“What?” I jumped up and went to the entry to retrieve the letter. It was in a white, letter sized envelope with a logo for the Ballantine Gallery on the front. It was addressed to Katherine McDermott Morgan.
I sat beside him and ripped it open, frowning, for I hadn’t contacted them and hadn’t even heard of the gallery before.
Dear Katherine McDermott Morgan,
Thank you for the submission of your artwork titled “Scenes From Africa” for our consideration. Our board reviewed your work and think it would be perfect for an upcoming theme of naturalist and wildlife art. We would like to invite you to exhibit all five paintings at the gallery in February. Please call me at the gallery and we can arrange the details.
Yours truly,
Celine La France, Curator
The Ballantine Gallery
“What does it say?” Drake asked. I handed him the letter, totally confused about it.
“How did they get hold of my artwork?” I asked. “Did you send them images?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said and handed the letter back to me.
“Tell me the truth. Did you know about this?” I said, catching the grin on his face.
“I might have known something about it, but it wasn’t me who came up with the idea. I was a co-conspirator.” He smiled and pulled me back onto his lap. I continued to hold the letter in disbelief.
“Who did this? Was my father?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” he said, grinning widely.
“Drake!” I squirmed out of Drake’s arms and went to get my phone out of my bag. I called my father’s cell phone and waited. It rang twice and then he picked up.
“Hello, dear,” he said.
“Did you send the Ballantine Gallery pictures of my artwork from Africa?”
He chuckled. “Not even a hello, father, how are you?”
“Daddy!” I said, unable to keep from laughing. “When did you do it?”
“Elaine and I talked about it with Drake a while back. Elaine met Celine LaFrance at some fundraiser or other and said you were a wildlife artist. She suggested that you send in some examples and they’d check them out. We knew you wouldn’t do it on your own, so we conspired to do it for you.”
“That’s so wonderful of her,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears. “Of both of you. Of all of you,” I said and glanced at Drake, who sat smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “I can’t believe it.”
“Apparently, you can believe it,” my father quipped.
“They want to include my paintings in an exhibit featuring naturalist and wildlife art in February.”
“That’s so great to hear,” he said, and I could hear the pleasure in his voice. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie, but you have to thank Elaine. It was originally her idea and she did the legwork. Drake and I went along for the ride. I think she took photos of your paintings when we babysat for you once, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That night Drake talked me into going out for dinner, when you and Elaine came over
and babysat?”
“Exactly,” he said with a laugh. “We’re a conniving bunch when necessary.”
I turned to Drake and stroked his chin affectionately. “What can I say but thank you so much. Maybe the four of us can go out and have dinner to celebrate? The Russian Tea Room?”
I looked pointedly in Drake’s eyes and he nodded. I knew he’d always be happy to go there.
“Any excuse for some blini and vodka,” my father said with a chuckle. “I’m able to get around with a wheelchair and I believe The Tea Room has an elevator and is wheelchair accessible.”