Page 63 of Back to Me

I stop long enough to turn around and face him. But even as I speak, I slowly walk backward, not able to stand there for another moment.

“Congratulations, Dad. You got what you came here for,” I smirk, finding no humor in his presence. “To see me fail and fuck up. It’s good to know I still don’t disappoint.”

The second I turn my back and my feet hit the smooth pavement of the museum steps, I’m relieved to be a considerable distance from my father. But when I look up and see the banners spread across the front of the museum, anger gathers beneath the surface of my skin. I’m not only angry, but I’m furious.

Furious at whatever reason is behind Sara’s name being absent from all of her hard work. And indignant for losing the one person I loved more than anyone in this world.

I try to ignore the banners and posters littered across the building, but they’re everywhere, and my eyes are drawn to them like magnets. My stomach turns, and my vision turns to red, screaming at me to find the answers. I need to know why this happened.

I swing open the front door to the exhibit, my sights set on the woman at the front desk. The same receptionist from earlier is sitting at the welcome desk, and she smiles the moment her eyes land on me.

“Well, hello again, Mr. Ward,” she sings.

I press my hands against the cool marble covering the top of her desk. I’m breathless, the anger still overtaking me. Her eyes widen, stunned with my abrupt entrance.

“Where is she?” I ask firmly.

“Who?” the receptionist asks.

“The woman who is filling in for Mr. Price.”

“Oh, that would be Theresa Altman.” Glancing down the hallway, she points. “There she is. She’s the one wearing the red dress.”

“Thank you.” I leave the receptionist and jog down the hallway. Near the end, I find a tall woman in a red dress speaking to a couple quite a bit older than herself.

“Excuse me. Theresa Altman?”

“Yes?” Theresa stops her conversation with the couple and turns to me. From the subtle wrinkles lining the creases of her eyes and mouth, I guess her to be in her late fifties. Her short brown hair is cut into a bob, and for a moment, she reminds me of my mother.

“Hello.” I extend my hand to this seemingly polite, kind woman. “I’m Graham Ward.”

Her lips spread into a wide grin, the corners of her mouth creasing as a light sparkles in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet you. Someone mentioned you had stepped out for a few. Glad to see you’re back.”

“Um, yes, I did.” Before I’m able to utter another word, Theresa turns back to the older couple she was speaking to.

“Robert, Julia,” she says, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. “This is the artist of the exhibit tonight. Graham Ward.”

Both Richard and Julia extend their hands, grins the same size as Theresa’s spread across their faces.

“Very nice to meet you, Graham,” Julia says. “I love the painting you did…” She taps her finger against her temple, trying to remember the title. She’s still tapping her finger against her head when she turns toward Richard. “What was the title of that painting, darling? The one of the older woman.”

“Gertrude,” I interrupt, knowing exactly which one she was speaking of.

As if I had awarded Julia some prize, her head whips back around to me, her face delighted. “Yes,” she exclaims with a snap of her fingers. “That’s the one!” Shaking her head, she adds, “Absolutely stunning.”

Despite my urgency to finish this conversation, I thank Julia for her compliment. “Thank you. Gertrude was my grandmother.”

She holds her hand to her mouth and breathes in. “Beautiful. You certainly are talented,” she gushes. “I also loved the one you did of the Dallas skyline. Remarkable technique with the lines and shading.”

My cheeks warm and my chest aches. I wish Sara was here, by my side, listening to this strange woman rave about her artwork. Instead, I’m alone, forcing myself to not fall apart.

“Thank you,” I mumble, swallowing the words and ignoring the rising nausea caught in my throat.

“Graham,” Theresa interjects. “Richard and Julia both manage their own real estate company downtown.”

“Julia and I started selling real estate in the early seventies,” Richard explains. “Newlyweds at the time, we built a small firm in Fort Worth. It wasn’t long before we expanded our offices and moved over here to Dallas. Now we manage properties around the entire Dallas/ Fort Worth area.” The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk, and he winks. “All back before you were even born. Shows how old we’re getting.”

The three of them erupt into laughter. I stand there, my mouth curling into a weak smile, a small chuckle managing to make its way through my chest, pretending to be amused by their jokes. As each passing second goes by, I grow more anxious. Feeling I’ve managed a sufficient amount of small talk, I remember why I came to speak to Theresa in the first place.

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