Page 59 of One Last Secret

He takes a seat across from me and waits. I look out across the ocean for a moment. The sun is high in the sky. It’s already nearly noon. How swiftly time flies.

I turn to him and say, “You painted a picture of a woman. A blonde woman with blue eyes. Who was she?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “A blonde woman?” Then he laughs. “Oh my God. Where did you find that picture?”

“In the little art closet in the basement. I… well, I have trouble sleeping at night, so I went exploring. I do hope you’ll forgive me for intruding.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he says. “I didn’t want you in the studio because I thought it would interrupt my process.” He laughs again. “God, that sounds so stupid now.” He looks out over theocean. “Wow. I haven’t thought about Grace in… God, not since I met Julia. Over twenty years ago.”

“Grace? That was her name?”

“That was her name. Grace Wilson.” His eyes grow slightly wistful. “She was the first woman I ever loved. Or thought I loved.”

“You were together then?”

“Oh no,” he says with another chuckle. “No, she was Elias’s girlfriend. Elias Blackwood. He was my mentor. He dated her for… a few months. I forget how long. Less than a year. Anyway, she just showed up out of nowhere one day, but poor Elias was just completely smitten. He introduced me, and I could see why.”

His eyes take on a wistful look again. “I think it’s a folly of us artist types. We’re always looking for the perfect expression of beauty, and anytime we see something or someone that fits that ideal, they instantly become the most important thing in our lives. Grace was tall, naturally blonde, blue eyes, beautiful, soft features, good hips”—he glances at me and reddens a little— “well, I was young, and she was hot. So she became my ideal someone.”

I smile at him, not without some wistfulness of my own. “I certainly understand what you mean.”

"We never did anything," he continues. "She was loyal to Elias. She let me paint her n… um… well, she let me paint her once, the day before she left. Gave me a kiss, too. That was as far as it went." He laughs again and shakes his head. "I held onto that kiss for five years. Then I accidentally bumped into Julia in the grocery store. She turned around, freckled and wearing glasses, and shouted, 'You want to watch where you're going, dipshit?' And just like that, I forgot all about Grace."

I laugh, but my smile fades quickly. I feel sorry for Annie. She never could find a place where she truly belonged. “Where did she go?”

“I have no idea. I asked her when she left, and I think she gave me some bullshit answer like, ‘Wherever the wind takes me,’ or something like that.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Did you know her?”

I think for a moment before I reply. When I began this conversation, I intended to tell Victor who she was to me, but now…

“I thought she was someone I recognized,” I reply. “But I was wrong.”

“Ah. Well, wherever Grace is, I hope she’s happy.”

"Yes," I agree. "I hope so, too."

EPILOGUE

I sit on the balcony and overlook the smaller, colder and even more violent ocean I called home for most of my life. Sean stands next to me with his jacket pulled tightly around him. “Christ, you’re not cold?”

I shrug. I’m wearing a nightgown, slippers and a thin knitted shawl. The wind is gentle, at least where I sit, so I’m not particularly cold. “Not very.”

“Well, I am. I don’t suppose I could convince you to join me inside?”

“I’ll sit out here a while longer.”

He sighs and takes the chair next to mine. “You’re welcome to go inside if you’d like,” I tell him.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll wait with you.”

I smile softly. Since California, he’s been attached to my side like a dog. It took an hour of coaxing to get him to accept a different hotel room. I won’t lie. I considered allowing him to share a room with me, but I mustn’t allow myself to feed that fantasy. It’s a pretty one, but I’m too old and too damaged to ask someone else to share the burden of my life.

I don’t begrudge his company now, though.

We watch the ocean for a while. The waves crash against the shore below. White-tipped crests extend in orderly rows as far as the eye can see. All the way to the vanishing point.

My smile fades. Annie is out there somewhere. I’m sure of it. I know for sure now that she didn’t die when she left Boston. She fled, and she did so of her own accord with her own purpose in mind. She found love, even if only briefly. She inspired an artist. She built a life of her own.

But she also left destruction in her wake. She found love, but she wasn’t fulfilled by it. She built a life only to tear it down,and with it, she tore down the life of the man who loved her and by extension the life of a younger man who depended on both of them for his happiness. That younger man recovered, but not fully. Not for many years. In her own small but very meaningful way, Annie is also partly to blame for Victor’s mental health struggles and the depression that nearly drove Celeste to suicide.

---