“That’s Gina, his wife. Well, I guess widow,” I whispered to Theo.
“Do you want to say hello?”
“Kind of, but I’m suddenly feeling very shy. What do I say?”
“Just tell her your name and that you’re sorry for her loss.”
“I have a name tag. Do I have to say my name?”
Theo placed a gentle hand on my back and rubbed a few circles. “Don’t overthink it.”
His touch was calming and pleasant—probably too pleasant. But it gave me the courage to talk to Edwin’s wife.
I took a step, but Theo gripped my elbow softly and maneuvered so he was partially in front of me. Before I could ask what he was doing, a man wearing a dark gray suit staggered by. He was probably in his thirties, and I didn’t have to read his name tag to know who he was. He looked like a younger version of his father.
It was Michael Morris, Edwin and Gina’s son.
“Tim-may,” he said, his voice jarringly loud in the quiet gallery. “Waz up, my man?”
The man he was addressing turned with concern in his expression.
If the staggering gait hadn’t given it away, the volume and slurred speech did—Michael Morris was drunk.
Gina’s lips pinched and she shook her head slightly as she watched her son. The man with her—Curt—put a hand on the small of her back, leaned in, and said something close to her ear. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the tissue.
Theo moved to my other side, as if to shield me from Michael Morris. Michael had lowered his voice, thankfully, but you never knew what people would do when they were intoxicated.Especially when they’d also suffered a deep loss. I felt sorry for him.
I figured I should offer my condolences to Gina, and then Theo and I should leave. The tension in the gallery was growing thicker by the minute. I had a feeling there was a lot of family drama simmering just beneath the surface.
Theo walked with me, and I gathered my courage as I approached Gina.
She met my eyes and gave me a polite smile. I had a feeling she’d been doing a lot of that. Curt Redfern stood next to her like a sentinel.
“Hi, Mrs. Morris.” I nervously adjusted my glasses. “I’m Penelope Fallbrook. Sorry, that’s on my name tag. You probably don’t remember me, but we met briefly last summer. I was one of your husband’s students. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said with a small nod.
I opened my mouth and inhaled, although I didn’t have anything else to say. Theo gently took my elbow again, turned me around, and led me toward the stairs.
“Thank goodness you did that,” I said on the exhale. “I was about to start rambling.”
“You did great. I’m sure she appreciates that you came.”
“Can we just stop?” Michael’s drunk voice rose again. “Like he was so great. Didn’t even want me here. Go ahead, Mom. Kick me out. Iss fine.”
Theo and I stepped out of the way as Curt Redfern, his expression grave, grabbed Michael by the arm and led him to the stairs.
Michael laughed as they moved to the lower level. At the bottom, he stumbled, but Curt yanked him upright.
“You all think he was so great,” Michael said. “The bastard cut me off. Cut off his own son. Piece of shit.”
Gina moved to the railing and silently watched her son get dragged out of the gallery, her expression filled with sorrow.
Theo and I made eye contact again, and without a word, headed down the stairs. We needed to get outside. There was a lot to discuss.
We’d just gotten to the bottom of the stairs when a male voice interrupted our escape.
“Excuse me, Penelope Fallbrook?”
