“It is time to see one another face-to-face.”
We’ve both aged so much.I cannot believe how young we were the night I followed Jo up the cobblestones of thePigalle and into that treacherous alley. It feels as though we’ve lived half a dozen lives since then. In many ways we have.
I was not prepared for her to grip me in a strong hug and not let go until I finally pulled away.
“Over the years I wrote you masses of letters that you never received. They were never on paper, only in my head, and now I’ve forgotten most of them, but I am going to try to remember them today,” she starts.
“I am so sorry,” I mumble in response.
“You already said that too many times in your own letters to me.”
“I feel like I cannot say it enough.”
“We both did wrong by the other, but dwelling on it will not change anything. Let’s sit and turn our faces to the sun while we talk. The light is brighter here than in Amsterdam, don’t you think?”
“On some days. But I also miss the fog, and even the chill. I miss the slower pace of life too. Everyone is so busy here all the time.”
“I absolutely adore that about it,” Jo says, glancing down the Brooklyn boardwalk where she suggested we meet. It’s such a contrast to the formality of Holland. Barkers are shouting out for customers to play their ridiculous games while an organist plunks out a jaunty tune. The smells of sea salt, boiling hot dogs, and spun sugar mingle in the air.
“I think about the things Vincent would have painted if he had seen it, how he would have loved the mixing of the classes here,” Jo adds. “He would have spent hours obsessing over a single hot dog vendor serving one of the fancy families along the shore.”
“How do you think a painting of that would have looked?”
“Terribly confusing.” She laughs. “But you would be able to smell the hot dogs and feel the sand blowing in your face, taste the salt in the air, and all of it would make you want to dive intothe waves. That was his gift. I didn’t always see it. It took years in fact to believe it, though I certainly said it enough to others.”
“You convinced me of it,” I tell her. We carry on for a bit, exchanging more details of our current lives. I tell her Marie-Celeste is pregnant. I haven’t told anyone the news yet because it still doesn’t feel real to me that I will get to be a grandmother.
“I am happy you were able to move here to America, that your daughter is thriving,” Jo says. “I love it so much for you.”
“I wish everything hadn’t come at such a cost to our friendship.” I have to say this even though she asked me to stop apologizing.
“I will admit, I hate that the paintings ended up with Henrik Swanson,” Jo says slowly. “He has since sold them for quite a profit and somehow obtained even more. He is grooming his teenage son Maxwell to be his successor, and I have had a few dealings with him. He is much less repulsive than his father and he may have more appreciation for the art instead of just the money.”
“That is reassuring,” I say. I can still feel Henrik Swanson’s hungry eyes on me and the paintings all those years ago.
“I should also apologize. When you asked me for money, I should have found a way. I had just spent myself into debt for that show. Johan was furious, told me I would never make it back. But I could have found a way to help you and I should have tried.”
“I was not your responsibility.”
“But you were my friend and you deserved better.”
“So did you.”
“I came today to give you a gift,” Jo says, reaching into the large satchel she has slung over her shoulder and pulling out a rolled-up canvas.
I don’t let her unfurl it. “I can’t accept this, Jo.”
“You must or I will give it to that gentleman selling the hot dogs over there,” Jo says with a grin. “I owe you my life and my son’s life a dozen times over.”
“And I owe you mine,” I whisper. “And my daughter’s. I am the one who needs to reimburse you for what I took,” I insist.
Jo shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not. And please do not offer again.” Her tone is sharper now. “Over the years I should have offered you more after everything you did for me. Choosing to let go of the boardinghouse with such short notice…That is no way to treat family. And you were that to me. You were my family. I lived with Theo for less than two years and with you for more than a decade. Yet I became singularly obsessed with satisfying the dreams of a dead man and it was all I could see. Vincent’s and Theo’s legacy consumed too much of me. If it weren’t for you and for Isaac I would have let it drown me.”
“It did drown you,” I interrupt her. “And I couldn’t save you. No one could.”
“And all of you tried. You, Isaac, Johan, my dear Vincent. All of you tried to make me see that I wasn’t living my life for me, but I couldn’t…I just couldn’t…I constantly felt I was so close to achieving Theo’s dreams for Vincent and I owed him that. I owed them both.” She stares into the distance, tears gathering in her eyes, and bites down so hard on her lower lip, I see the skin go white. Her hands holding the rolled-up canvas shake.
“Our recent successes, the show here, in New York City of all places. I finally feel released.”
