Page 11 of One Last Secret

“Anything you want me to know about?” Lisa gives her a sharklike grin. “It’s never a bad idea to get your name out there early.”

“Or to sell your work early,” Marcus added. “Victor’s loaded, but you don’t want to have to rely on Daddy’s allowance your whole life, right?”

Victor tenses at that. Even Lisa seems put off. She frowns at Marcus and scolds gently. “There’s no need to be crass, Marcus.” She smiles again at Celeste. “Art should be an expression of your spirit, not a commercial act.”

“Says the woman whose job it is to sell art,” Marcus countered.

“She certainly doesn’t have a problem commercializing my work,” Victor added.

Lisa’s smile fades. It’s clear she didn’t expect the two men to gang up on her. She delicately cuts into her pork roast and says, “You didn’t seem to mind the check you were cut for that commercialization.”

Marcus belts laughter and elbows Victor. “She’s got ya there, Vic. Principles pale when you’re looking at dollar signs.”

I stiffen a little, but the situation defuses when Victor bows with a flourish. “Alas, I cannot tell a lie. We wouldn’t have the wine we’re drinking now were it not for Miss Lisa’s adept marketing skills.”

Lisa returns his bow, and the conversation moves to other subjects. I turn to Celeste to make an aside about adults and their obsession with money, but I stop when I see her face. Her dark eyes stare at Lisa, but it’s not her eyes that startle me. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and she grips the handle of her knife almost lovingly as she slices into her own pork roast.

I turn away and focus on my own dinner. The tension between the adults must be more serious than I thought. I know children have a tendency to exaggerate such interactions, but the degree of animosity that radiates from Celeste is not the simple dislike of someone who is at odds with her father. There is a cold hatred there that in its disturbing way is the most mature emotion Celeste has expressed.

I wonder if this hatred has anything to do with those who have vanished. I remember that Celeste’s mother isn’t in the picture. Perhaps Celeste has a more concrete reason for her hatred of Lisa than the tension with Victor.

I must learn more about this vanishing point. I must learn too who the mysterious Elias is that Victor talks to. Has he vanished along with Celeste’s mother? Does Lisa have something to do with it somehow?

My desire for peace and quiet makes one more cry for attention in my mind before it too vanishes. There is an innocentand suffering girl here under my care, and I will learn what troubles her and who is responsible for it.

And if their actions call for justice, I will ensure that Celeste receives it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Annie smiles genially at Mother, but I see the contempt behind her gaze. There is little love between my sister and our mother. I can’t blame Annie for that, but I do wish she would make more of an effort to hide it at family dinners.

“I just don’t understand the point of a career in art,” Mother says. “Artists are never independent. They rely entirely on others for their support.”

“I wonder how many businessmen are as well-renowned as Rembrandt?” Annie asks innocently.

“I wonder how many artists are as nameless as the manager of the car wash your father takes his Mercedes to? At least that manager can pay his bills.”

"Well, as long as you have television, that's all right."

Father, of course, ignores the tension as he ignores everything that interferes with his carefully constructed world. I wonder sometimes if he would have been happier being a bachelor. And so it falls once more to me to be the mediator.

“Annie and I have found a place in the city,” I tell Mother. “It’s near the University, and the subway station is right in front of the building.”

The temperature in the room instantly falls by twenty degrees. Annie stiffens and presses her lips into a thin line. Mother turns her ice-cold eyes to me, the same blue as Annie’s but far sharper. “You’re moving?”

I look between the two of them and stammer. “I… I thought that would be good news.”

“You thought it would be good news to hear that my daughters are living like bohemians in some apartment building near a university?”

“Well… Father won’t need to let us borrow the car, and you won’t have us coming and going at all hours. We’ll still visit, of course, but you’ll have your privacy.”

“You don’t think I care about you.”

It’s not a question. It’s also not the conversation I want to have right now. I try to back off politely. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought this up right now. Let’s just enjoy our dinner. The food is lovely, Mother.”

“What have I ever done to either of you to make you hate me so much?”

“Mother, that’s not—”

---