his work.” She stopped short. If what Jed said earlier was true, Maria needed to see the paintings to know her precious son would never have achieved her level of success.
Unless he stopped drinking, of course. Maybe his entire life would have been different had he not wanted to party more than anything. Why hadn’t she realized that at the time? She’d enjoyed their clubbing as much as he had. But she would not have continued forever. Would he ever have settled in marriage? She’d never know.
“Come by the gallery and see them,” Laura continued. “Help me choose which frames to use for the different subjects I’ve chosen. If you don’t like them, we have time to select others from his inventory.”
“Oh, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I shall be able to be at the showing, yet for my poor son, I shall be there. But I don’t believe I can see them more than once so soon after his death.”
“You need to view them before the show,” Jed said. “They aren’t very good.”
“How dare you besmirch your brother’s work! From the time he was seven or eight years old, he showed great promise. We all know you have no artistic talent, Jed. Don’t belittle what you can’t do yourself!”
Jed’s eyes narrowed as if in anger. But his voice remained calm when he spoke, “I can’t draw worth a damn, but I do recognize raw talent, and it’s not there.”
The waitress arrived with Maria’s sandwich.
“Wrap it up, I’m leaving,” she said imperiously. She rose. Jed rose. Laura watched bemused as they stared at each other for a long moment. Maria spoke again,
“I expect the show to proceed as planned. I trust Laura to have selected the best of his work and once the community sees the paintings, everyone will realize the loss to the art world his death caused. You’re the executor, figure out how to have those paintings be available for the show.” She followed the waitress back toward the restaurant proper to get her wrapped sandwich.
Jed sat and looked at Laura.
“She’s heading for a big disappointment.”
“The paintings aren’t that bad,” Laura said diplomatically.
“They aren’t that good. She expects to see masterpieces. Instead she’s going to see mediocre work. Are those the best?”
Laura nodded, fiddling with her iced tea glass.
“He liked to have a good time, didn’t want to be responsible, accountable, or grow up. And there was no need, as long as Mom subsidized him,” Jed said with frustration.
Laura said nothing. She began to eat again, but the sandwich tasted like cardboard. As soon as she could, without looking as if she were fleeing, she wanted to leave.
“So when can you come out to do the appraisal?” he asked.
He was relentless. “Not before Thursday afternoon,” she said. Today was Tuesday; if he was in such a rush, maybe he’d not want to wait that long. She began to think it would suit her better to have another appraiser handle the task. She felt battered from all the drama of the day.
“Fine. What time?”
“Two?” Drat. She should have said she was busy until next week, or next month. Or just flat out told him no. She glanced at him. She didn’t think many people told him no.
“I’ll be there. I have to clear out Jordan’s things. See if there is anything else worth selling. Most of his clothes I’ll donate. Do you have a recommendation where?”
“There’s a thrift store in Provincetown that supports a children’s group. If I were doing it, I would donate there.”
“What of his things do you want?” he asked gently.
Laura shook her head. “There is not one thing I can think of I want.” She was not truly entitled to anything, even if Jed thought differently. She had ended their relationship. Had her ending the engagement caused Jordan to crash his car? She hoped not, but the nagging doubt remained.
She tossed her napkin on the table and rose. “I have to get back to the gallery. Thank you for lunch. I’ll see you Thursday.” Unless an excuse presented itself before then so she could get out of doing the appraisals without questions being raised.
Jed rose with her and waited until she walked away before sitting down again.
Just as Laura was about to step away from the deck, she glanced back. He sat gazing out over the harbor. For a moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of loneliness. She hesitated. Maybe she’d misjudged Jed Brodie. There was no denying the tug of her heart as she debated returning to the table. For what? To see if she could cheer him up? Nothing could do that. And any close association could lead to a revelation she didn’t want made.
Turning, she headed back to the gallery, planning her next appointment. And then she’d turn her attention to appraising the paintings that were currently awaiting framing.
She’d call in Jasper Mullins, as well. He owed her a favor and could give a second opinion. Not that she questioned her judgment. Hugo’s instructions over the years and her own experience since gave her confidence in her decisions. But for what she owed Jordan and his parents, she’d see if she could get another opinion.
Jed stayed at the table long enough to finish his meal. He hadn’t eaten regularly in the last couple of days with the time zone changes and three different flights. He was hungry and tired. And not looking forward to winding up his brother’s affairs. He wished things had been different. He loved his mother. He didn’t always understand her, but he knew what she considered important. It had never been about him, always about Jordan. He’d come to terms with that situation years ago.
His father was also in a dream world most of the time, sculpting from marble or granite—revealing what the rock hid, he said. He only surfaced when it was time to sell the piece. He drove a shrewd deal and his pieces were now sought after, by private collectors, as well as modern museums.
The clean salt air felt refreshing after the constant scent of rotting vegetation that permeated the area around the Amazon River basin. He had become used to the smell over the months, only now realizing how foul the air seemed in comparison.
Tossing some money on the table, holding his suit jacket with one finger, he slung it across his shoulder and headed back to his hotel. He’d call the office, let them know he was extending his visit. This was not something he could handle in a day or two.
To appease his mother, he’d let the showing take place. How that would affect probate, he’d have to find out from the attorney. Once he’d unpacked and changed into cooler clothes, he’d head for the cottage and assess what needed to be done there. He couldn’t believe he’d never see his brother again. That he wasn’t going to be called upon to bail him out of yet another scrape. Or hear some convoluted plan on how Jordan would make a million dollars.
They hadn’t been close, but he missed him like hell.
What had his life been like here? Jed had never visited Jordan’s cottage. Would the place remind him of Jordan? Or would it be so unknown to him no reminders would arise? He hoped for the latter. He wished Jordan had written his will differently. Jed wished he could still be in the Amazon
