looked at the fresh seafood nestled on a bed of crushed ice. Sure enough, a huge coho salmon was spread across a display of large prawns. Just as she noticed it was out of place, the salmon sprang straight up in the air and started to spin tail over fins, as if someone had caught it on a line. Anne rubbed her eyes, convinced she was hallucinating.
“Did you see that?” Julie whispered.
“I did,” Anne said. “I think we should get out of here. There’s something strange going on.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Arms linked, the two women walked quickly out of the crowded market. Anne couldn’t believe other people hadn’t seen this startling phenomenon. But no one else had reacted at all, let alone with awe or astonishment.
Fifteen minutes later, they were in an Italian eatery off a side street. They sat at a small table with a red-checkered tablecloth; a half-melted candle stuck in an empty wine bottle served as the centerpiece. It reminded Anne of the inexpensive restaurants, usually situated in basements, that she and Burton used to frequent when he was in law school…. She cast off the nostalgia before it could trap her.
Anne and Julie both ordered a glass of Chianti with their spinach salads.
“I’m seeing Roy again tonight,” Julie said after her first sip of wine. “We … had dinner last night.”
“And on Wednesday and Thursday.” Anne had found this out quite by accident when she’d phoned the house to arrange her luncheon date with Julie. It had given Anne such hope, such encouragement. Julie had made a point of letting her know that her father had invited him on Thursday—but that didn’t explain Wednesday. Or Friday.
“We talked for a long time last night.”
Anne noticed that Julie’s hand tightened around the stem of her wineglass. She had to restrain herself from leaping up and shouting for joy. She wondered how much of their story Julie knew, so she asked, “Did he mention Aimee?”
Julie’s eyes held hers. “No. Is she the reason you suggested lunch?”
“Not really.” Anne shrugged. “I hope you don’t think I’m a busybody.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m so glad Roy’s finally met someone he can love.” Julie abruptly dropped her gaze and Anne realized she’d spoken out of turn. “Oh, dear, forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I don’t know if Roy loves me—and it’s far too soon to know how I feel about him.”
“I’m so sorry. Please forget I said anything. I’m just a meddling mother who’s eager for grandchildren.” The instant those words were out, Anne realized she’d done it again.
“Grandchildren?” Julie’s eyes grew huge.
“Oh, dear,” Anne gasped. “I do seem to be having trouble keeping my foot out of my mouth.” She set her wineglass down, determined not to take another sip until she’d fully recovered from whatever had loosened her tongue. Every word embarrassed her more.
“I take it Roy was once in love with Aimee,” Julie said as the waiter brought their salads.
“He wanted to marry her, but she chose … someone else.” Anne hoped to avoid the more sordid details.
“Seeing how successful Roy is now, I imagine she’s sorry.” Suddenly Julie looked chagrined and lowered her fork. “Forgive me. That was a dreadful thing to say.”
Immersed in her own thoughts, Anne was confused. “Dreadful? How?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that the only reason Aimee or any woman would love Roy is because he’s successful.”
“I know you didn’t mean anything disparaging,” Anne assured her. “Besides, you’re wrong.”
Julie looked puzzled, and Anne felt obliged to explain. “Aimee doesn’t appear to have any regrets.”
“Then she’s happy?”
“I wouldn’t know. You see—” Anne took a deep breath “—she’s married to my husband.” Although she tried hard to keep her emotions out of it, Anne heard the hint of bitterness in her voice. “I’m sorry, Julie, I meant my ex-husband.”
The linen napkin on Julie’s lap slipped unnoticed to the floor. “No wonder Roy has a problem with trust,” she whispered. “His fiancée, his father …”
“Now you know,” Anne said softly. “Roy wouldn’t appreciate my telling you, though.”
“I won’t say anything.”
Anne appreciated that. “Actually, digging up the skeletons in our family’s sad history isn’t why I asked you to lunch,” she said. “I want to get to know you better.”
“I feel the same way. I loved the picture you painted on the window. Dad says everyone’s talking about it, and Roy speaks so fondly of you and—”
“What did he say?”
“Well,” Julie said, beaming Anne a bright smile, “he brags about you.”
“My son brags about me?” Anne hated to sound shocked—but she was. Half the time, she felt as though she was nothing more than an obligation in her son’s life. He only tolerated her concern and seldom sought out her company.
“He’s very impressed with your work. He told me about several of your pieces he’s displayed in the building. He promised to show them to me on my next visit.”
“If you can get in,” Anne teased. It’d been a source of amusement, the trouble Julie had getting past the security guard.
“Ah, yes, Jason, protector of the gate.” Julie rolled her eyes.
Anne had witnessed for herself how committed the young man was to keeping the poor girl on the other side of the company doors. She stabbed at a piece of spinach, suddenly realizing what Julie had said. “Let me make sure I understood you correctly. Did you really say Roy has my artwork hanging in his office building?”
“That’s what he told me.”
This was news.
“Five landscapes, I think he said. You didn’t know that?”
Anne shook her head. “I never told him my pseudonym.”
“He must’ve found it out on his own,” Julie said evenly.
“I … I don’t know what to say. Part of me is pleased and another part is irritated.”
“But why? He’s proud of your talent.”
“I’ve told him a dozen times that I refuse to let him support me. I want my paintings to sell on their own merit. The last thing I want or need, especially from my own son, is charity.”
“I
