Page 36 of Cruel Dominion

11

ANNA

“I’ll probably be here for a while, so you don’t need to wait for me.”

I tried to meet David’s eyes in the rearview mirror. It was hard to do through his dark sunglasses.

“Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll bring the car around.”

I bit my lip and nodded, knowing I wasn’t going to win this fight. I thanked David and got out in front of The Drift, Mrs. Wu’s art gallery.

Olivia Wu was my art teacher back in high school. She was the first person to notice my interest in photography. The one who showed me work by famous photographers and who taught me how to use a dark room. I used to spend all my free periods in her art room, browsing her black and white photography books and asking her questions about lenses.

She retired from teaching a few years ago and bought a local gallery when it became vacant. I looked it up online, browsing through all the pieces she’d chosen. As the curator, she seemed to favor modern artists, but something in the pieces she showcased had the same feel to some of my work. Evoked similar emotions. At least, I hoped they did.

I planned on dropping a huge check purchasing some art pieces here. I wanted Mrs. Wu to get the commission, and it had the added bonus of probably pissing off my father. He clearly intended me to use my new credit card for clothes, manicures, and lunches with my society friends. A bill for tens of thousands spent at The Drift would probably make his shriveled little heart explode.

Whatever. After his very obvious setup for me with the state senator, he deserved it.

He was barely speaking to me, which was a new but very welcome punishment. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I intended to enjoy every second he wasn’t shouting at me.

I’d visited The Drift a few times before, back when it still had the old owners. Mrs. Wu had obviously done a lot of renovating when she took over, making the space her own. She’d changed the walls from a distracting teal green to a pale charcoal color, which let the pieces stand out. Her expertly placed lighting drew the eyes to each individual photo, which meant that the smaller, more subtle pieces weren’t overwhelmed by the bigger, flashier ones. Each painting or photograph existed in its own, perfect little bubble.

An assistant greeted me at the door, but I told him I would rather browse alone, and he nodded his understanding before backing off.

Mrs. Wu chose an eclectic display that somehow seemed to fit together. There were landscapes with strange, ghostlike shapes hidden in them, next to close-up portraits where the person’s face was lit like its own landscape in a way.

I was lost in the photos when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun to see Mrs. Wu, wearing funky red glasses and a cool black jumpsuit. She had always seemed like such a grown-up when I was in school, but now I saw that she was only in her early 40s.

“Anna Vaughn!” she said warmly. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Wu,” I said.

She laughed aloud. “Please, call me Olivia. You’re an adult now.”

“I guess so, even if I don’t always feel like one.”

“Here’s the secret,” she said, looking comically around. “You never will. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

I laughed, then gestured to the space around me. “The gallery is incredible. I love the work you curated here.”

Olivia beamed at me. “I’m glad you think so. I try to feature local artists whenever I can. You know, I was just about to make a cup of tea if you want to join me? I’d love to catch up.”

I could see in her eyes it was a genuine statement. She was always that way. Caring. Genuinely caring about anything and everything in her students’ lives and the things they said or didn’t say.

I nodded. I was hoping I’d run into her, but this was even better.

“I’d like that.”

Her office was a medium-sized room off the gallery’s reception. A velvet couch huddled against one wall with a structural coffee table in front of it. The desk was lush oak and art pieces tastefully garnished the walls of the room.

She left for a few minutes, then returned with a classic ceramic teapot. She poured me a cup, which smelled amazing, like orange peels and cinnamon.

“So!” Olivia said cheerfully. “What have you been up to since graduation?”

The familiar heaviness set over me. The lie about building houses haunting me again and again. I had repeated it to so many people, but for some reason it felt wrong to tell my old teacher. Like it was a bigger betrayal of my younger self.

“Oh, I’ve been doing some traveling,” I told her. “Working in St. Louis for a while.”

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