Janie gives me a candid look. “I think it’s a good idea. Honestly I do, and I’ve got three paintings that I can put in. But are you sure you’ve considered what the fallout will be? The papers might put a cynical spin on it and imply that you’re insincere or looking for attention.”
I nod, and strangely, her stating things so baldly has eased some of the tension I’m feeling. “I think you’re right, but I hope that most people will see that I want to do this because I think my father’s paper was in the wrong, and that I’m sorry that I was callous and unthinking. But in the end I don’t expect to be forgiven. I’m not even really seeking forgiveness. I just want to do this because it’s right.”
There’s another short silence, and then Celeste gives me a tentative smile. “Then you can’t lose, can you? I’m in. I’ve got two paintings and a sculpture that you can have.”
I’m surprised Celeste agreed so readily. She always used to let me know in some subtle way that she thought my ideas were silly, though I don’t think she knew I could tell she was wrinkling her nose when my face was turned away.
Grateful tears prickle my eyes, and as we all walk to our next class I hear them telling our other classmates about the plan. Michael asks me if he wants me to organize a mailing list for people who want to donate works, and suddenly I’m on a high as I set up my paints and easel.
When I turn and look at Dieter at the back of the classroom, he gives me the tiniest of smiles, and a wink.
Taking the first steps toward organizing the exhibition has made me brave, and that night I sit down to write the first of my letters to my parents once I’ve finished my homework. I tackle the one to my father first, as it’s the one I’ve been dreading most.
Dear Dad,
Dieter thinks I should write to you even though I don’t really want to talk to you right now. I’m angry with you for not being here. You must have known they would put you in prison if you broke your bail terms and I wonder if on some level that is what you wanted. So you wouldn’t have to face me and Mum and explain what you did. If you did it. I want you to be brave, and I want you to own up to what you’ve done if you’ve done the wrong thing. I want to be proud of you. I’m not very proud of you right now.
I’m not very proud of me, either, but I’m working on that. I think we both have a lot of work to do to make it up to the people we’ve hurt. Maybe we can do that together.
Love,
Adrienne
I look over what I’ve written. It’s brutal, but it says what I want it to say. Taking a fresh sheet of paper I turn my attention to the letter for my mother. Strangely, this one is harder to write, and I sit chewing on my pen for several minutes before I know where to start.
Dear Mum,
When I visited you, you seemed to think there was something going on between Mr. Vanderbroeck and me. There wasn’t then, not really, but now there is. I know how it must seem from the outside. Dad’s already called us up and screamed at us both. Dieter’s still being my bodyguard but now he’s something more as well.
I didn’t want to come and see you, but he persuaded me to. He said I need to maintain my relationships with you and Dad while we go through this awful time, and I think he’s right. This has been as hard on you as it has been on me. Maybe harder, even, because you’re the one who has always done your best to stick by Dad, only to be ultimately disappointed by him. I think Dad and I might be a lot alike—stubborn know-it-alls who don’t like to listen to anyone—which must make it difficult for you to talk to me. But I want to try. And if you’d like a visitor, I want to visit you again.
Love,
Adrienne
I wonder how she’ll take this news. Maybe Dieter and I will get a second screaming phone call, this time from my mother. If so, we’ll weather it like the last one. They have to actually come home, I think with a wry twist of my mouth, if they want to throw Dieter out.
Dieter has given me the address of the prison and I know the address for my mother, so I seal the envelopes and write the directions on the front. Downstairs, I hold them up for him to see. He’s making dinner, a tea towel thrown over one shoulder. When he sees the letters, he smiles.
“Good girl,” he says, and kisses me lightly on the lips. I wonder if he’s going to ask me what’s in them, but he doesn’t.
As I watch him cook and tell him about my plans for the exhibition, I think about what he and I are doing and what a strange effect it’s had on me. I feel calmer than I have in my whole life, and happier, too. Without all that anger dragging me down I can think about other things. Anger is so blinkering, I realize. It makes you forget what’s important.
Watching Dieter tear cos lettuce for a salad, I wonder if I might be changing him, too, even in some small way.
* * *
Once I’ve got agreement from the head of the college about using some of the common space for a charitable exhibition, things progress rapidly. By the end of the week, donated paintings and sculptures fill a small storage unit that I’ve been assigned. As they bring their pieces to me, my classmates bring kind words as well, and I start feeling like I’ve finally turned a corner out of the mess of the last few weeks.
On Tuesday I’m in the cafeteria talking effusively with a girl called Kate about her watercolors and how happy I am to accept them for the exhibition when a snide voice reaches my ears.
“...can’t help making everything about her. Even this. And look, she’s still got that bodyguard. Hysterical much?”
My palms grow sweaty on the heavy frames and I almost drop them. Looking quickly over my shoulder, I see two girls walking out of the room, laughing as if to a private joke. I know them by sight, though not by name. A wave of shame and embarrassment washes over me. Is that what people really think of this exhibition behind my back? That I’m trying to make this all about me?
I look back at Kate, trying to concentrate on what she’s saying. But there’s only white noise in my brain and a clenching in my belly. Screw this. I’m out of here.
“Sorry, I have to go.” I shoulder my bag and stalk to the door. “Come on,” I say to Dieter as I pass him.