He had an hour before he was due to pick up Natalie for lunch with friends, then he intended to surprise his bride-to-be with an early evening showing at a house he thought might suit them both.
A house, their house, equaled the next stage. Something they’d find and buy and outfit and finally live in together.
The lady wanted a fall wedding, he’d wait. She wanted a big, formal wedding, he got on board the train. But he wanted that next stage.
He let himself into his apartment, set his golf clubs by the door. Then he spotted Natalie curled on his living room sofa. His already bright mood went brighter still.
“Hey, sweets. I didn’t—” Then he saw the tears, the ravaged face as her arms reached for him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
As he gathered her up, she broke into fresh sobs.
“Oh Jesus, is it your parents? Your grandmother?”
She shook her head fiercely. “Oh, Harry. I did something terrible.”
“That’s hard to believe. Shh, don’t cry.” He dug out a handkerchief—his mother had trained him to carry one at all times—dabbed at her face. “Did you rob a bank? Kick a puppy?”
“I went to see Simone.”
“Okay. I’m guessing that didn’t go well.”
“She hates me, Harry. CiCi hates me, too.”
“They don’t.”
“You don’t know. You don’t understand. Simone’s always been CiCi’s favorite. She dotes on her—peas in a pod, just like Mom says—and I get whatever’s left.”
“If that’s true, there must be a lot left because every time I’ve seen you with your grandmother I’ve seen how much she loves you, how proud she is of you. I don’t see any hate.”
“They do hate me. If they didn’t before, they do now after what happened.”
“What happened?”
“I didn’t mean to do it.” Gripping his shirt, she burrowed against him. “I was just so mad, and Simone was saying awful, awful things to me. And CiCi’s making them goddamn Bloody Marys, and I could just feel her laughing at me. I just lost my temper.”
“God, Natalie, you didn’t hit your sister, did you?”
“No! I just … I just lost my temper, and I pushed it over, and it broke. I didn’t mean to do it, and I was so sorry, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“Pushed what?”
“The statue. The bust of the woman.” Sick all over again, Natalie pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Simone’s statue from that damn show in Florence. CiCi bought it, was always showing it off. I just shoved it, and it fell, and it broke. And after, like a second after, it was like someone else had done it. I was so shocked and sorry, and I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen.”
“The woman coming out of the pool?” He’d seen it, admired it. “The one in CiCi’s great room?”
“Yes, yes, yes. I just lost my temper. They—they ganged up on me, and I lost my temper, and then they wouldn’t let me apologize.”
He pushed off the sofa to walk to the window. He could see the piece in his head, remembered that when he’d admired it how CiCi had told him about the show, about how she’d felt when she’d seen it.
“Natalie, you knew what that piece meant to your grandmother, and to your sister.”
“It was just there, and I didn’t mean it.”
He came back, sat again, took her hand. “Natalie, I know you, and I know you’re not telling me the whole story.”
“You’re taking her side.” She tried to pull her hand free, but he held tight.
“I’m listening to your side, but don’t shade the truth.”
“I didn’t come here to fight with you. I didn’t come here to fight with you over Simone. Again.”
“We didn’t fight over Simone. We fought because you hadn’t told me the truth. You’d told me your sister couldn’t make it home for the party. That she was too busy. You let me think you’d told her and she’d said she couldn’t come.”
“She was out west somewhere, so I assumed—”
“We’re lawyers,” he interrupted. “We both know how to use half-truths and semantics. Don’t use them on me. What happened today?”
Genuinely terrified, she gripped his shirt again. “Don’t turn on me, Harry. I couldn’t stand it if you turned on me.”
Now he cupped her face with his hands. “That’s never going to happen. But we’re going to be straight with each other. Honest with each other.”
“My parents … My mother’s upset because my father’s gone over to the island twice since the party.”
“Your mother’s upset because your father’s spent some time with your sister?”
“You don’t understand! You don’t understand. Simone’s just full of disdain where my mother’s concerned, and she’s ungrateful. After all they did for her, she dropped out of college, ran off to Europe.”
He’d heard all this before, and tried to be patient. “Which sounds like it was the right decision for her. And if there’s an issue, it’s between your mother and your sister. It’s not your issue, Natalie.”
“I love my mother.”
“Of course you do. So do I.” He smiled, kissed her lightly. “Peas in a pod. Did you go to see her to talk or to fight?”
“I’m a lawyer,” she tossed back. “I went to talk, and then she…”
His gaze held hers, patiently. Love for him tangled up with guilt. “That’s not true. It was when I left home, but by the time I got to the island, to CiCi’s, I was furious. I started it. I started it. Oh God, Harry, I’m a terrible person.”
“Don’t say that about the woman I love.” He gathered her up for a minute, loving her as much for her flaws as for her perfection. Just loving her. “Sit for a minute, sweets. I’m going to cancel our lunch plans.” And the showing, he thought.
“I forgot. I forgot all about it.”
“We’ll reschedule. Then I’m going to pour us both some wine, and you’re going to talk this through with me. We’ll figure it out, sweets.”
“I love you, Harry. I really love you.” She clung to him, a port in a storm. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Right back at you.”
“I want it to be all her fault. I want to stay mad at her. It’s easier.”
“I’m looking at your beautiful face, and those tears. So I don’t think it’s easier.”
*
CiCi set up her easel on the patio. Summer would fade before she knew it, so she counted every day of it as precious. She wouldn’t paint the view, but would continue to work on the study from one of Simone’s photos.
The woman in the red hat—the wide, flat brim over a face lined with time and sun—perusing a bin of tomatoes at a street fair, with the wizened old man in the stall smiling at her.
In her version the tomatoes became magic eggs, bold as jewels, and the bird perched on the striped awning a winged dragon.
She’d played with the tones, the feel, the message for a week. Just as Simone had spent the week in focused, meticulous repair of the bust.
CiCi wished them both blessings on their work, lit a candle for each of them, and began to mix paints.
She called out a “Come in!” at the ring of her doorbell. She rarely locked the door—and this was one good reason. Whoever came calling could just come in rather than making her stop and go answer.
“I’m out here.”
“CiCi.”
Unsure whether to be relieved or wary at the sound of Natalie’s voice, CiCi set aside her paints, turned.
The girl looked penitent, she decided. And full of nerves with her hand gripping the boy CiCi thought of as Handsome Harry.
“Since you’ve always been a rule-follower, I’m going to believe you’ve decided to take responsibility, and figured out how to make amends.”
“I’m taking responsibility. I’m going to try to make amends. I don’t know if I can, but I want to try. I’m so ashamed, CiCi, for what I said that day, for what I did. There are a lot of things I need to say to Simone, and I hope she’ll listen. But I need to tell you I knew how much that piece meant to you. I knew it represented a bond between you and Simone. I broke it because I don’t share that bond. And that’s unforgivable.”
“I decide what I can forgive.”
“I think making amends to you starts with trying to make them to Simone. To try to do that, I have to say things to her.”