Eve Downing looked up at the portrait with loving eyes. She took a step back and sat on the red velvet cushioned bench, crossing her ankles and gazing. It was her favorite of all the paintings. It was titled “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte”. It was painted by Georges-Pierre Seurat in 1886. She wished she could go back to those days. The hustle and bustle of modern day life was annoying. She was in a loveless relationship, hated her job and had only a handful of friends she felt she could trust.
She told herself she wasn’t feeling this way because she’d just finished reading Pride and Prejudice and every time she read Jane Austin, she knew she was living in the wrong time. She was so unhappy with her life. She would give anything to go to the late 1800’s and live like they did.
Her phone buzzing brought her out of her thoughts. She was holding it between her hands which were resting in her lap. She turned the phone to face her and read the message on the front.
“Call me.” From her boyfriend. She felt a rush of annoyance. He probably didn’t have anything good to say. He was such a negative person, always bringing people down and seeing the bad side to everything. He never saw the bright side, never opened his eyes to the beauty around him.
She hesitated for a moment, looking up at the painting again. Her favorite. She sighed.
She dialed the number and slowly put the phone to her ear, sighing again.
“Hey,” he said when he answered.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Did you pay extra for those carpet cleaners the other day?”
“Did I what?” She was immediately confused.
“There’s more money out of the account than what was supposed to be used.”
Eve remembered the carpet cleaners. Two guys that came in, cleaned the carpets, gave her papers to sign and left. She wasn’t impressed with either one of them while they had been there but the carpets looked really clean afterward.
“I don’t know. I didn’t spend anything extra. Haven’t been anywhere or done anything.”
“Uh huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristling. She could hear the contempt in his voice through the phone.
“I just said uh huh. We need to make sure we’re telling each other when we spend extra money somewhere.”
“If I had, then I would have told you. But I didn’t so I had nothing to tell.”
“Okay.”
She could hear it so plainly. He didn’t believe her. He never believed anything she said. Why was she still going through this? They hadn’t been in love for months, long, miserable months. No physical intimacy at all. She could barely get a hug and a kiss from him.
“Look, I’ll be home later, and we can talk about this okay?” She whispered hastily in the phone, not wanting anyone else in the museum to hear how upset she was. She was going to break up with him. She couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, she hung up on him.
She knew that would make him mad and expected it when her phone buzzed with a text message. She didn’t check it until she got outside in the sunlight. She regretted when she did check it. His text was profanity laced. It made her heart hurt to read it. They had been happy for several years. It had all changed in the last six months. They had grown apart.
Eve slid into the driver’s seat of her car and adjusted herself so that she could sit comfortably. She hadn’t bought this car. It was her boyfriend’s choice, and he had surprised her with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a good fit, and there were several things wrong with it. If he regretted the choice, he didn’t seem like it to her. But for now, she had no choice but to drive it.
She sat in the seat for a moment, feeling depressed. Why couldn’t she be with a man who really loved her? Someone who had class and dignity and cared about her, like the men in the novels she loved so much. She needed to live in a time over a hundred years ago.
Her familiar deep sigh escaped from her lips. She started the car and pulled out, deciding she needed to see her grandmother. Her grandmother had been telling her stories of her ancestors since Eve had discovered her interest in their family tree. She had been tracing it back generation by generation for months. She was related to some of the most powerful players back in the Victorian days. There was a story Grandmother Anne had told her several times about her aunt, Helen. Helen was a major member of society, well liked until a love affair that ended tragically. Helen had never been the same afterward, living as a spinster for the rest of her life, unhappy and alone, by her own choice.