“They did back in 1975,” Reese said. “It was a different time. It’s wild to think of how much everything has changed since then.”
But their daughter continued to look quizzical. “Have you reached out to a private detective or something? Maybe there are ways you haven’t considered. Maybe there’s a way to figure out where this woman wound up.”
Reese’s eyes found Oriana’s over the table. “I wonder if it’s worth a try,” he offered.
Oriana got up, pressed her napkin to her lips, and asked if anyone needed anything. When they said no, she cut into the kitchen, stepped into the pantry, and sobbed into her hands as quietly as she could. When she’d cleared herself out, she stepped back into the kitchen to find her daughter there with her arms open. Oriana stepped into her daughter’s embrace but focused on her breathing to keep from crying.
“I know,” her daughter whispered. “I know, I know, I know. I feel it too.”
It was awful to keep pretending everything was all right. But it was all they could do until it was impossible.
The following morning, Meghan came over with a big platter of scones and made a big pot of coffee. Reese was still asleep upstairs, as his body needed as much rest as it could find, which Oriana was grateful for, as it meant she could cry to her sister, her second-favorite person after Reese.
Meghan listened with a soft and kind expression, one that told Oriana she could say and do whatever she wanted.
“I find myself hating my career,” Oriana said under her breath. “I hate Larry Calvin Johannes. I hate every artist I’ve made super-wealthy. What was it all for? For money?” Oriana gestured vaguely at their beautiful but far too large house, their fine furnishings, their enormous television. “What was it all for?” she repeated. “Why did I think I needed so much? I’ve been allowed to love Reese, to be by Reese’s side through thick and thin. What if he dies, and I find myself sitting in this big, stupid house by myself? I don’t think I’ll be able to take it.”
Meghan didn’t tell Oriana to calm down. She didn’t tell her to stop talking about Reese’s potential death. She understood that death was on the cards, at this point—that this cancer diagnosis could have its way with Oriana and Reese and everyone in the Coleman family. When the time came, she wrapped Oriana in a hug and asked her what she wanted to do.
“I want to quit,” Oriana told her, her voice muffled in Meghan’s shoulder. “I want to tell Larry Calvin Johannes to take his arrogance and his stupidity elsewhere. I want to tell the Manhattan art community that I don’t have time for their new waves of artistic promise, nor their swanky parties, nor theirdesigner purses. I want to sit by Reese’s side and watch comedies and plan our next adventures. Maybe we really should buy a cabin in the mountains. Perhaps we should buy a boat and sail around the world.”
Meghan urged Oriana to consider retiring for a little longer. “I don’t want you to make a choice you’re going to regret later on,” she said. “You’ve loved your work for a very long time.”
But Oriana was suddenly adamant that she had to be finished. “I’m going to make the necessary calls this afternoon,” she said. “But first, I’m going to call Larry and tell him that I know what he’s up to. I’m going to tell him that he didn’t get away with it, and that wherever she is, his wife knows what he’s up to. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure people know about his fraudulence. He won’t sell another painting again.”
Meghan laughed and shook her head. “I always knew you were a spitfire, Oriana,” she said. “But I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Oriana knew that Reese’s cancer diagnosis had changed her. She knew that Reese’s illness had forced her to reckon with who she was in the world and who she wanted to be. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe times of strife were exactly when you had to make changes. Otherwise, you sank like a stone.
Chapter Nineteen
Oriana called her assistant, Kendra, right away to inform her of her plans to retire early. “You’ve been a sensational assistant,” she said after she highlighted everything she needed Kendra to do, everything she needed her to close down for her. She added, “I will give you the very best letter of recommendation. You’re going to land on your feet.”
Kendra was shocked. “I don’t understand. It’s hard to imagine this world without you in it.”
But Oriana knew that Kendra had never planned to be an assistant forever, that this was probably a benefit for Kendra’s career. “You’ll probably be a better art dealer than I ever was. I’ll keep tabs on you from Martha’s Vineyard. It’s all very exciting for you! Your next big steps!”
Kendra sounded vaguely miffed that Oriana would leap out of the game when it was “getting so good.” But at this, Oriana explained that the Larry Calvin Johannes story was about to take a dramatic turn. “You have to arrange for a press conference. In person, from Manhattan, is probably for the best,” she said. “It needs to happen before Reese’s second round of treatments starts.” She said she would call Larry Calvin Johannes herself toexplain what was about to happen. “I want him to hear it from me.”
Meghan was still at the house that afternoon when Oriana planned her phone call to Larry. Reese was awake, moving around the house in a pair of pajama pants and his college sweatshirt, chatting with Meghan as though everything was all right. They’d always gotten along like siblings or very dear friends, teasing one another as much as they had serious chats. Meghan was baking again—her habit when things got panicky. The house smelled like baked oats and melted chocolate. Oriana’s mouth watered. Reese thanked Meghan again and again, saying, “These are my favorite cookies!” Of course, Meghan knew that. She always remembered everyone’s favorite baked goods and supplied them when needed. It was just another way she showed her love.
To make the call to Larry, Oriana stepped into her office and closed the door against the sensational aromas. She reminded herself that she could return to that coziness when she was through.
Larry answered the call on the second ring. “There she is,” he said. “My wonderful savior. My art dealer extraordinaire.” She could picture him in his scenic cabin, watching another snowfall through the window, a fire roaring in the hearth.
How she wished he were just an ordinary, happy, artistic older man. How she wished that what she’d originally thought of him was correct.
Willing herself to go on, Oriana rolled her eyes back into her head and said, “Larry, I’ve called to tell you that I know everything.” This was a lie, obviously, but she liked how dramatic it sounded. She had nothing to lose.
Larry was flustered. “I beg your pardon?”
Oriana sat in her swivel office chair and let it shift beneath her. “I know you didn’t paint the paintings you’ve sold underyour own name. I know they’re not yours. I know you’re conning me and everyone else.”
Larry laughed darkly. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”
“I had an art expert analyze your most recent paintings against the ones you let me sell,” she said. “They weren’t crafted by the same hand.”
“It surprises me to hear you say that. I suppose you don’t know that an artist can change their approach through the years,” he said. “It’s a part of my system. It’s my artistic expression!”
