I did what I could to keep him comfortable toward the end. I bought him a television, which he claimed to hate, though he watched it incessantly. I read him the paper each night after supper. I even smoked for him now and then, when he would beg me to share a smoke. I would lie beside him in the dark, blowing pillars of blue smoke into the air above his head, so he could enjoy it secondhand. His doctor would have had ten fits, but I didn’t care. I owed him everything, and he deserved some enjoyment in his last days.
He died on a Sunday, leaving me the shop and every cent he had in the world. He also left a note containing a few scribbled words. It’s your nest now, little bird. Time to spread your wings and fly, fly, fly. Two months later, only my name remained on the window, along with the words L’AIGUILLE ENCHANTéE in pretty gold script.
I still miss him terribly.
He was my champion—father, mentor, and a dear, dear friend. I knew his secrets, and he knew mine. I drove him crazy, and he made me laugh. I gave him back his will to fight, and in return he gave me a future.
THIRTY-TWO
RORY
September 7, 1985—Boston
Rory set her purse on the dresser and sagged onto the bed, aware of Hux’s eyes on her as she began to unlace her boots. She reached for the framed photo on the nightstand and laid it in her lap, seized by a pang of loneliness so sharp it nearly took her breath away. Was this all she was to have of him now? An image trapped behind a rectangle of glass?
He’d been missing nearly nine months, without a scrap of news. What was the appropriate length of time for giving up on happy endings? A year? Two? And what then? What shape did her life take when Hux was no longer a part of her hopes and dreams?
She would have the gallery and an ever-changing stable of artists to promote. But could she make a life out of that? Or would she end up like Soline, walled off from the world with her grief? Hux wouldn’t want that. He’d want her to move on—in all aspects of her life. But was that what she wanted? She couldn’t imagine anyone ever filling the empty place Hux’s disappearance had carved in her. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her heart belonged to Hux and would for a very long time. For now—for a very long now—the gallery would have to fill her days. Like Soline with her shop.
And things were finally beginning to take shape on that front. The painters had started work today, and she’d stayed late, eager to see how the slate gray she had chosen for the walls looked after the second coat. She’d ended up covered in paint after bumping into a ladder and knocking a roller out of its tray, but the color was perfect. And to top it off, she’d set up a meeting with Kendra Paterson, an artist whose stunning sea glass sculptures had caught her eye last year at an art fair in Portsmouth. If all went well, her pieces would be the focal point of the opening.
Unfortunately, she was going to have to call her mother and explain why she couldn’t make brunch. Again. She stripped off her paint-spattered clothes, started the shower, then grabbed the cordless on the way to the laundry room.
“Hey, it’s me,” she said, cringing when Camilla answered. She’d been hoping for the machine.
“Let me guess—you’re not coming tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m heading to Freeport first thing in the morning to meet with an artist.”
“Is there a shortage of hippie artists here in Boston?”
“She’s not a hippie, Mother. It’s 1985. No one’s a hippie anymore.” She paused, measuring detergent into the washer with her free hand, then dropped the lid with a hollow clang. “She works full time and teaches classes on the side. This is the only time she could do it.”
“What on earth is that noise?”
“The washer. I was a klutz and got covered in paint today.”
“You do know there are people you can pay to do that sort of thing, Aurora. It’s not as though you have to do this on a shoestring.”
“I am paying someone. Several someones, in fact. But I wanted to see how the color turned out. I’m afraid I made a nuisance of myself, but they were great about it.”
“So things are coming along?”
“Swimmingly. It’s actually starting to look like a gallery. You could come by sometime, you know, and see for yourself.”
“I know, and I will, but I’ve been frightfully busy. I’m glad things are on schedule.”
“Ahead of schedule, actually. I’m hoping to set the date for the opening next month. That reminds me, I promised to invite Vicky and Hilly. I’ll need their addresses for the invitations. And for anyone else you think I should invite.”