.
“Heinz gave me a stern talking-to,” Kerry admitted. “Basically, he told me to get over myself. He pointed out that I’ll never know if I can make it as an artist unless I try. He made me understand that I was being paralyzed, creatively, by my fear of failure.”
“In turn, Kerry opened my eyes too.” Heinz gestured around the room. “Thirty years ago, I left this place. I locked myself into, as my young friend here says, a dungeon. The past was too painful, so I let myself become a prisoner to my grief.”
He clasped his hands around the mug of tea. “But then something mystical happened, right out there, in that park. A dog wagged her tail when she saw me, and a boy convinced me to draw him a picture. When I got sick, Kerry insisted on rescuing me. So annoying, this girl!”
That got a laugh from all of them.
“Kerry and Patrick and Austin dragged me back here, to this place of sadness, and forced medicine down my throat. I got better, and I looked around and suddenly, I realized, the present isn’t such a bad place to be. George is gone, yes, but he left me with all this … beauty, and memories. Nothing can take that from me. I sat in my studio yesterday, and I picked up a paintbrush, and I felt … joy. I saw the future, and possibilities. And Kerry, and all of you, my friends, made that happen.”
Kerry’s throat tightened with emotion at the old man’s unexpected declaration of cheer. “You made the impossible, possible,” she told him.
“Heinz has asked me to work on organizing and cataloging his paintings,” Kerry explained. “When that’s done, we’ll plan an exhibit and sale. But we’re not sure how long that will take, because there are a couple hundred pieces here in the apartment and studio.”
“And I lose track of how many more paintings I have in storage,” Heinz said. “The job could take months. Years, possibly. I need an assistant I can trust, someone with youth and taste and energy. And selfishly, I need that assistant to live close by. As it happens, there is a long-vacant unit here in the building.”
“Where?” Claudia asked, obviously dubious. “I know all the tenants here. There hasn’t been a vacancy in years.”
“It’s the ground-floor efficiency formerly rented by Rex’s son, who moved out several years ago,” Heinz said.
“I remember that unit. You expect her to live in that dump?” Claudia asked.
Kerry’s enthusiasm was undeterred. “It’s tiny, and from the look of it, was last cleaned and painted during the Nixon administration, but it has a window with decent light, and the most revolting bathroom I’ve ever seen, and I can’t wait to make it mine.”
“We’ll be neighbors!” Claudia said. “Fortunately for you, I love to paint. Walls, that is. It’s my Zen.”
Murphy thumped the coffee table with his fist. “Kere, I think this is great. You’ve obviously been miserable living back at home these past few months. What a cool opportunity.”
“Thanks, Murph,” she said. “I’m a little worried about hurting Mom’s feelings…”
“She’ll be fine with it,” her brother assured her. “More than fine.”
Kerry had been watching Patrick’s expression as she unveiled her grand scheme, but to her dismay, his face had remained impassive. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she was suddenly stricken with panic. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe he’d regained his sanity.
He stood abruptly and began gathering up empty wineglasses. “More dessert, anyone? Kerry, could you come out to the kitchen to give me a hand?”
* * *
As soon as the swinging door to the kitchen had closed, Patrick swept her up into his arms, literally lifting her from her feet into his embrace.
“You’re really doing this? It’s really going to happen?”
“Yes, you idiot,” she exclaimed when she could catch her breath. “But you just gave me the fright of my life! I saw your face out there when I said I was staying. Everyone else was so excited. Even Murphy, who never gets excited about anything. But you didn’t say a word. I was terrified you’d changed your mind. About me. About us.”
“Never,” he said, taking her face gently between both hands. “I will never change my mind about you. Or about us. I love you, Kerry Tolliver. Austin adores you. Apparently, everyone in this nutty neighborhood—even the biggest grump of an old man on the block loves you. But nobody, I promise, will ever love you as much as I do. Do you believe me?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips met his, and he had his answer.
Acknowledgments
So many kindnesses were showered upon me as I worked on this novel, to count them all would take more pages than I’m allotted. But, in short, research thanks go to my literary agent, Stuart Krichevsky, who fact-checked this Southern girl’s New York City references, and who accompanied me on my scouting trips to the West Village, where I placed the fictional Tolliver Family Christmas Tree Farm stand. Thanks to Billy Romp and family, from Vermont, whose real-life tree-selling experiences in Greenwich Village loosely inspired my story. Thanks also to Doug Munroe, of West Jefferson, North Carolina, who shared his knowledge of Christmas tree farming, and for my sister from another mother, Beth Fleishman, and her long-suffering husband, Richard Boyette, who opened their mountain house in West Jeffie, as they call it, for a research trip.