Her mother appeared genuinely shaken by the accusation. “I didn’t?”
“Never.”
“I suppose I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” her mother said, her expression contrite. “It’s a very difficult field in which to succeed. I should know.”
Shock, which had been coming in waves since her mother walked into the gallery, washed over Kathleen again. “What on earth are you saying?”
“You never saw anything I painted, did you?” her mother asked.
“No,” Kathleen said, reeling from this latest bombshell. “In fact, I had no idea you’d ever held a paintbrush.”
“Actually I took lessons from a rather famous artist in Providence for years,” her mother said as if it were of little consequence.
“You did?” Kathleen asked weakly. “When?”
“Before you were born. In fact, once I married, I never painted again. Your father thought it was a waste of time and money.” She gave Kathleen another of those looks filled with sorrow. “I’d like to think that you inherited your talent from me, though. It broke my heart when you gave it up because of that awful husband of yours. I hated seeing you make the same mistake I had.”
Kathleen suddenly felt faint. Too many surprises were being thrown at her at once. “I think I need to sit down,” she said. “Come on into my office.”
Her mother followed her, then stopped in the doorway. Kathleen heard her soft gasp, and turned. Prudence was staring at the portrait.
“You did that, didn’t you?” her mother asked, her eyes ablaze with excitement.
Kathleen nodded. “It’s far from finished,” she said, unable to keep a defensive note from her voice.
“But it’s going to be magnificent.” When Prudence turned back to Kathleen, her eyes were filled with tears. “I am so proud of you. You’ve done what I was never able to do. You’ve taken your life back, after all.”
Puzzled, Kathleen stared at her mother. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you do. You’re a survivor, Kathleen. I haven’t been.”
“Of course you are,” Kathleen replied heatedly. “You’re here, despite everything that happened to you. You don’t have to be a victim ever again. And if painting really did mean so much to you, then do it. I’ll buy you everything you need myself. I’ll pass on the gift that was given to me.”
Her mother gave her a quizzical look. “Oh?”
For the first time in her life, Kathleen felt this amazing sense of connection to her mother. She went to stand beside her and put an arm around her waist. “Ben bought paints for me—just yesterday, in fact. He’s the one who gave me the confidence to try again. That portrait is the first thing I’ve painted in years.”
“Tell me about this Ben,” her mother said. “Is he someone very special?”
“Yes,” Kathleen said simply.
Her mother gazed knowingly into her eyes. “He’s the man in the portrait, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And you love him.” It wasn’t a question at all, but a clear statement of fact.
“No,” Kathleen said at once, then sighed. “Maybe.”
Her mother tapped the canvas with a perfectly manicured nail. “The truth is right here, darling.”
Kathleen studied the painting and tried to guess what her mother had seen. Even in the portrait’s unfinished state, Ben appeared strong. Kindness shone in his eyes. Had it been painted with a sentimental brush? Most likely.
“I don’t want to love him,” Kathleen admitted at last.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s an artist,” she explained.
To her surprise, her mother laughed. “Not all artists are as unpredictable and awful as Tim was, you know. There are bad apples in every barrel. Goodness knows, I’ve found more than my share in a great many walks of life, but you can’t taint a whole profession because of it.”
For the first time, Kathleen understood the optimism that underscored her mother’s repeated attempts to find the perfect match. “I just realized something, Mother.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re the one who’s the real survivor. You’ve made some fairly awful choices—”
“An understatement,” her mother confirmed.
“But you haven’t closed your heart,” Kathleen explained. “I did.”
Her mother gave her a squeeze. “Then it’s time you took another chance on living. I’d like to meet this young man of yours. He has a kind face.”
Kathleen smiled. “He does, doesn’t he? And the best part of all is that he has a kind soul.”