Covered In Paint: Book Five of the Art Of Love Series (20 page)

Jessica put a hand to her mouth to hold back the sob. “I feel so helpless. You spend your life trying not to let anything hurt your children. But there’s nothing I can do about this, is there?”

Will rubbed her arm in sympathy. “No honey…all you can do is pray…and hope that’s not what it is…and be there for Brooke if it turns out badly. But you won’t be alone, no matter what Brooke finds out.”

Letting the tears seep out and run down her cheeks, Jessica leaned over until she could hide her face in Will’s shoulder. His arms around her were strong…but nothing was strong enough to chase away her fear this morning.

At least she had Will to hug her. Would her daughter let down her guard long enough to let a man comfort her? She had tried to make her daughter strong enough to deal with the kind of disappointment and pain loving a man often caused. But she was now watching that same self-reliance keep Brooke from letting a very good man love her.

She lifted her head and one hand to her husband’s face. His gaze was worried, and it was for her as well as for her daughter.

“Whatever happens…thank you for being in my life. I can’t imagine living without you,” she whispered.

Will kissed her trembling lips, then her cheeks and tear-filled eyes. “Why don’t we stop worrying about what hasn’t happened yet? We don’t know that it’s cancer. I’ve been reading about this and most lumps are benign. They might find out it’s nothing serious at all.”

Jessica sniffled and nodded. “I know…I’ve been reading about it too. I just…I guess I’m being a mother. Worrying about your child is just part of the gig, isn’t it?”

Will kissed her temple. “Yes…and perfectly understandable.”

“It’s shit though…” Jessica whispered.

“Yes, it is…” Will whispered back. “Worrying about your kids is total shit at times.”

His wife’s giggle over his swearing was worth more to him than gold. “Let’s go take a nap. I know exactly what will help you sleep.”

Jessica snorted and rubbed her eyes as her husband dragged her from the chair. “You’re being predictable, William. Very, very predictable. Thank you for that. I never knew predictable could be a good thing until I met you.”

***

Brooke walked into the gallery and looked around at the glistening displays. It was a soothing place to hang out and yet each display was full of vibrancy at the same time. The columns running down the center were adorned with paintings. She gravitated to the nearest one and looked up at a very recognizable portrait.

“Tell me this Tracy, how in the hell did you ever deal with hurting him?” Brooke asked, staring up at the beautiful woman.

When she turned, the women who had been quietly watching her started toward her. She sighed and rolled her eyes. They had no doubt heard what she had said to Drake’s dead wife.

“Please don’t tell my mother I was talking to one of Drake’s portraits.”

Her answer from each woman was a fierce hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Look, I’m fine…mostly. I’m just trying to sort it all out. Being a contingency planner, I need to get a good handle on what I’m facing. That’s why I’m here today.”

Carrie nodded. “I’ve got the paintings pulled up on the big screen in the conference room. Are you sure you want to see them so large? You could just use the computer. They’re very…stark.”

Brooke nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I want to see them in as much detail as possible.”

Reesa had her purse over her shoulder. “I’d love to stay, but I’ve got to get home before Sara does. Call me if I can do anything, Brooke. My thoughts are with you.”

Brooke smiled. “If you want to do something, keep my meddlesome stepbrother occupied. I need time to deal with my situation before Shane starts analyzing my every reaction.”

“I know. I’m so sorry about the other day. I couldn’t talk him out of going along,” Reesa said, wincing at Shane’s tendency to be pushy.

Brooke grinned. “Stopping a Larson male is like trying to stop a steamroller. All you’re going to get is run over and squashed for your efforts. I’ll settle for you slowing him down a bit.”

Reesa smiled. “I’ll do my best. Carrie, see you in a few days. Tell Jessica I hope she is feeling better.”

Carrie nodded and waved as Reesa left. She turned back to Michael’s stepsister and the woman who’d helped her find this perfect space. “I’d apologize for Michael’s part in it, but that would take a week and I’d never manage to sound sincere.”

Brooke snorted. “Your husband is incorrigible.”

“Oh my…that’s a very polite word. I usually use others,” Carrie said, linking her arm with Brooke’s. “Why didn’t you just ask Drake to let you see these?”

Brooke shook her head. “I couldn’t put him through it. Brandon showed me two of them. Those made me curious to see the rest. I figure they represent the worst possible future for me if things don’t go well. Looking at the portraits beats looking at medical sites on the internet.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Carrie nodded and let go of Brooke’s hand as they came into the room.

“I ordered a full series of his slides, so to the best of my knowledge, this is all of them. Drake donated the whole set to the hospital where his wife was treated most often. God only knows what they use them for there…I didn’t really want to know.”

“Why didn’t you just ask Drake for copies of them?”

Carrie sighed. “Actually, I did ask him. He said no. He said he’d promised his son to get rid of all traces of them, and he didn’t think of them as his anymore. But since I represent Drake in his art…I thought his decision was…not in his best interests. And before you ask…yes…I have copies of your mother’s rape art as well. I am a keeper of secrets and the person who faces what the artist can’t sometimes. Are my secrets safe with you?”

Brooke nodded. “Absolutely safe. Thank you for sharing these with me. It’s much better than looking them up online.”

Carrie booted the slide show and pulled up the first one. The portrait was nearly as perfect as others she had sold for Drake. His wife just looked tired. She looked like Brooke did today…a little world-worn and weary. Carrie knew this one had been done right after Drake and his wife had gotten the diagnosis.

Shaking her head at where her thoughts had gone without her permission, Carrie put the remote into Brooke’s hand. “Here. Advance at your own pace. There are a lot of them. I’m going to close the conference door. If Drake happens by to visit…I’ll text you not to come out until he’s gone. Check your phone before you leave this room.”

“Thank you, Carrie. I know it may not seem like this will be helpful at all…but I promise you, it will help me.”

Carrie nodded, her lips tight with unspoken words. “I can’t judge that, so I’ll take your word for it. There’s a box of tissues behind you on the console table. It’s remarkable how emotional people get over art. I’ve learned to be prepared. Tissues are stashed in every dark corner.”

Brooke nodded. “I’m in the process of learning to appreciate the emotion behind what is being created. Brandon may not be an artist himself, but he sees the world through an artist’s eyes. I’ve learned a lot from him. Drake’s son is a lot like you.”

“I think that’s the nicest compliment anyone has ever paid me. I’ll be just outside if you need anything, Brooke. I’m running the gallery by myself today.”

“Why isn’t Mom coming in? Doesn’t she normally work today?”

Carrie shrugged, struggling not to betray Jessica’s chronic sleeplessness to her daughter. “Jessica said she needed the day off. She covered for me when I was sick during my first trimester. I owe her several days with no questions asked.”

Brooke nodded and stared at the remote in her hand. “I’ll get through the slides as quick as I can.”

“No rush on my account. I like the company. Sometimes the gallery is quiet as a tomb. I normally use quiet time to get my phone calls made, but I’m daydreaming today,” Carrie said, walking briskly to the door before anything tumbled free off her tongue. Her husband had spent considerable time getting her to speak her honest thoughts. It was now hard to hold back with anyone…even when discretion was the socially correct thing to do. “Take all the time you need, Brooke.”

The quiet snick of the door locking still echoed in the cavernous conference room. Brooke sighed and turned to the gigantic screen where a smiling Tracy Barrymore in the early stages of her cancer looked down on her from a great height.

“Before we get started with my education about what happened to you, I just want to be honest about a few things. First, your son said these portraits told a story you never wanted the world to know. Depending on what happens next week, it could be my story too. That’s why I’m here.”

She motioned with her hands as she talked, too worried about her own reality to question the insanity of talking to a dead person.

“The second thing is a bit more complicated. Despite the fact that I tried to keep my emotional distance from Drake, you and I both ended up loving him. Because of that I thought you might not mind me learning about my fate from you instead of some jaded, but well-meaning medical professional. However, I’m never letting Drake paint me like he has you, especially if it turns out I have cancer. I’m not going to be as understanding about his art as you were. If you met my mother, you’d understand how seriously I mean that statement. I simply wasn’t raised to be nice to demanding men…not until they earn it anyway.”

Brooke walked forward until she was close enough to see the freckles painted on the woman’s skin.

“You certainly were beautiful. I can see why Drake still enjoys painting your portrait so much. He says I’m beautiful too. Sometimes I think he’s just caught up in all that poetry stuff he likes to throw around. Personally, I think Drake should have majored in literature instead of art, but I guess that would have been a waste of his other talents, right?”

She advanced the next slide. A thinner, more tired woman smiled at her. Tracy’s nude breasts were large and her nipples beaded as she leaned forward. Her sultry sensuality beamed through what was happening to her. It was quite impressive—both the portrait and how the woman had pulled it off.

“You know…this one reminds me of something. Did you ever get jealous of those women who pose nude for his classes? Not that your nipples aren’t as outstanding as the stupid twenty-year-old I saw posing…I mean, seriously. Sorry if my comments are TMI, but pointy nipples have been on my mind a lot since I realized I might lose one or both of my breasts to cancer. My nipples aren’t too shabby either. I’d like to keep them. Anyway…I just wondered what you thought.”

The next slide showed Tracy staring off, as if ignoring Brooke’s question. The bones along her spine were pronounced. Her shoulder blades were sharp and reflected the light. Every line and curve along her back spoke of resistance. Now here was an emotion Brooke completely understood.

“Wow…you really didn’t want him to paint this one. It’s so obvious. Living with an artist must suck something fierce at times. None of this surprises me though. Drake has hit the cognac bottle twice because of fights we’ve had. His tendency to bury his anger under alcohol doesn’t make me want to drag his sexy ass to the altar…not that anyone has said anything about marriage yet.”

Keeping up a running dialogue with the woman in the portraits, Brooke clicked through one slide after another. She got more silent as she took in the gradual, but noticeable decline being shown in each.

But no matter how grotesque the pose was, she noticed one thing never changed in the portraits…at least in the ones where Tracy’s face was turned toward the artist. There was always, always love in the woman’s eyes.

“You must have been amazing. Well, you might as well know, I’m not nearly as good as you…or as
nice
. I’ll probably make Drake miserable as hell when we’re not in bed.
Shit
…sorry, that was in poor taste…even if you are dead. I shouldn’t have mentioned that part of my relationship with Drake to you. I figure you probably know it already if you’ve been keeping tabs on your two guys…from wherever you went. Somehow I feel like you have been. Yes, I know it’s unusual for a philosopher to believe in life after death, but I do. By the way, your son is an absolute gem. I think I’m going to have to teach him how to have fun before he grows up completely. In fact, both Barrymore men seem to have a bit of guilt when it comes to having fun. Don’t worry though. I’ve got this one.”

She cycled through the rest of the slides and then started over. The second time through she didn’t linger. Then she repeated her viewing a third time, moving faster from portrait to portrait. It was almost like watching a movie to see the changes happening at a more rapid pace. Finally, Brooke closed the slide show and set the remote down on the table.

No tears had fallen, but she’d gotten a cathartic experience from them just the same. She could understand why the woman would not have wanted those to be the lingering images of herself. Yet through the awful recording of Tracy Barrymore’s physical disintegration, she had developed a keen appreciation for Drake’s talent. In every portrait, he had preserved his wife’s dignity, no matter how devastating the scene. It didn’t surprise her in the least it had taken so many years for Drake to get over his wife enough to let himself feel that level of love again.

“Life would have been so much easier for both of us if I could have been the booty-call woman, instead of the one you chose to follow your incredible wife. You sure as hell messed up this time, Dr. Barrymore.”

Brooke checked her phone before walking out of the room, and over to Carrie, who stood up and searched her gaze.

“It’s okay—I’m fine. Thank you. I didn’t even use any tissues. I’m really glad you ordered those slides.”

“I’m really glad too. I just hope Drake doesn’t kill me when he finds out I have them.”

Brooke smiled. “He’ll never hear it from me. I’ll lie to save you.” She leaned forward and hugged Carrie. “Thank you. My stepbrothers both married the nicest women on earth. I’ll never understand how that happened.”

“Oh, I think you will one day,” Carrie said, smiling back. “There is nothing more exhilarating than being loved by a passionate man.”