“Of course. What will you do when they go to college?”
The remark was unsettling. “I saw a master gardener class that looked interesting,” she said, hearing—and hating—the anemic tone in her voice. Lately, she’d begun to wonder exactly the same thing. What would she do when her children were gone?
Her mother looked at her. “Would you ever consider managing JACE?”
“What?”
“The gallery. I’m getting older. Most of my friends retired long ago. You’ve a good eye for talent.”
“But … the gallery is your life.”
“Is it?” Her mother sipped her wine. “I suppose. Why couldn’t it be yours as well?”
Jude considered that. She had watched her mother work this gallery for years, giving up everything else in her life. She’d even given up painting. Nothing mattered to her mother except the artists she chose and their work. It was an empty existence. And then there was the real problem: her mother would never quit, and the idea of working together was horrifying. They hadn’t had an honest conversation in thirty-some years. “I don’t think so.”
Mother put down her wine. “May I ask why not?”
“I can’t see us working well together. And I certainly can’t see you actually retiring, Mother. What would you do?”
Her mother glanced away, looked out at the bay, where a boat was pulling up to the marina. “I don’t know.”
For the first time in years, Jude felt a kind of kinship with her mother. Both of them were facing changes in life, the natural consequences of aging. The difference between them was that Jude had people she loved around her. In that way, her mother was a cautionary tale. “You’ll never quit,” she said.
“You’re right, of course. Now, let’s eat. I only have forty minutes left. Really, Judith, you should try to be on time for our lunches…”
They spent the next forty-four minutes making agonizing small talk; neither one really listened to the other. Long silences punctuated every comment, and in the quiet, Jude all too often recalled her lonely childhood. Years she’d spent waiting for a kind word from this woman. When it was finally over, Jude said good-bye and left the gallery.
Outside, she stood on the street, unexpectedly unsettled. Her mother had struck a nerve with that what will you do? sentence, and it irritated Jude that she even cared. She walked down the busy street toward her car. She was almost there when she glanced in a window and stopped.
There, in a glass display case, was a gorgeous gold ring.
She went inside, looked closer. It was stunning: a perfect combination of edgy and sophisticated, modern and timeless. The shape was slightly asymmetrical, with a triangular flap on the top edge. The artist must have somehow wrapped heated metal around a form and then twisted it just enough to give the wide band a fun little tail. The empty jewel prong was also slightly off center.
Jude looked up. In response, an elegantly coifed older woman made almost no noise as she crossed the store and stepped gracefully behind the counter. “Have you found something?”
Jude pointed at the ring.
“Ah. Exquisite.” The saleswoman unlocked the glass case and withdrew the piece. “It’s a Bazrah. One of a kind.” She offered it to Jude, who slipped it on her forefinger.
“It would make a beautiful graduation gift for my daughter. What stone would you suggest setting in it?”
The woman frowned in concentration. “You know, I don’t have children, but if I were buying my daughter a ring like this, I think I’d want to extend the experience. Perhaps you could choose the stone together.”
Jude loved the idea. “How much is it?”
“Six hundred and fifty dollars,” the saleswoman answered.
“Ouch.”
“Maybe you’d like to look at something less—”
“No. This is the ring I want. And could you show me some watches? For my son…”