"But it's your life too," said Curtis, gently. And to my utter humiliation, I felt tears threatening to gather in the corners of my eyes. It was just such a relief to hear someone say it, besides me. Before I could stop them, they trickled out and started rolling down my cheeks. "Oh, no, honey - I really am sorry," he said, jumping up and grabbing an industrial-sized roll of paper towels from behind him. "I don't think I have any tissues, sorry, but here - I really didn't mean to upset you."
"It's not your fault," I managed, tearing a piece off the roll and dabbing at my eyes. "It's just been so stressful and I don't get much of an opportunity to talk about it, you know, you're always afraid someone's going to tell the…" I looked up at him, suddenly, realizing that I had absolutely no reason to trust that he wouldn't turn around and tell this exact story to a blog or newspaper for a quick buck. DANIEL THORNE'S MARRIAGE IN TROUBLE? TEARFUL WIFE TELLS SOURCE SHE FEELS IGNORED. "I'm sorry - I really shouldn't -" I stood up suddenly, the chair scraping the floor behind me. "Let's just talk about the installment, okay?" My forced cheerfulness was clearly throwing him off a little bit, but he smiled back and went along with it.
"Okay, well, I'd love to take a look at the drawing in person if you don't mind." He gestured towards the portfolio, which was still clutched to my chest.
"Oh, of course." I handed it over, taking a few deep breaths. Get it together, Maddy.
"I love this," he said, softly, staring down at the drawing. "It almost…it reminds me of being a kid, you know? That feeling of being alone, but not lonely. Having all that time to waste. The days just seemed to go on forever. Somehow it never seems to be like that anymore." He smiled at me. "I want to put this one front and center. Come over here, I'll show you what I have planned."
I followed him out to the one of the freestanding walls in the gallery, right in the middle. It seemed like the focal point of the whole place, which made me feel slightly queasy. He held up the pieces he'd selected, showing me several different arrangements he was thinking of.
"Of course, these won't be here," he said, waving his hand over the current installments. "So we'll have plenty of room to play with. What do you think for a backdrop? If I painted the wall a different color, it would really stand out."
"I think it stands out plenty as it is," I said, looking around the room. "Are you sure they wouldn't look better somewhere a little less…conspicuous?"
"Absolutely not," he said, firmly. "I want these to be the first things people see when they walk in. Do you think you'll be able to make the show? It's, uh, the twenty-sixth - starts at five pm. I'm not sure how late it'll run, but if there's any possible way you can make it, I'd really appreciate having you here."
I swallowed. I hadn't even really thought of that. I when I used to dream of having my art shown in galleries, of course I always pictured myself standing beside it and talking about my inspiration to all the interested parties. But now - if I showed, I'd be inundated by reporters and hassled by everyone who recognized my name...
"I can keep it quiet, if it helps," he said. "Not publish your name in any of the announcements. You can be a surprise guest." He smiled. "I'll give you some time to think about it. I'll understand if you can't, but I really hope that you can."
"Thanks, Curtis." I shook his hand warmly. "I really…I really appreciate everything."
"Of course," he said. "I couldn't be happier to have you." He hesitated. "Oh, and - one other thing - I know you're probably not used to people acting like human beings around you anymore, but I promise everything we talked about here today will stay between us. Okay? So no worries on that front."
I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Thank you," I said. "That's very nice of you to say."
"And I mean it." He was still holding my hand in his, and after a moment, he finally seemed to realize what he was doing. He shook his head and let me go, abruptly. "Hang in there, Maddy. I hope I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, me too."
I walked away, with my drawing tucked under my arm. I was going to have some prints made and have it framed in something simple before I handed it over to him for the actual show. If he wanted to change it that was his prerogative, but I just wanted to feel like it was protected. There weren't many things in my life that I felt I was in complete control of, but my art was one of them, and I wanted it to stay that way.
***
I knew Daniel would still be out when I got home, and the silence of the apartment as I shut the door attested to that. I thumbed through the mail on the hallway table, then suddenly heard faint noise issuing from somewhere nearby.
My phone was ringing. I fumbled it out of my purse, staring dully at the number for few moments before I recognized it.
Oh, great. This was just what I needed.
"Hi, dad." I tucked the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I slipped out of my jacket. "How are you?"
"I was going to ask how you are," he said. "We've been watching the news. Your mother thought I should call."
I let out a long breath.
"Okay," I said.
"Are you feeling all right?" My dad cleared his throat. "You looked awfully disheveled in that picture."
"I was coming home from yoga, dad. I always look like that when I get out."
"Yoga?" My dad repeated, like he'd never heard the word before. "Well, all I know is, you didn't really look like you had yourself together. If you're going to have your picture in the paper, you really should clean yourself up a little bit."
"First of all, it wasn't in the paper, it was on a blog. And second of all, I shouldn't even have to point this out, but I had no idea they were taking my picture. You're familiar with the concept of paparazzi, yes?" I grabbed a cup out of the cabinet and slammed it down on the granite countertop so hard that it cracked a little.
"Sweetie, I'm just worried about you," he said. "You don't have to get defensive."
"Well, thanks. I appreciate it." I squeezed my eyes shut, tightly. "How's mom?"
"Worried about you."
I took a long, deep breath.
"Well, tell her not to worry. Daniel's got one of the best lawyers out there, we're going to be fine. It's just going to drag out for a while because these things do."
"Oh, well." My dad sighed. "I guess if he's going to find a way to weasel out of it, that's all right."
"He's not….weaseling out of anything," I said. "He didn't do it."
"Honey," he said, in the most condescending tone I could imagine. "You don't know the first thing about what rich people do."
"I actually think I might, dad. I've been married to one for two years."
"Insider trading is how people with a lot of money turn it into more money. Everybody does it, if they have the opportunity. Your Daniel was unlucky enough to get caught, but I promise you, that's the only thing that makes him different from most of the others."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I snapped, grabbing my phone and switching it to my other ear. I felt like my head was going to explode. "You know, for once, it would be nice to just get some support from you. You know, just, hey, honey, we're rooting for you. A little less judgment disguised as advice and concern. That would be really fantastic. Just once."
"You know, I just called to be nice," my dad said, sternly. "I thought maybe there was something we could do to help. You don't have to be so hostile."
"Well, next time you want to be nice and help out, you could do that by not calling, if you don't have anything positive to say. Okay? Okay."
I hung up, throwing my phone down on the counter and sitting down heavily on one of the chairs.
"Your dad?" came Daniel's voice from behind me.
I turned around. "How long have you been standing there?"
He walked over and sat down beside me, letting his hand rest gently on my back, right between my shoulders. I let out a massive sigh and sagged, leaning on the counter with my elbows and letting my head hang between my arms.
"Yeah," I said, finally. "It was my dad."
I'd never talked much about my relationship with my parents. The truth of the matter was, there really wasn't much to say. From the way we talked to each other, anyone on the outside would assume that there had been a huge blowout at some point, from which none of us had ever fully recovered. But that wasn't really true. We simply didn't get along. We never really had.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You're sorry?" I scoffed. "This is still your cross to bear, not mine."
"Maddy," he said, taking a deep breath. "I know I've been…" he drifted off, then started again. "What I'm trying to say is, if you need to talk about it, you can."
I shook my head, finally lifting it back up to look at him.
"He's just…he's just being the way he is," I said. "He thinks he knows everything, and he thinks it's okay to be hurtful and judgmental as long as his intentions are good. He makes up his mind about something as soon as he sees even the first little hint of it, and no matter what you say about it afterwards, you can't change his mind. So I guess in a way he's like everybody else out there. He sees 'billionaire' and 'illegal insider trading' and he just assumes he knows the whole story. I tell him you're innocent and he thinks I'm naïve. To him, I'm still a stupid little girl who doesn't know how the world works."
"You believe it, then?"
I frowned at him. "Believe what?"
"That I'm innocent?"
His face was soft and open in a way I hadn't seen…well, since our second honeymoon. I reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly.
"Of course," I said. "Did you really think I didn't?"
He shrugged, smiling a little. "I wouldn't necessarily expect you to," he said. "But thank you. That's very nice of you to say."
"Well, I'm glad you appreciate it, at least." I sighed again, twisting my neck a little until I heard a pop. I rubbed my shoulder, feeling the muscles stiff and tightly knotted underneath my fingers. "I just…I really could have done without hearing from him today."
"He probably does want to help you," Daniel said, quietly. "I know that's not necessarily what you want to hear, but…he loves you, I'm sure he does, even if he doesn't understand. He doesn't want to show empathy because he's afraid you're going to get hurt if he doesn't point you on the right path. Or what he thinks is the right path, at any rate."
"I know," I said. "Really, I do, it's just…you'd think, after all these years, he'd have some kind of faith in my ability to manage my own life. Make my own decisions, from time to time. You know?"
"I'm sure it's very hard for him," said Daniel. He was looking out the window, at the birds sitting on the windowsill. "He doesn't ever want to feel like he's failed you, but he doesn't understand what you need from him."