Page 87 of Any Luck at All

“Seeing the light in your eyes when you talked about the brewery made me realize you were much more like Mom and me than I gave you credit for.”

Georgie’s eyes flew wide. “You think I’m like Mom?”

The thought made her equally elated and terrified. Her mother had been warm and open, the kind of person people gravitated toward. She’d also become their father’s doormat.

Adalia nodded. “More than I realized. I’m sorry.”

Georgie shook her head. “No. I tried to be the kind of person Dad would find impressive, but it doesn’t fit me well.”

“So maybe you should stop trying,” Adalia said. “Just be you and to hell with what anyone thinks.”

Didn’t she know it. She was getting there, but it was so much easier said than done.

Adalia turned serious. “You’re still not going to ask me what happened?”

Georgie rubbed the back of Adalia’s hand with her thumb. “No. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

“I’m listening.”

Adalia poured her heart out. Alan Stansworth, her mentor from art school, had invited her to work in his large studio since she had limited space in her small apartment. Soon after she started working in his studio, he started taking a special interest in her mixed media sculptures. They worked together and eventually slept together, and the closer they got, the more controlling he became.

It was then some of her pieces started disappearing. He told her that space was so limited in the studio, he’d had them moved to his storage unit. He was doing her a favor. Why was she picking a fight when he was just trying to help her? It continued for a couple of months, until Adalia was missing over twenty pieces of art. She’d sought advice from Lee, who had been helpful and encouraging, but he’d told her that he couldn’t really help unless she ended things with Alan. She’d tried, but their relationship had become a vicious cycle, just like their parents’ marriage had been. Alan would fall all over himself to apologize to her, then he’d shower her with gifts and attention, until a few days later he’d shift to being berating and controlling. He’d cut her off from her friends in New York and had pitched a fit when she’d come to Asheville for the funeral, saying she was losing precious time she should spend focusing on her art.

“Oh, Addy,” Georgie said through her tears. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Adalia shook her head, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Alan had gotten a showing at Michael Roe, a very coveted gallery. He was so secretive about the whole thing, and I had no idea what he was showing. I hadn’t seen him work on anything of note in months. So on a whim, I stopped by to visit the gallery yesterday evening while they were setting up for the opening tomorrow night.” She choked on a sob as she looked up at her sister. “They weremysculptures, Georgie. He’d stolenmyart and put his name on it.”

“Oh, Addy!” Georgie gasped, her mind reeling. “We’ll get an attorney and file an injunction. We’ll stop him from—”

Adalia’s eyes went dead inside. “There’s no point, Georgie.”

Then the horrible truth dawned on her. Adalia had vandalized her own art. She scooped her sister into her arms and held on tight. “Addy, I’m so, so sorry.”

How had it come to this? To Adalia destroying the very thing she’d loved?

Adalia began to sob. “He told me that I could protest all I wanted, but who would the art world believe? Me, a flighty, twenty-something art school dropout—”

“Wait.You dropped out of art school?”

“—or a well-known, revered artist? He said I had no hope of winning. That I should just be grateful he’d thought my work worthy of exposure.”

Georgie grabbed her sister’s upper arms and leaned back to look at her. “Go back to the part about you leaving art school.”

“I had over a hundred thousand dollars in student loans. I couldn’t afford the last year.”

Georgie felt like she was going to be sick. That was partially her doing. If she’d stood up for her sister, her father might have relented. She’d pay off those loans in an instant, but she knew Adalia wouldn’t let her. That suggesting it would be akin to pushing her away. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying you’re sorry, but you have nothing to be sorryfor,” Adalia said, sounding exhausted. “You’re not the one who threw paint all overAlan’sexhibits.”

“You threw paint on them?”

A wicked gleam filled her eyes. “Every last one.”

Georgie squeezed her arms, then released her. “As your big sister, IknowI should be telling you that we should have handled this legally, but part of me wants to say good for you, except they wereyourpieces, Addy.” Then a new thought hit her. “Over one hundred thousand dollars?”

She’d always semi-dismissed Adalia’s art, but it was obvious she wasverygood. She felt gutted by her own shame.

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