“Oh, fuck off,” Cleo snapped. “You can’t spoil this for me.”
After setting her box beside Cleo’s, Sonya looked around. “It is perfect, and the view slays, but are you sure you’ll be all right up here?”
“Bet your ass. I’m going to get the last box.”
“Trey put what you sent with Mom marked for the studio in the closet. What the hell was in that big box? It weighed a ton.”
“Mostly canvases and paints, more tools. I’m going to take time between jobs—and make more time between jobs—to paint. For me. Be right back.”
When Cleo dashed off, Sonya did her own turn. The pounding lowered to a few angry slams.
She had to admit, it already felt like Cleo. She walked to the closet to drag out the big box.
And saw the painting propped on top of it.
The bride wore a ring of flowers over straight blond hair that rained past her shoulders. Her simple white dress fell to the ankles of bare, narrow feet. Its empire waist circled below full, high breasts. Between, the dress covered the dome of belly.
She carried a nosegay in her right hand and wore a gold band with two entwined hearts on the third finger of her left.
She’d seen pictures. If she hadn’t, with the loving details of the portrait, she’d have recognized Clover. Her father’s birth mother.
She’d passed the shape of her nose, the wide bow of her mouth to her son. And so to her granddaughter.
Emotion, unexpected and poignant, flooded through her.
“The last and final,” Cleo said as she came in. “So it’s officially official— What is it?”
Sonya just pointed.
When she joined her, Cleo put a hand on Sonya’s shoulder. “I’m going to take a wild guess. That wasn’t there before.”
“No. The closet was empty when Trey put your supplies in there. It’s Clover. It’s my father’s birth mother. And, Cleo, my father painted this. I know his work, and if I didn’t, there’s his signature.”
Reaching up, she laid her hand over Cleo’s. “How did he paint her—the woman who died giving birth to him? How did it get here, in the manor? Did he dream of her, the way he did the manor, the mirror, his brother? I think that must be it.”
“You should take a picture of it, send it to Winter, ask if she’s seen it. Either way, I’m betting you’re right about the dreams. And a twin thing again?”
“Like the painting of the manor. Collin saw it somewhere, somehow, bought it.”
“It follows, doesn’t it?”
“I need to sit a minute.”
When she did, on the floor, Yoda crawled into her lap, and Cleo crouched down.
“I’ll get you some water.”
“No, I’m okay. Just wobbly for a minute. It just fills me, and hollows me out at the same time. Dad painted her; Collin brought her here. They connected.”
“Now you have her, and that connects you. Sonya, it’s beautiful work. She’s … well, she’s adorable. We should take her downstairs. Nobody puts Clover in the closet.”
With one hand stroking Yoda, Sonya leaned her head toward Cleo. “You’re right. We’ll take her to the music room, with Johanna.”
“I’ve got her. I vote we take her down, you get that picture, send that text, and I get us both a last glass of wine.”
“I say aye to that.”
In the music room, they propped the painting against the wall under Johanna’s portrait.
“I love the still lifes in here,” Cleo began. “But what do you say we switch that one out, hang her there?”
“Yes. She’d have come right before Johanna.”
“Text your mom. I’ll get the wine. Then we’ll put her where she belongs.”
Stepping back, Sonya studied the portrait again. So, so young, she thought. And that young face simply glowed with happiness. And despite the mound of belly, an innocence that touched her heart.
She took a careful photo, then sent the text.
I found this portrait. It’s Dad’s work. Have you seen it before?
The answer came in under a minute.
No. That’s his birth mother? I can see him in her face. Is Cleo there? Is everything all right?
Yes, it’s Clover. Cleo’s right here, and everything’s fine. We spent most of the evening hauling up her half ton of suitcases and unpacking her massive wardrobe. But when we found this, we thought we should ask. I think Dad must have dreamed her, and painted her. As a bride.
He often painted his dreams. She’s lovely, and there’s a sweetness. She looks kind.
Yes, she does. I know she was and is kind, so don’t worry. Cleo and I are going to have a glass of wine, then go to bed. We’re all good here.
Stay that way. Love to Cleo, love to you. Night.
After signing off with a heart emoji, she turned as Cleo came back into the room.
“She never saw it before.”
“You know, he might have painted it before they were married. Or he just had his reasons for not showing her. Let’s put her up, Sonya, then have this wine.”
They switched out the paintings, then stood back, arms around each other’s waists.
“She looks right there.”
“She does. And you know, Son, your father’s in there, too. Your dad and his brother are in that painting. It’s very special.”
In her pocket, Sonya’s phone played “Mother and Child Reunion.”
With a laugh, Cleo picked up the wine, handed Sonya hers, and clinked her glass to it. “To Clover, the music master.”
“Absolutely to Clover.”
“You know what else? Johanna would’ve been her daughter-in-law, your mother’s sister-in-law. Your aunt.”
“It’s just so weird.”
“I think it’s wonderful. To Johanna.”
“To Johanna. What a strange day. Just another day in the manor.”
“And my first official one.”
“And so we drink to that. Yoda needs to go out.”
“We’ll take care of that. Then I don’t mind calling it for the night. I want to get an early start on setting up my studio.
“You said Yoda was fostered with cats.”
“That’s right. You really want one?”
“When I find the right one. The thing I really disliked about my apartment was the no-pet clause.”
They grabbed jackets—and Cleo’s were, indeed, inside the coat closet.
“Oh God, the view. It’s just everything. Please tell me you don’t get used to it.”
“No.” With the last of their wine, they walked with the dog. “It still catches me. And it makes me wonder how I ever lived anywhere else. And I’m already wondering how I lived here all these weeks without you here.”
“Now you don’t have to.”
Later, when she slid into bed, Sonya thought again: a strange day. But a good one. Yoda curled on his bed, Cleo slept down the hall, and the sound of the sea against the rocks lulled like music.
Later yet, when the clock struck three, she muttered in her sleep. But she didn’t stir, and she didn’t rise.
Chapter Twenty-four
Bonus points came in the morning when Sonya walked into the kitchen to the scent of coffee and Cleo. A Cleo dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, sneakers. She had her burnt-honey curls scooped back in a bouncy tail, and her day-at-home makeup on.
“You are up early. This is not usual.”