“You could have gotten as much from a delivery person.”
“Is that right? And would this alleged delivery person have given me her absolute devotion and forced me to survive chemotherapy, not to mention surgery? Would said delivery person have read the entirety of84, Charing Cross Roadto me when I was in the hospital, then popped the cork on a bottle of champagne when I finished my chemo? Would she also have watched endless rounds of basketball with Sebastian to keep him from going crazy from worry?”
“That was selfish on my part,” said Cady. “You’re my only friend.”
With gut-wrenching clarity, Cady remembered the moment, three years ago, when Olivia divulged she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. In that instant Cady came to understand the true danger of loving someone: the absolute panic at the thought of her leaving this earth.
Olivia’s only response was a gentle smile.
“And where would I even get the money to go?” Cady wondered aloud. She glared at her disappointing rabbit, propped in the corner.
Olivia perked up, sensing a potential victory. “Your landlord has been offering you cash to buy out the shop lease, right? And you can liquidate the inventory, which will add up to something. AndI’lllend you enough for the plane ticket.”
Cady snorted. “Like you and Sebastian have so much to spare?”
“We have some savings set aside for a rainy day; and in case you hadn’t noticed, my friend, it’s raining cats and dogs. Metaphorically speaking.”
“It’smyrainy day, not yours.”
“Details.” She waved off Cady’s concern. “What good is money if I can’t help a friend? And I believe in your art. What’s that old saying? ‘Anonymous was a woman’?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because you’re bound to remain anonymous if you don’t get your art out there for people to see. Taking student portraits might pay the bills, but you’re anartist. And I can be your patron! Sort of. At least I can manage a plane ticket.”
As photographers went, Cady did pretty well. She hauled her heavy camera bag all over the Bay Area, from Marin to Morgan Hill, from the beaches of the Pacific Ocean to the Tahoe ski slopes, and never turned down a job. She photographed weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, first communions, anniversaries, birthdays, and family reunions. She had regular gigs taking yearbook portraits at local schools, including the Berkeley French American International School. And she did occasional shoots forSunsetmagazine, and a few home design catalogs.
Still, paying her bills every month was one thing, but putting aside a nest egg was something else altogether.
“Thanks, Olivia, but running away to Paris for a couple of weeks isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Think of it as runningtosomething. Anyway, I have to get back to the office. But just promise me this,” Olivia said, as she gathered her things to leave. “You won’t close yourself off to possibility. If something exciting falls in your lap, you’ll take it.”
“Exciting? Likewhat?” Cady demanded, irked. She loved Olivia, but when was the last time something great had “fallen into her lap”? That was the kind of thing that happened to charmed, suburban-grown people like Olivia, not unwanted orphans like Cady. Cady had had to work and scheme—and occasionally steal—to get anything she had.
But Olivia lifted her eyebrows and flashed a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “One never knows what the future might bring.”
Cady laughed in spite of herself, gave her friend a hug, and watched as Olivia ambled back to her car, turning her face up to the morning sun, taking time to wave at a passing bicyclist. Olivia saw the beauty in everything: the sunrise, the city lights twinkling off the bay, a stranger on a bike.
Whereas Cady, when faced with the same scene, saw the smog, the congestion of the freeway, a traffic hazard.
Cady leaned her head against the doorjamb for a moment, ignoring the dust collecting on the shop’s inventory, trying not to look at the spot behind the register where Maxine had fallen. She wasn’t doing right by Maxine—or even by her landlord, for that matter. She wasn’t doing right by herself, or Olivia, or anyone.
She didn’t think of herself as a true artist, as Olivia had suggested. But... surely Cady Anne Drake hadsomethingto offer this world?
If only she knew what it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
1915
PROVENCE, CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Yves Clement
She’s out there again, riding that cursed carousel machine.
It is a ghostly sight: a grown woman riding a children’s toy, bathed in silver moonlight, her white dress floating out behind her, like a creature out of time. What does she think? What does she want? Josephine is a puzzle Yves has never solved, would never be able to solve. Perhaps she was too young when they married, or he was too old. Their age difference didn’t seem to bother her, but it gave him pause. Increasingly so with the passage of time.
