Drake turned to Rosa in surprise. “You just said it yourself—how extraordinary his paintings are.”
“They are, no one could ever question that. But he built his own house, didn’t he?” When Drake nodded, she said, “It’s pretty darn extraordinary. You can tell a true artisan built it. And I’ll bet the houses he’s built for people all over the lake are just as thoughtful, just as full of artistic touches that have his stamp on them.”
“You’re right that he’s a brilliant artisan, but it isn’t painting. And painting was his whole life.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I think your mom, you and your siblings, were his life. I know I only just met your family, but I feel like I can so clearly see a piece of each of you in him.”
“How? Where?”
“Maybe, like with Harry and his love for history, painting was your father’s way of really studying the histories of the people he painted from all angles, in all lights and moods. Or he could have used painting the way Suzanne uses a computer program—to create something that would make the world a better place. Or perhaps painting was his ticket into the glamorous life, like Alec’s exclusive private planes. Or it could simply be,” she said as she turned away from the paintings to meet Drake’s gaze, “that he’s called to beauty the same way you are, so deeply, so instinctively, that he can’t walk away from it without needing to try to capture it for everyone to appreciate, even after the fleeting, radiant moment has passed.”
Drake was floored by her insight. He’d always thought he saw past the normal bounds, but now he realized he’d had blinders on his whole life—at least where his father was concerned. “How do you see so much?”
“I don’t know if you should give me too much credit, since I could be way off base.”
“You’re not.” Drake felt the truth of it in his bones. “Me, Suz, Harry, Alec—we are all connected to my father. Even if Alec still doesn’t want to acknowledge that connection, that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t wish my father hadn’t stopped painting, but at least now I can see that he probably needed to make that change to survive.”
“I obviously don’t know his reasons for putting down his paintbrush,” Rosa said as she turned into his arms, “but I can understand how after your mother left, he might have needed to capture beauty, to create art and study the world around him, in a different way. Maybe making a huge change that didn’t make sense to anyone else was the only thing that made sense to him. And maybe it was not only a way to survive what he’d been through, but to hopefully come out better on the other side one day.”
“Better.” Drake pressed his mouth to hers, loving the sweet sigh of pleasure she made when their lips met. “Everything is already so much better. Because of you.”
“I was planning to rip off your clothes again once we got inside here,” she whispered, a sexy confession for his ears only. “But your memories of this room should be about your mother, not getting naked with a woman who can’t keep her hands off you.”
“The cottage is bigger than it looks.” He took her through a doorway, past a small kitchen, and into the bedroom that he hadn’t been in since he was a teenager looking for a private place to bring girls.
The first thing he noticed was that the old bedframe and mattress were gone. The second thing was how great the lighting was—gallery quality. The third was the lone leather swivel chair in the center of the hardwood floor. And the fourth?
Well, if Drake had thought the surprises were over for the night, he was wrong again.
“Drake.” Rosa gripped his hand tighter. “These paintings aren’t your father’s.”
“No.” He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing, though more than two dozen pieces of proof were staring at him from the four walls. “They’re mine.”
Chapter Thirty
“He never told me he was collecting my work.”
Rosa could see Drake’s shock as he looked at his own paintings on the walls.
“He’s got something from every show I’ve ever had.”
While she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to wrap her head all the way around the size of Drake’s talent, in this moment Rosa was most struck by how much he loved the Adirondacks. The paintings on these walls from his many shows over the years made it clear that he had always been deeply inspired by these mountains, lakes, and forests. By the Adirondack wildlife and the wide expanse of sky that seemed bluer and brighter than anywhere else.
There was no question that he enjoyed his cottage in Montauk. But if not for his fraught relationship with his father, would he have chosen to paint—and to live—at Summer Lake instead?