A ring of the apartment’s phone pulled her out of her thoughts. No one really called that line except for the doorman, so Lucy reached out and picked it up off the desk. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Miss Campbell. I have a large delivery for you.”
Lucy frowned. A large delivery? She hadn’t bought anything. “Are you sure it’s for me? Where is it from?” she asked.
“I’m sure. It’s from the Museum of Modern Art. It’s another painting for the collection, ma’am.”
The staff at the building was used to priceless paintings and sculptures being delivered to Alice’s apartment. Every few months, something would catch her eye on an auction website and a new piece would arrive. The difference this time being that Alice was deceased and Lucy hadn’t bought any art. There had to be a mistake.
“Send them up,” she said. She wouldn’t know for sure until she saw what it was. Perhaps Alice had a piece on loan to MoMA that Lucy had forgotten about and was being returned.
About ten minutes later, two men came out of the freight elevator with a painting in a wooden crate. Lucy stood holding the service entrance door open as they brought it inside. “Where would you like it?” the older of the two men asked.
“The gallery,” she said. That’s where most of the paintings went, so it was a knee-jerk response. “I’d like to see what’s inside before you leave, however. I didn’t buy anything. This may be a mistake and if so, I’ll want you to take it back with you.”
After they set down the box, the second man pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “You’re Miss Lucille Campbell, right?”
“That’s me,” she replied, even more confused. If it was a piece on loan, it would’ve had Alice’s name on it, not hers.
“Then this is for you.”
The older man pulled out a crowbar to pry open the side and expose the painting. They carefully pulled it out of the straw and paper bedding that protected it and held it up for Lucy to inspect.
She remembered the painting now. It was one of the items available at the silent auction. The painting of the New York skyline made entirely out of hearts. She’d loved it, but she hadn’t bought it.
In an instant, that whole amazing night came flooding back to mind. Touring the museum with Oliver, leaving early after getting overheated, making love—and conceiving the twins—on the rooftop garden. There was only one painful answer to where this had come from—Oliver bought it for her that night before they left and it was just now arriving.
The timing was agonizing.
“You can leave it there,” she said, indicating the wall where it was leaning.
The men nodded, gathered up the box and packing materials and made their way back out the door. Lucy watched them leave, then stood looking puzzled at the painting in front of her.
What was she supposed to do with it?
Part of her wanted to set it on fire, just to spite him. She didn’t need a reminder of that night hanging on the wall, taunting her about everything she’d lost. But destroying it was an insult to the artist and the painting. It didn’t have anything to do with the situation with Oliver, and she loved art too much to consider it for long. Besides, she wasn’t sure how much he’d paid for it, but since she’d turned down child support in her anger, she might need to sell the piece to support the twins. Unlike everything else in the apartment, that belonged only to her. His romantic gesture come too late.
The thought made her knees quiver beneath her. Better safe than sorry, she lowered herself down to the cold, marble floor of the gallery. There, she had a better view of the painting. She really did love it. Under any other circumstances, she’d be thrilled to own it. It was just a painful reminder of Oliver that she didn’t need.
Staring at it for a moment, she reached out and ran her finger along the edge of the painting. Lucy knew then that she would keep it. If nothing else, it might be the only thing the twins would have from their father.
With a sigh, she stood up and went in search of a place to hang it.
* * *
Oliver was miserable.
There just wasn’t any other way to describe how he felt. He wasn’t even entirely sure how long it had been since he spoke with Lucy and found out about the baby. The days had all started to blur together. He hadn’t been in the office. Hadn’t left his apartment. He hadn’t even gone up to the roof to start trimming back for the fall because being up there reminded him too much of Lucy and the night they’d spent together there. Somehow, even his sanctuary was tainted by the situation.
He wouldn’t go so far as to say Lucy had ruined it. He wasn’t that ignorant. It had taken a few days for his temper to cool down so he could come to that conclusion, but he knew it was true. Start to finish, this was a mess of his own making. Nothing Lucy had done since the day he met her had warranted the horrible things he’d said to her at dinner that night. She had immediately come to him to do the right thing and tell him about the baby, and he’d thrown it in her face. And yet, after hours spent racking his brain for a way to undo the things he’d done, he’d come up with nothing.