4)I was shot in the leg by a security guard as I ran from the Pascal. For two weeks I waited to return to you while I recuperated. That entire time, you were the only thing on my mind. I was motivated to get better for one reason and one reason only. You.
5)Leading up to the heist, I was prepared to sell the Renoir. But afterward ... after you ... everything I thought I wanted and thought I’d do shifted. I no longer wanted to do the dishonorable thing and sell the painting for my own profit. So I kept it.
6)Many times over the years I decided to returnYoung Woman at Restto the Pascal. I laid the groundwork to do just that. But each time, just as I was about to take action, stress would eat away at me, and I’d second-guess myself. I was terrified that I’d get caught. I’ve always been terrified of that. If the police had found a way to trace the painting back to me, then the truth would’ve come out. I’d have been hauled away, which I deserved. You, Courtney, and Sarah would have been devastated, which you didn’t deserve.
7)After a time, I came to view the painting as an insurance policy. It’s by far the most expensive thing I’ve ever had. After our girls were born and the weight of responsibility became heavier, I couldn’t force myself to let go of the security the painting represented. What if you or our girls got sick and I had to pay medical bills? What if our house burned down? What if something happened to me that made it impossible for me to support you?
If there’d come a time when I needed to sell the painting to rescue you, or our girls, I would have sold it in a minute. I’d have had to lie to you about the origin of the money. But I’d have done it.
There are many important things in this life, but none as important to me as our family.
Now that you understand these things about me, I’m scared as I sit here ... thinking about how you might feel. I know you’ll feel betrayed by my lies. I need you to understand that I kept this secret because I wasn’t brave enough to risk losing your love.
I’m afraid you’ll wonder how much of our life together was true. The answer: All of it was true. I kept a painting and my past life hidden. But every day of our marriage has been real. Every time I told you I loved you, I was telling the honest truth.
My early years were fighting and struggle. My years with you have been peace and joy. If I had a whole book to fill, I could never tell you all the ways you gave hope to a hopeless, good-for-nothing man.
I love you. I love our girls.
Please forgive me for my mistakes. Please forgive me for stealing what did not belong to me and for remaining silent about things I should have spoken.
You gave me a life, Carolyn. A real, full life, complete with everything I could have asked for. We didn’t have the money the painting could have brought us, which was fine with me because I knew that, between us, we had something far more valuable.
If I’m gone, please know that I’m grateful for every hour I had with you. I received beyond what I ever should have received, and I know how lucky I am.
Ilove you very much.
Frank
Chapter
twenty-five
That night, Valentina made borscht for the Bradford family.
Britt decrypted the message Valentina was seeking to send her through borscht-code:You encountered a dreadful patch of turbulence yesterday, Britt, but you’re back on smooth air now, and you’re perfectly safe.
Unfortunately, theyou’re perfectly safepart of the message wasn’t computing.
Britt was setting Bradfordwood’s dining room table because her sisters, their husbands, and Zander were due to arrive any minute. She could hear her parents talking with Grandma, Clint, and Valentina in the kitchen. Her dad had turned on all the downstairs lights inside the rambling brick mansion to counteract the drizzly weather outside. The smells of beef, tomato, and potato permeated the home’s interior.
Last night she’d understood that her night-light should be comforting. Now that same surreal certainty had returned—her surroundingsshouldbe comforting. Yet her anxiety persisted. The things that ought to combat it weren’t having any effect, including the hours she’d spent at Sweet Art today. She’d been unable to concentrate and had thrown out one of the batches of dark chocolate pistachio bark she’d attempted.
The sound of the front door opening reached her. She set down the final piece of silverware and turned. Through the opening between the dining room and foyer, she watched Zander enter. He wore his gray Atari T-shirt and carried two loaves of French bread. His concentration homed in on her as she approached. An affectionate smile softened the planes of his face.
They’d spoken on the phone twice today and texted often, but this was the first time she’d seen him since they’d parted at the police station yesterday. She knew he was cataloguing her condition down to the tiniest detail, and she had the sinking sense that he was perceiving more than she wanted him to.
“Hey.” She flashed a grin that she hoped would quash his qualms about her or distract him or both.
“How are you?”
She could tell that he wanted an honest answer. She responded with a pat answer. “I’m doing pretty well.” Carefully, she set her hand on his injured cheek. “Your bruises have gotten worse. Do they hurt?”
“Only when I’m awake.”
Even this simple touch, her palm to his face, contained both physical power and mighty love. It frightened her, just how much power and love it contained.
Zander was beautiful to her, and the bruises only served to make his outer and inner beauty more obvious. She yearned to pull him into the coat closet, feel his lips on hers, and allow the delicious sensations of kissing him to drown out the noise in her head. What she needed, though, was to take a step back so that she could keep the partition between them, because that was the only option that would give her a shot at maintaining her equilibrium.
