Paint Me Fearless, page 22
When I mentioned I’d found a doctor willing to prescribe diet pills, and offered to get her some, she’d declined. Admittedly, I was relieved since I needed them for myself. I also suggested she find a doctor in Belle Maison, and floated the idea of antidepressants, but she’d mumbled about money, forcing me to drop the subject.
My computer dinged as I scrolled Facebook, signaling Violet had posted from North Carolina. The Dynamic Duo had won the boarding-school battle, and now my babies were over two hundred fifty miles away. My pretty little girl posed with three other girls, each wearing white lab coats, while holding up test tubes in a science classroom. An older, bespectacled man lurked in the background, sporting a bewildered expression. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one puzzled by this generation. Violet looked happy, and I was glad I could at least lay eyes on her, as Sterling was less enthused about social media.
I scrolled some more, finding pictures of Max and Ernie, their kids, and my sisters-in-law, all apparently gathered at a crawfish boil. They also seemed happy.
A wave of sadness washed over me when I thought of how seldom I saw my siblings and their families. They were always busy, and I was glad their lives were full, but it still hurt when after traveling miles and wading through airports, they often put me off, claiming previous obligations and commitments. How had that happened, I wondered? And what part should I be playing in furthering Mama and Daddy’s legacy? It seemed so wrong that distance and indifference could consume a family whose patriarch and matriarch were so devout, so defined by their love of family.
I looked at my watch and realized I’d wasted enough time scrolling. The big gala was tonight, and putting myself together was more of a challenge than it used to be. I’d found an off-the-shoulder dress, bold for my age, but everything had to be just right for me to pull it off.
I threw my carrot and celery sticks in the garbage and headed to the scales.
†††
Dean was distracted when he got home. “Just work stuff,” he’d quipped while reaching for his tuxedo. I spent some time bolstering his ego, fastening his cufflinks, straightening his tie. “You look great,” I smiled.
He raised his eyebrows, picked up his phone, and walked out. I sighed, hurt by his indifference.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn’t pleased. I looked like an old lady in a young girl’s dress. As short as I was, I needed to lose another ten pounds to avoid looking dumpy. To make it all worse, I’d been having trouble with my contact lenses in Kentucky, and had no choice but to wear my glasses. All the bluegrass, I supposed.
I stood there studying my reflection in the mirror, deciding nothing was worse than appearing as if you were trying too hard. Since I didn’t want to look like a fool, I unzipped my dress.
Dean beckoned. “Let’s go, Robin. We’re already late.”
†††
We hardly spoke a word on the way to the gala. How dare Dean already express frustration with his new job! After uprooting us and moving us across the country! Sure, I’d been apprehensive at first, but I’d jumped on board and been supportive. And now he was unhappy again. Being a supportive wife was a thankless job.
As we headed downtown, we passed a massive church that would probably have covered over three blocks in Dallas. I watched as policemen directed traffic in and out, and people of all ages offered cheery waves to one another. In the center of the massive structure was a giant cross.
It was nothing like Shady Gully Baptist Church, but I felt a sharp void nonetheless, a pang for something lost. “I guess that’s what would be considered a megachurch, huh?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I hear good things. Darla and some of the other folks at work say they really walk the talk. Back up what they preach. Give back to the community.”
“North Lake Christian Church.” I noted the writing on the center building. “Maybe we should visit.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dean said, swiping his phone at the red light.
†††
A photographer snapped our picture as soon as we walked into the ballroom. We ordered drinks and perused the auction items. Although there were a few beautiful paintings of Kentucky landscapes, I thought they paled in comparison to Sunny’s work.
“You look so pretty, Robin,” complimented Darla, Dean’s assistant. “Off the shoulder suits you!”
Darla was a heavyset young woman with a big smile and girlish dimples. She had a pixie haircut, which fit her perfectly.
“Thank you. You look beautiful as well.” Pleased that she was the one working with Dean on a day-to-day basis, I added, “This is such a lovely venue.”
I watched as Dean wandered over to greet another circle of people. Shaking hands, smiling, networking.
“Have you met Annie, Rick’s wife?” Darla motioned to a mature woman holding an untouched glass of pink wine. As Rick was the CEO at Dazé & Nolan, I smiled enthusiastically.
Annie shook my hand, and grinned in a genuine manner. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your husband raves about you and the twins.”
“Thank you, Annie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Darla headed off as Annie and I traded pleasantries. Annie was sharing a story about her grandchildren, when I noticed a sleek, elegant young woman approach Dean, place her hand lightly on his back, and lure him aside. The two began a serious conversation, heads bent close.
“Excuse me,” I said to Annie as I moved toward Dean and the mystery woman. I hovered there for several agonizing seconds before Dean finally turned and acknowledged me.
“Oh, Gayle, I’d like you to meet my wife, Robin.” Dean turned to me. “Robin, this is Gayle, the director of human resources.”
I shook Gayle’s hand, noting the absence of a ring on her finger.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.
As we chitchatted, Dean reached over and shook another tuxedoed man’s hand, who in turn joined our little group. While the man barely acknowledged me, he raised his eyebrows pleasingly at the lovely Gayle.
“Tank,” Dean said, “this is my wife, Robin.” Tank, a robust man with a mischievous grin and thinning hair, shook my hand. “Tank is the COO at Dazé & Nolan.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I said, but Tank barely acknowledged me as he seemed much more intent on how “nice Gayle cleaned up.” Dean and I sipped our drinks throughout Tank’s obsequious appraisal, until we were finally able to excuse ourselves.
The rest of the evening progressed in a similar fashion. Introductions ensued, people deemed me insignificant, and quickly moved on. I realized that the smiles and the compliments were reserved for the beautiful people. They were the centers, and everyone gravitated toward them with the single-mindedness of a bulldozer. Whoever was in their way was cast aside as irrelevant. Quite literally, I learned, as one young man crashed into me on his way to deliver a drink to a striking brunette. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. Are you okay?” And when had I become a ma’am?
Relieved when the night was over, I enjoyed the silence on the way home. Unfortunately, Dean was keyed up. “Tank is a bit of a blowhard, but he’s got some good ideas and he commands respect.”
“I can see that,” I said. “What about Gayle? She certainly seems popular.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know her that well.”
“I’m sure you’ll get there.” It must have been my tone that set him off. Or maybe he was just feeling guilty?
“Don’t start, Robin. Just don’t.” He put his blinker on, picking up speed once he turned. “I just can’t deal with that now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I forget how important you are.” He didn’t respond. “I wouldn’t be this way if you didn’t have a history.”
“A history? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean looked sideways at me, headlights reflecting off his glasses. “You’re impossible, you know that? What do you want from me? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to be honest. I want you to finally come clean about Desi.”
“Do you want me to say it’s true? Is that what you really want? Because I will. And I’ll beg for forgiveness. Heck, let’s give that a try, since telling you the truth hasn’t worked.”
“I guess I don’t really care if it’s true or not anymore. But I’ll never trust you ever again.”
Dean, angry now, tightened his lips and became sullen. He glanced at the giant church as we passed it on the way home. “Like you ever did.”
I ignored his remark, fixating on the enormous cross that lit up the night sky. And then I turned away from it, overwhelmed with a cloying feeling of shame.
†††
The long drive home had drawn me deeper into my warm, familiar blanket of self-pity. It was my usual pattern. I’d start to feel better about myself, and think I was okay. And then foolishly dip my toe out of the confines of my isolation, out of my comfort zone, only to confirm that I was indeed inadequate. Only the beautiful were revered, and I quite simply didn’t measure up.
Yet I had a new plan. A goal, as Sunny used to say. I’d up my daily dosage of the trifecta to three instead of two. And I’d cut my daily treat of five almonds out of my diet completely. I’d skip the wine too. The calories were too high, and it was time to get serious.
By the next function, I’d be so noticeably thin that people couldn’t possibly look through me. Even Dean would have to acknowledge me. The kids as well. Despite being so completely self-absorbed, my family would finally have to recognize me.
I squinted as the garage lights clicked on and Dean parked the car. Still agitated, he threw his keys onto the foyer tray as we walked inside. “I think we should go to counseling.”
“What? I’m not doing that. That’s ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous?” When I didn’t respond, he put his hands on his hips. “Robin, I’ve never cheated on you, but I’m starting to think you want me to—it’s like you’re trying to drive me away.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I have no idea. Maybe so you can say you were right all along?”
I scoffed as I walked into the kitchen, shaking an aspirin out of the bottle.
“Good night,” Dean said.
I mumbled back, distracted as I searched the back of the bottle to see if there were calories in aspirin.
†††
Dean was out of town, and I had the whole house to myself. I ran on the treadmill in the morning and again in the late afternoon. I wouldn’t even have to pretend to eat tonight, since I was alone.
I was just about to prepare a basket of apples and carrots and walk across the pasture to feed the horses on the neighbor’s farm, when the phone rang. Thinking it was Dean, I answered in a nonchalant voice.
But it was Sterling. And my heart flipped. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
“Hey! How are you? Is school okay? Have you seen Violet?” I couldn’t stop myself from rattling off questions like an interrogator, but the sound of his voice had a way of dousing the fumes of my hopelessness. “I miss you so much, baby boy.”
“Oh, c’mon, Mom.” I could almost see him rolling his eyes. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s in Chicago. Some team-building nonsense, I think. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to ask him something.” I sensed I was losing him, and he was already thinking of ways to let me go. “What have you been up to, Mom?”
“I’m good,” I answered. “I was about to go feed Sam and Ellie’s horses.”
“Oh cool.” I could tell he was smiling over the phone. “Did the mare have her baby yet?”
“Yes, she did. He’s so cute. Ellie named him Kuzco because she said he looks like a llama.”
Sterling laughed. “I loved that show. The Emperor’s New Groove.”
“Yeah, how many times did we watch that?” I chuckled. “Have you seen Violet?”
“No, Mom. It’s not like I have classes with her or anything.”
“Oh, well, I know. I just thought—”
“All right, I’ll let you go feed them.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I can do that later.”
“No, I need to call Dad real quick.”
“Okay. Well…” I admonished myself for saying the wrong thing. Again. Driving him away just like Dean said. I guess I had a knack for that. “Well, I love you, baby.” I wanted to ask him if he’d got the care package I’d sent or if he was coming home for the upcoming long weekend, but it was too late. I’d blown it.
“Bye, Mom.” I berated myself as he clicked off.
I tried not to dwell on my failure and instead filled my basket with treats for the horses. By the time I reached the fence line at the end of the pasture, I was out of breath and a little dizzy.
The horses eagerly approached the fence and flicked their tails with appreciation as they gobbled their treats. Kuzco, the feisty colt with the large brown eyes, studied me as he chewed. While I scratched the soft, fuzzy coat along his neck, I noticed the beginnings of a rainbow as it came to life atop Sam and Ellie’s barn. I instantly felt my pocket for my phone but realized I’d left it on the bar. The fact that I had no one to share this beauty with left me feeling sad and regretful.
Exquisite moments like this, bursting with such overwhelming loveliness, sometimes made me question my own brokenness. Caught in this stunning picturesque instant, it was hard not to wonder if a lot of my anguish was of my own making.
†††
I sipped herbal tea and scrolled Facebook late into the evening. I was surprised to learn that the gala raised over $30,000 on the auction items alone. I zoomed in on a photo of the foundation president holding a giant check, smiling for the camera. While the amount raised was impressive, I was disappointed because I hadn’t seen anything bid worthy. I opened another screen and googled landscapes and oil paintings. My eyes widened as thousands of links pulled up.
I went to the kitchen to pour myself another cup of tea, trying to ignore the hunger pangs as I traipsed through the living room back to my office. I noted that while we had accumulated some nice pieces of art over the years, we had blank wall space to spare.
I browsed through some impressive art, but nothing caught my fancy. One link led to another link, and soon I discovered that the way to buy art was via fine art exchanges, all anonymous and done by brokers.
My eyes were getting heavy when my phone buzzed with a text. Dean, saying good night. Going to bed, he said. I responded with, How was dinner and the evening in general? Long, he replied, and boring. The phone rang.
“I hate texting,” he said. “Why are you up so late?”
“I’m looking at paintings. Did you know the gala raised over thirty thousand dollars on auction items?”
“I heard that.” He yawned. “Did we buy anything?”
“No.” I clicked the mouse and absently opened a new page. “Have you heard of fine art brokers? Is that a thing?”
“Yeah. I think they’re sort of the middleman between buyers and sellers. They keep it anonymous, discreet and all that. What did you have for dinner?”
“Uh… why?” I sounded defensive, but since when was Dean monitoring my calories?
“Just asking. I worry you don’t eat when I’m gone.” I could hear his exasperation. “Anyway, I had some kind of protein. I think fish. It was the size of a plum. Served with two dollops of some kind of green sauce smeared on the plate. I’m starving.”
“I’m sure it was delicious.” I chuckled, genuinely amused. I suddenly missed him very much. “Did Sterling call you?”
“Yeah. One of his buddies is selling a car.”
“And he wants to buy it?”
“He does. I told him we might try to drive down in a few weeks because you were missing them.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right. More like you are.”
“Maybe a little. Anyway, pick a weekend you want to go. Book a nice hotel, some fancy restaurants. It would be nice to get the gang all together.”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “It would.”
When we hung up, my heart swelled. With love? Happiness? Again with that fleeting twinge, that notion that I’d lost chunks of my life and subjected myself to needless doubt—
And then Facebook summoned me with a ding, so I mindlessly obliged and switched screens. I scrolled to see what was new. There was a new post with pictures from Micah, but I didn’t click on it.
Instead, with a sense of dread, I clicked on a newly posted photo from Annie, the wife of the CEO of Dazé & Nolan. She wasn’t my friend in real life, but she was on Facebook. She and her husband, Rick, were in the picture. So were Tank and a woman I assumed was his wife. Darla and a few of the other executives’ assistants were there as well. They were all gathered around a table in a glitzy restaurant, plates laden with protein the size of plums and dollops of smeared sauce.
Oh look, and there was Dean, smiling, not looking bored at all. And next to him was none other than Gayle, the superbly cleaned-up human resources director wearing a curve-hugging purple dress spilling over with cleavage.
I was furious. Hurt. And felt foolish for my momentary lapse of sentimentality. Here they were, the gang all together. Wasn’t that the phrase Dean had used? Only I hadn’t been invited to partake in the plum-sized protein and spirits, and apparently Gayle had stepped in for me.
I quickly closed Facebook, hoping to avoid making a snide comment under the picture. I stared at the black monitor for a solid minute before searching how to tell if your husband is cheating. Along with several advertisements for private investigators, a long list appeared. Body language was number one.
I jumped back onto Facebook, enlarging the picture, but something drew my eye to the side of the screen. Nothing to do with cheating or body language or plum-sized food. It was a photo of a painting from the art brokerage website I’d been searching. I gasped aloud. It couldn’t be…
