I felt like I'd just been slammed in the chest with a cinder block. The truth of her statement was almost too much to handle. Here I was in a common suburban home I could buy twenty of with someone who had lost everything in her life, and I was the one being pitied. I, Tristan Stone, was worthy of pity for my family's guilty behavior.
"Please tell Joseph Edwards' daughter that my sympathies are with her. I know what she's going through."
I stood to leave, needing to get out of there as quickly as possible. She followed me to the door as we said our generic goodbyes, and as I left, she grabbed my arm to force me to turn around. I stopped dead and looked at her, not wanting to hear any more.
"I believe you're trying to do the right thing, Tristan. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. I hope after what I've said you can find some kind peace with all this."
The car waited for me at the end of the sidewalk, and while I watched Jessica's house grow smaller as I drove away, I also hoped someday I'd be able to find some kind of peace after everything I'd learned.
Chapter Nineteen
Nina
I had basically fallen in love with the Peachtree Suite within an hour of being there. This was my first trip to one of Tristan's hotels since my accident, not counting his incredible penthouse, and I loved the idea that I could add my artistic touch to such beautiful places. The colors of the suite were muted neutrals, but the designer had included a splash of color with deep burgundy draperies. I wanted to highlight that accent and really make it pop.
That's not to say I was even sure I could do the job. I hadn't told anyone, not even Jordan, but just thinking about picking out art made my palms sweat. Hours and hours of studying artistic styles and techniques in my room each day since I'd been released from the hospital had given me a small sense of confidence, but the real litmus test would be when I had to choose pieces for my first assignment.
I had a feeling Tristan had picked this suite as a simple job so I could ease myself back into things. As I scanned the over one thousand square foot area surrounding me, I tried not to feel intimidated. How couldn't I, though? The rooms rivaled the country house in beauty. The walls were painted to look like aged cream colored plaster, heavy white crown moldings typical of southern architecture framed the rooms, and the showstopper of the living room was a white cararra marble fireplace flanked by two French doors draped in that stunning burgundy color.
What could I add to all that?
All the ideas I'd had when I was searching at home felt wrong now that I was standing in the middle of this stunning suite. I wondered if maybe I should focus on something that would resonate with the local area instead of choosing something based on a certain style or color palette. I'd always loved the art at the Philly museums in part because it showcased the flavor of the local art scene. If I could find a piece or grouping that was not only beautiful but meaningful to Atlanta area instead of focusing on improving what the decorator had chosen, the room might actually be better because of the art.
At least that's what I tried to convince myself of as I stood there in the center of all that beauty.
I set off to the first bedroom to do some searching. Sitting legs folded on the bed, I tapped away on my laptop for information on artists right there in Atlanta. As I looked through page after page of artwork, none of them seemed right. They were all beautiful, but I was looking for something else—something that spoke to me—even if I wasn't sure what it was.
And then I saw that something. A local artist, Everett Shean, painted scenes of Cumberland Island, a barrier island off the coast of Georgia, and as I studied his oil paintings, I saw a turtle he'd created a series of paintings around. A few clicks to get to the series' page on his website and I found out the turtle was a loggerhead sea turtle that was an endangered species on Cumberland Island.
Déjà vu struck as I stared at that turtle and all of a sudden I realized I was having a memory from the past four years! The turtle looked like the turtle character from Finding Nemo, the one that sounded like a surfer and called everyone "Dude." The memory of watching that movie with one of my nieces hit me and out of the blue I had remembered that entire evening I'd babysat for Kim and Jeff!
I needed to tell someone, and since Tristan wasn't back from his meeting yet, I grabbed my cell phone and called my sister. She'd be so happy to hear my memory was finally coming back.
She answered, and I blurted out, "Kim, I remember that night I babysat and we watched Finding Nemo! Do you remember? You and Jeff went to dinner, and I babysat. Isn't it great?"
"Whoa! Slow down. What are you talking about, Nina? Are you okay? Where are you?"
I jumped off the bed and began to pace, my free arm flailing as I spoke. "I'm great! I'm in Atlanta with Tristan and as I was researching the art I wanted to show him for the suite, I saw this turtle that's endangered on one of the barrier islands off of Georgia. The turtle is the focus of a series by a local artist. He paints in oil, which is always so rich. You should see these paintings, Kim. They're gorgeous!"
"Baby, what turtle are you talking about? You're talking so fast I can't understand what you're saying."
"The one who calls everyone Dude, like he's a surfer."
"What?"
"In the movie," I explained in frustration. "What's the Finding Nemo turtle's name?"
"Nina, I have no idea what you're talking about. Who's Nero?" she asked, sounding almost as frustrated as I was.
"Nemo! You know. The fish. He's lost and his father has to find him. Oh, forget it! The point is that I remembered something from the past four years. My memory is coming back! Isn't that great?"
"It is, but I'm still not comfortable with you staying out at that house with someone you barely know, Nina."
Her voice had that condescending tone it got when she was chastising me for something. I hated that tone of voice. "Kim, Tristan isn't a stranger or someone I barely know. I was engaged to him before the accident. He's a good man, and I love him. Don't ruin this for me. I was so happy when I called you."
"I don't want to ruin anything for you. I just think you're too naive and get yourself into things you don't understand."
My chest tightened as tears welled in my eyes. I couldn't help get emotional. All I'd wanted to do was share my wonderful news and now I had to defend myself once again to my sister, whose opinion of my life I didn't give a damn about.
"Why? Because I don't keep myself all closed off and guarded? Because I give people a chance? I know that people like you think that makes me stupid or idiotic, but it's who I am. I can't change that, and I don't want to. I like being open to new things, and that includes new people. If I was like you, I would have never gotten to know Tristan."