Country Roads(20)

Tim Arbuckle’s laugh rumbled up from his massive chest. He was a giant of a man, and Julia had been relieved when they sat down for dinner because it made him less overwhelming. “I’m pretty sure you have some connections, being a former mayor of the municipality and all.”

Julia envied the easy banter between the three friends. Except for her two years at art school, she’d never had a social circle. Most of her classmates headed for New York City or Paris after graduation, so she’d lost touch with them. Especially the ones who were uncomfortable with her condition. On top of that, professional jealousy often ruined friendships.

“Mrs. Bostic was singing Paul’s praises as the mayor today,” Julia said.

“They tried to talk him into running for the state legislature,” Tim said. “I offered to be his campaign manager, but he turned me down.”

“Your size would have scared the voters away,” Paul said.

“Why didn’t you run?” Julia asked.

He twirled his wineglass by its stem. “I guess I subscribe to the axiom that all politics are local, and I wanted to keep mine that way.”

Claire muttered something about “your brother” before she stood abruptly and picked up a couple of plates. Paul gave her a sharp look, and she gave it right back. As Tim pushed back his chair, Claire said, “No, no, everyone else relax. I’ll just clear enough to bring out dessert.”

Julia ignored her and got up. “I’d like to help. I want to get another look at the Salvador Dalí collage you have in the kitchen.” Picking up her plate and Paul’s, she followed her hostess out of the dining room and stopped in front of the collage. “I love his use of texture in this.”

Claire took the plates from Julia and stacked them on the counter. “Dalí was a master of mixed media.” Lifting a cardboard bakery box out of the restaurant’s cooler, she put it on the counter, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut the string around it.

Julia took a deep breath. “Thank you for looking at my paintings. I really needed a different perspective from someone who was, well, an outsider.”

Claire put down the scissors. “I’m honored you came to me.”

“I want to ask you one favor.” She tried to inject all of her need into her gaze. “Please promise you’ll always be honest with me.”

“But my opinion is just one person’s.”

Julia shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I trust you.”

Claire went still. “It’s strange how life works out,” she said, before picking up the scissors to cut the last string around the pastry box. “Back in New York, when your uncle took the wrappings off the first painting I ever saw of yours, I felt this instant sense of connection. It was as if you showed me a better way to look at the world.”

“That’s a pretty incredible compliment.”

Claire spread her hands on the stone countertop and stared down at them. “I’ve been where you are, not trusting my own judgment.” She looked up. “Tim is not my first husband. I was married to the man who owned the gallery your uncle brought your paintings into. My then husband and I disagreed about the merits of your work, and he made me feel as though I had completely lost my ability to appraise art.”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry my paintings caused a problem for you!”

Claire shook her head. “Milo was doing everything he could to destroy me. In fact, your painting was the first thing I fought my ex-husband for and won. That was when I started rebuilding myself.”

Julia had been listening with growing anger and incredulity. The idea that this dazzling woman had been torn down by a vindictive husband was horrifying. “I’ll make sure Milo never gets another of piece of my work to sell.”

“That’s wonderfully supportive of you, but Milo’s gallery went out of business a year ago. I even found it in my heart to be sad for him.” A secret little smile played over Claire’s mouth, and Julia knew she was thinking about Tim. “He’s an unhappy person, and my life has turned out quite well since we parted.”

Julia wasn’t so charitable. “I would have spray-painted ‘Serves you right’ across his gallery windows as soon as I heard the news.”



Paul was lounging in his chair, lulled into a satisfied stupor by food and wine, when Claire broke the candlelit silence. “Tim, why don’t you show Julia the rest of the house while Paul and I clean up?”

“Julia, are you game?” Tim asked, standing up. “Claire picked out all the art, so you should find it interesting.”