“That first part I figured out,” I say with a laugh. “But why?” We must be the youngest people here by about thirty years.
Louis stops in the middle of the crowd, and his whole face brightens as he says, “Today’s auction is about Impressionist paintings that haven’t been seen for decades, or even longer. Art experts didn’t even know some of these pieces existed.”
My heart starts to race. “Are you trying to tell me there’s a lost Degas here?”
“Oui,”Louis says, clearly enjoying the look on my face. “Wanna see it?”
I beam. I haven’t had a minute to think about the drawing in Vivienne’s dining room, my ancestor, or the Degas legend. But Louis remembered, and even did his research. If he’s trying to impress me, it’s working.
We arrive at the front of the exhibition room, and through the open door, I see bright red walls covered from top to bottom in paintings, small and large, framed and unframed. Several people pace the room, looking from the catalogue to the paintings on the walls, pointing and talking with serious faces on. The security guard checks my bag, mutters a few rules about not touching anything, and then asks something about an invitation.
Louis frowns.“On n’a pas d’invitation,”he says.We don’t have an invitation.
The security guard shakes his head.“Je suis désolé.”He goes on talking, and Louis’s face grows more concerned with every word.
“Non, non,”Louis says, becoming agitated.“On en a pour deux minutes.” We’ll just be two minutes.
The man shakes his head again, and they keep talking for a while.
“He’s not letting us in?” I ask Louis as soon as there’s a lull in the conversation. He turns to me, looking stricken. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I had no idea some auctions are by invitation only.”
I feel my whole body deflate, and not just because Louis seems so disappointed. For the last few minutes, I’ve been replaying Grandma Joan’s stories in my head, my heart filling with excitement at the idea that I could be about to uncover my family’s great mystery. I’m starting to accept that it’s not going to happen when the security guard sneaks a glance behind him. Then he looks from Louis to me and sighs.
“Trente secondes,”he says in a whisper.Thirty seconds. “C’est tout.” That’s it.
Louis’s eyes open wide with shock as the man steps aside, deliberately ignoring the both of us.
I grab Louis’s hand and we rush inside, my heart beating faster with the thrill of it all. Pastel colors, creative brushstrokes, and soft lines abound on the walls in front of us. Many feel familiar, but there’s only one artist I recognize for certain: a small painting of a dancer dressed in a bright blue costume, sitting on a bench, bending over to tie her shoes. The work is so precise that I find myself wishing I could run my fingers on the silk of the ribbons.
Unfortunately, you can’t see her face, only the top of her dark brown hair in a neat bun. I read the small placard next to it:
EDGARDEGAS
ENVIRON 1879
ORIGINE INCONNUE
TITRE INCONNU
LIEU INCONNU
Circa 1879. Origin, title, and location unknown.
I let out a sigh. It seems like every time I allow myself to hope that this legend is true, something comes along to remind me that dreams are just that: something nice to think about between large stretches of reality. I study the painting again, searching inside me. What do I feel? Is this the one? But before I can even begin to form answers in my head, the security guard clears his throat loudly in our direction. Louis and I share a nervous glance. The man looks scary enough that we don’t even attempt to argue. I sneak one last look at the painting before Louis drags me away.
Back out on the street, we stand on the sidewalk facing each other for a moment.
Louis is the first to break the silence. “I really hoped this would be…something.”
“It was a long shot.” I act like it’s no big deal, but I know I’m lying to him, and to myself. Louis seems genuinely bummed, so why can’t I admit that I am, too?
“I’m sorry, Mia. I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up. I just thought…maybe your great-great-great-grandmother’s painting has been sitting in an attic for a century, and that’s why your family is still looking for it. I was being naive.”
“I guess we both are,” I say with a sad laugh, but he just shrugs as he looks down at his shoes. “But we shouldn’t let this ruin our afternoon.”
“No…It’s just…,” Louis says, but then he trails off.
“Hey, I have an idea!” I say, feeling the need to cheer us up. “We might not find the painting, but we can at least relive it.”
