Page 117 of Drawing Home
“My dear, I’ve spent this entire summer trying to figure out Henry’s perplexing choices. He didn’t make it easy for me, so why should it be any different for you?”
She had a point.
“I’ll admit, the part where he asked you to turn the house into a museum helped me understand why you were confused by his decision to leave it to Penny,” Emma said. Yes, she’d felt some empathy for Bea after reading the book. But that didn’t excuse her behavior.
“Iwasconfused. But I’m not anymore,” Bea said. “I finally have clarity.”
Emma wasn’t all that interested in Bea’s “clarity.” She wanted to see her daughter’s book. “I actually came up here for Penny’s graphic novel. She needs the pages back so she can add the ending.”
“Ah, yes. The ending is missing,” Bea said, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“I didn’t know she’d asked you for help with her work. She just told me about the contest.”
Bea smiled. “She asked me to pick out a few drawings. I have to say, it was difficult to choose just a few. She’s very talented.”
Emma shifted her feet uncomfortably. It was difficult not to feel cynical about any goodwill gesture from Bea after the stunt she had pulled with Mark. But Emma knew that whatever had transpired between Bea and Penny was genuine.
“Well, thank you for helping her,” Emma said. “I appreciate it. I know she misses having Henry around to talk about art and it seems you stepped in.” As she said it, a strange thought came into her mind—Bea’s insistence that Henry did everything for a reason. She shook it away.
“Emma,” Bea said. “There’s something you should know. I hesitated to bring this to your attention because I understand you’ve been cross with me. But I showed a copy of Penny’s graphic novel to a friend of mine. She’s the dean of admissions of the best fine-arts high school in Manhattan. She loved Penny’s work and has asked me if Penny would be interested in a spot in their incoming freshman class.”
Had she heard her right? “Bea, that’s impossible. I can’t pick up and move to New York City.”
Bea pushed the pile of silk and chiffon aside and gestured for Emma to have a seat. She perched uncomfortably on the very edge of the bed.
“I had a feeling you might say that,” Bea said. “So I’m offering to take her back with me.”
Now Emma knew that Bea was not just eccentric; she was truly out of her mind.
“Bea, I appreciate the interest you’ve taken in her. I do. But our life is here.”
“Yourlife is here. Penny might have a different future in mind.”
“I’m sorry, this is crazy talk.” Emma tried not to think of her daughter’s restlessness, of all the times Penny had expressed her desire to leave town. She tried not to think of Katie Cleary working at Murf’s just as Emma had. As Emma hoped Penny would not. “She needs her mother. And she has a school here. And she’s in therapy…that’s very important.” See? Bea’s suggestion was impossible.
“Well, my dear, there isn’t exactly a scarcity of therapists in New York City. I’d venture to say it’s the psychiatry capital of the world. And before you say no again, I just want to add one more thing: I said a few moments ago that I’m not confused anymore. I came out here certain Henry would have wanted me to have his estate. I now see that he wanted me to spend time here, to get to know Penny. I think he knew I needed someone in my life. He didn’t want me to be alone in the world. But I also think he knew Penny needed me too.”
Emma stood up, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Really, this woman had some nerve. “I’d like my daughter’s artwork, please.”
Bea sighed and pushed herself up from the bed by bracing herself on the nightstand. She stood slowly, her hands on her lower back.
“You’re going to have to help me out here. My sciatica is acting up. Press the lower part of the bed frame. A drawer will open. See—the seams in the wood?”
Emma bent down, found the spot Bea had described, and touched it gingerly. Nothing happened.
“Press quickly and firmly,” Bea directed. Sure enough, a drawer slid out. Inside was a pile of drawings. Emma retrieved them, straightened up, and held the manuscript tightly against her chest.
“Thank you,” she said briskly, and she started to leave the room.
“Emma,” Bea called out. Emma paused but didn’t turn around. “Won’t you at least consider it?”
She kept walking.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Emma sat on the edge of Penny’s bed, zipping her into her dress, a petal-pink georgette sundress with a flared skirt that fell just above her knees.
At the store a few days earlier, Penny had balked at the color. She wanted something black. But Emma convinced her to try it on, and then she’d stood behind her at the store’s full-length mirror outside the dressing room. The soft pastel against her dark hair and eyes was so breathtaking, Penny couldn’t resist smiling at her reflection.
