Anita moved closer. “I told them. I hope you don’t mind.”
Elizabeth wanted to pull Anita into her arms, but she couldn’t seem to move. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to cry. “I don’t mind,” she whispered harshly. “Thank you, Anita.”
Her stepmother touched her arm, squeezed gently. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Amazingly, with the flowers in her arms and her stepmother beside her, Elizabeth could almost believe it.
Marge began setting out the hors d’oeuvres. Tiny hot dogs wrapped in Kraft cheese strips. Then she plugged in the Crock-Pot. Within minutes, the small gallery smelled like teriyaki.
By ten o’clock, the streets were packed with tourists and locals. A band played oldies in the parking lot of the Windermere Realty office, and every store was crowded with shoppers. A barely-there rain had started to fall.
Out-of-towners bought ice cream cones and kites, sweatshirts and place mats and Christmas ornaments made of driftwood and dried seaweed. They bought wind chimes made of old spoons and photographs of Haystack Rock, and watercolor paintings of the shore.
What they didn’t buy was Elizabeth’s work.
It became more and more obvious as the day dragged on, as painful as a toothache. Marge stood at the cash register, kachinging up sales. The walls around Elizabeth’s work cleared out.
Joey was the first to leave. She said she needed to get to work—a big night at the Pig-in-a-Blanket—but Elizabeth had seen the pity in her new friend’s eyes. Joey couldn’t stand to watch the slow bloodletting.
Around two o’clock, Fran mentioned something about picking up her kids, and then she was gone. An hour later, Mina went to the market in search of more baby hot dogs, although there were plenty left. The only one who made no excuses was Anita; she sat on a stool in the corner, ostensibly knitting, but Elizabeth knew that her stepmother was really watching her, waiting for signs of meltdown.
Elizabeth stood against the wall, hugging herself so tightly she could barely breathe, standing so stiffly her joints ached. But her smile never faltered.
She’d been stupid to expect anything different. She admitted that tiny disappointment, then tucked it away. This wasn’t a mistake she’d make again, and there was no point gnawing over it. What was done was done.
And if she felt as fragile as a damp tissue, that too would pass. As long as she didn’t make any sudden moves, she’d get through the rest of this day. Then she’d make it through the night, and the next day, and so on. That was the way of things. Tonight she’d go home, box up her paintings, and try to forget she’d ever bothered.
The bell above the door tinkled. That had been a constant noise all day. She steeled herself to smile at someone else who wouldn’t want her work.
Daniel stood there, filling the doorway. Sunlight gilded his blond hair.
“How’s it going?” he asked, coming toward her.
“Not good. Actually, that’s an overstatement.”
He walked past her, stood in front of her work. It was difficult to miss; every other wall was bare. Finally, he turned to look at her. “These are beautiful. You really have a remarkable talent.”
“Oh, yeah. I know.” She was an eyelash away from losing it. Before he could see how weakened she was, she rushed out of the store.
Outside, she could breathe.
He followed her out. “How about a latte?”
“Great.”
They strolled down the busy street together. At the ice cream shop, he bought two cones and two lattes. Then they went onto the Promenade and sat down on a cement bench. Out on the beach, a man was teaching a little boy to fly a kite.
Elizabeth stared at her cone as if the answer to world peace could be found in a scoop of chocolate chip mint.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said finally.
“I know.” Her agreement sounded hollow, even to her own ears. She couldn’t help it. All her energies were bound up in maintaining. There was nothing left over for pretense. “It’s more of a free-form depression.”
“Did you think it would be easy?”
“I thought something would sell.”
He touched her cheek, gently forced her to look at him. “Does that matter so much?”
“No, but, aw, shit.” The tears she’d been swallowing all day burst out.
Daniel took her in his arms. He stroked her hair and let her cry. Finally, she drew back, hiccuping, feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry. It’s just been an awful day.”
“Don’t give up, Birdie. You have talent. I knew that the first time I saw you paint. I think maybe you’ve given up too easily before.”
She realized suddenly that she was in his arms, that he was holding her tightly. She felt his breathing against her forehead. Slowly, she looked up.
He took her face in his hands, wiped the tears with his thumbs. “It took guts to show your work today. I know. There’s nothing worse than standing naked in public and saying, Here I am.”