it wasn’t her mommy who carried her out.
It was Sarah who saved her. Again and again and again.
CHAPTER ONE
Houston, Texas
May 2007
SHE SHOULD HAVE parked closer. By the time Anise reached the gallery, the makeup she’d applied an hour before was sliding off her face. Summers in Houston were brutal but heading for a meeting with a soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t help matters.
She had no reason to be nervous, she told herself, pulling open the door to the Levy Gallery. Kenneth had finally agreed that the time had come to part ways and he’d promised to sign the papers when they met for drinks this evening. He wasn’t happy about the situation—who ever was happy about divorce?—but he’d assured her there would be no more delays. He accepted the fact that their short marriage was over.
Or so he said.
She stepped into the frigid art gallery and paused under a black vent pouring out icy air. Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but Anise could hear her best friend. She let the cold blast wash over her cheeks and closed her eyes for a second.
“This isn’t the right piece for you, Mrs. Worthington, and I’ll tell you exactly why.” Sarah’s voice was full of authority. “Your home is a reflection of your standing in the community. You and Mr. Worthington are stars in the Houston galaxy. You need important art on your walls. Art that demands attention and expects to receive it. You represent the old guard. You can afford the most expensive things. Why not buy them?”
Anise could hear the murmur of another woman’s voice but her words were indistinct.
“Yes,” Sarah replied, her tone on the verge of condescension. “You’re correct there. Borden’s pieces are developing a following. But you don’t need something from an artist who’s developing. You require art from people who’ve already arrived. Anise’s shadow boxes are almost there, but not quite.” Sarah’s voice faded as she directed the customer to another part of the gallery.
Anise walked to the corner where Sarah and the woman had obviously been viewing her work. More than once, Sarah had explained her reasons for discouraging people from buying Anise’s creations but Anise wasn’t sure she agreed with the technique. A sale was a sale and she could always use the money. Sarah was in charge of the business end, though, so Anise handled her concern like she did everything that distracted her, by placing it into a box of its own and filing it in the back of her mind.
She focused instead on the display before her. A single black wall hung in front of her, suspended from chains that stretched into the darkness overhead. It swung gently in the air-conditioning. Six black pedestals made of iron were set before it with six spotlights shining down, one light on each stand.
Sitting on top of each plinth was a box. They ranged in size from six inches square to more than a foot. The bottoms were fashioned from wood but the sides and front were made of glass that had been smeared with petroleum jelly. It was impossible to view the interiors distinctly but inside each box were various items that expressed a theme. Resurrection. Absence. Light. Death. No one knew the titles, but in her mind that’s what she called them.
She’d sold her first one six years ago for a few hundred dollars. Sarah never let them go now for under five figures.
Anise heard the front door open and close, its chimes sounding softly. Sarah’s quick step came next, her progress audible as she cut through the gallery. Like a miniature whirlwind, Sarah projected energy and power, from her mass of dark, curly hair to the brightly colored suits she favored. There were days when just looking at Sarah made Anise tired.
“I thought that was you who came in.” She wrapped Anise in a quick hug then let her go. “Guess you heard me not make a sale for you, huh?”
“As a matter of fact, I did hear what you told that poor woman.” Anise made a wry face. “What do you mean I’m still ‘developing?’ If I had an ego, it might be a little bruised.”
Sarah tossed her head, her hair shimmering under the halogen lights. “We’ve talked about this before, Anise. That old witch wouldn’t know a Van Gogh if it bit her on the butt. I can’t let someone like her have one of your pieces.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Anise answered, “but I’m not sure Kenneth would agree.”
At the mention of Anise’s almost ex-husband’s name, Sarah’s face darkened but the expression came and went so fast, no one except Anise would have caught it.
“Louisa Worthington is eighty-five, if she’s a day. We want the younger crowd buying you. Her patronage would be the kiss of death. If word got out she was acquiring you, anyone with half a brain would run the other way.”
She took a breath and continued before Anise could comment.
“You have money. You need cachet. It’s more important that we build your name. And to build your name, we have to make your boxes exclusive. I’d be happy to explain that concept to Kenneth. Even an asshole like him should be able to understand it.”
Anise ignored the name-calling. Sarah had never made her disapproval of Kenneth a secret. “I’m on my way to meet him. Why don’t you come with me and the two of you can argue about it?” Anise teased instead. “I’d rather listen to you guys fight than talk about the divorce.”
“But he already agreed to everything, didn’t he?” Sarah’s eyes widened, an instant’s gleam of alarm coming into them. “I thought you said he’d told you—”
Anise held up her hand. “He agreed, but you know how Kenneth can be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he changed his mind at the last minute and said no again.”
“He better not if he knows what’s good for him.” Stepping closer to one of the shadow boxes, Sarah adjusted it as she rejected Anise’s words. “This whole mess was Kenneth’s fault from the very beginning.” She tightened her lips, two angry lines forming around her mouth. “He’s an idiot and he has never appreciated you or your work. You’re amazing and he can’t see that. If there’s a failure here, it’s his, not yours.”
Anise reached out and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I don’t deserve a friend as good as you.”
“You’re right,” Sarah retorted. “You don’t deserve me but unfortunately for you, I’m all you’ve got.”
Anise and Sarah had been more than best friends since elementary school when Anise’s single mother had died in a house fire. Abraham and Rachel, Sarah’s parents and the Bordens’ next-door neighbors at the time, took Anise into their home and their family, and she’d been there ever since. After Abe had died and Rachel retired, Sarah had taken over the gallery even though she’d only been twenty-five.
Despite their closeness, Anise and Sarah were very different from one another, their opposing sexual orientation the least of it. Anise was the artist but she wasn’t a flamboyant diva. She had barely dated before marrying Kenneth and her favorite evening was a quiet one by the fire with a good book. Sarah was never at home and she went through relationships like candy, the women in her world forming an ever-changing parade. She couldn’t seem to settle down with one person. Neither could Anise, but their reasons were as different as their lovers.
“Which
