I’m glad you have the necklace. When you wear it, think about us.
Us?
I put my phone away and watch the passing lights of Manhattan.
Chapter 12
FRANCESCA
I’ve browsed the gallery for about two hours, taking photos and notes for my client. I’m considering a blue-and-orange abstract landscape when my cell pings with a voice mail. I pull my phone out of my clutch. Donny. Scanning it, I notice a few texts from Brogan but put those on hold. Why is Donny calling me?
My head circles back to the last time I saw him in his office. Yes, we’ve spoken on the phone once to clarify some details, but that’s been the extent of it. A long exhale comes from me. Leaving East Coast Ink & Gallery feels like a million years ago, but it still stings. It’s not so much about Edward’s betrayal but that Donny severed our longtime connection.
I looked up to him. Admired him. Worked with him for years.
And then rejection.
I play his message. “Francesca, um, hi. I put your paintings in the storage facility upstairs like you asked the last time we spoke. Brogan came to the shop to pick them up today.” He pauses. “I’d actually forgotten about them, and when I went to look, they were gone. Harlee said someone bought them a couple of weeks after you left, and she forgot to tell me. Call me back.”
The voice mail ends, and my anger stirs. My commission is 80 percent of the price of the paintings, and with four of them, that’s a large sum of money. She didn’t tell him because she didn’t care. Maybe she was truly miffed about the painting of her and Edward in the closet.
I sigh as I scan Brogan’s texts, and it’s him repeating what Donny said. He’d told me earlier this week that he and some friends were borrowing someone’s van to pick up my paintings and then put them in a warehouse co-op I share with other artists. I send him a text and tell him that I didn’t know they’d sold and I’m sorry that he and his buddies went to so much trouble for me. He replies back that it’s cool and that he’ll see me later. I put my phone away. The truth is I shouldn’t have waited this long to get them, but Donny said he’d make sure they were safe.
Ducking into a quiet hallway, I call Donny, and he answers on the first ring.
“They all sold?” I ask. “And she didn’t think to call me or let you know?”
He sighs heavily. “She said she meant to, but you know how busy she is ...”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” I can see her now, prancing around in her dress and heels.
“I heard you got a job,” Donny murmurs. “I’m glad.”
“Brogan told you?”
“Yes. With glee. Your clients miss you. We get at least one a week who walks in and asks for you.” I hear the clink of ice and picture him in his office with a whiskey.
“I’m loving my new career.” It’s not like owning a gallery, but it’s close, considering I get to visit them and spend other people’s money.
He clears his throat. “So I hear congratulations are in order.”
I stiffen. “Oh? For what?”
There’s a pause. “Um, well, Edward said you were pregnant. I hope it’s happy news?”
My hands clench. Good grief! How many people in Manhattan know my personal business? At this rate, the entire world will know.
“Also, Edward doesn’t work here anymore. He quit. Long story. I won’t bore you.”
I don’t care. “Let’s talk about the paintings,” I snap. “There were four left after the dollhouse painting sold. One of a little girl in the back seat of a car, one of a boathouse, one of a girl on a Greyhound bus, and the one of Harlee and Edward. I want receipts.”
“I remember them.”
“Who bought them?”
“I don’t know. They paid in cash, and there’s no signature on the receipt.”
Cash is odd. My head circles to Darden. He cares about me, knew I’d lost my job, and thought he’d help by purchasing the paintings. Or perhaps Cece. It sounds like something she’d do in secret, like she bought the baby bed. Obviously, it’s not Brogan. He went to pick them up today.