Page 94 of Gravity of Love
She didn’t even know she was crying until her mom reached for her.
“Frankie,” her mom whispered, stroking her hair, “did you know he had these?”
“No.” Frankie shook her head, not understanding why he hadn’t told her. “I don’t…how? I threw half of these away. The rest I sold…to other people. Some of these are from San Francisco. Some are from New York. I—I don’t understand.”
How could he have all this, not show her, and not talk to her the past twenty-four hours?
Frankie’s mom pulled her into a hug. “He’s clearly a fan. He was always taking care of you. Making sure you were okay. I remember seeing him going through the trash once, I asked him if he needed something. He pulled out one of your paintings, and he said, ‘No got it.’ When he left for college, he asked me to make sure if you threwanythingaway, to put it in his room.” She looked up at the wall and shook her head. “But I never thought… I don’t know what I thought… but I never thought…”
“Cora!” Theia Joanne’s voice carried down the hall. “You’re up! You can’t be late to your own wedding!”
Frankie’s mom grabbed her hands and pulled them up under her chin. “I can stay. We can talk about this. I don’t care about being late. They can’t start without me.Youare the most important thing in the world to me.”
“No.” Frankie shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m just…” She took in a shaky breath and forced herself to smile, not sure exactly what she was. “I’m good. Go.”
“Are you sure?” She squeezed her hands.
“Yes. I promise! Go. I’ll be right there.”
Frankie could see that her mom didn’t want to leave her, but honestly, she wanted a few minutes alone.
“Really, Mom. I’m good,” Frankie assured her once more.
This time, her mom nodded and released her hands.
“Okay, but if you need me, just?—”
“I will.” Frankie nodded.
Her mom hugged her tight, kissed her on her forehead, and left Frankie in the room alone.
Frankie’s heart hammered in her chest as she ran her hand along the bottom row, pausing at the painting of the red bicycle. She remembered how proud she’d been of that piece. She also remembered how devastated she was when she saw the second-place ribbon. The moment she saw that ribbon, she looked at the piece through the lens of it being too childish and too simple. When she got home, she buried it in the back of her closet. But here it was, spotlighted and beautiful, with a little brass plate beneath it and a spotlight over it, like it was a masterpiece.
She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Her body hurt—in her bones—she ached to see Liam. To thank him. To yell at him. To bury her face in his shirt, to feel his arms wrap around her as she melted into his strength, stoic and solid, letting her press all her wild feelings against him like she was the last ship in a storm and he was the only dock left in the world. She wanted to tell him she was furious at him for sneaking this into existence and not telling her, and that she was grateful, and she wanted to make a joke about it to lessen the blow of the vulnerability she felt. Most of all, she wanted to knowwhyhe had disappeared,whyhe was avoiding her, and what he would think of her seeing all of this—her entire artistic life mapped out in color and charcoal and memories—without him being there to explain it.
Not knowing what else to do, she took a shaky step back and reached into the pocket of her robe for the only lifeline she had left. She set it to video and recorded a slow, panning shot of the entire sunroom, narrating as she went with a forced, high-pitched “What the actual fuck?” and a running commentaryexplaining a quick few-second story behind each painting. She finished with a close-up of the little brass tag on the red bicycle painting, and the camera caught the tremble in her hand.
Then, with a practiced thumb, she texted the video to Zee, who was at Brewed Awakenings nursing a macchiato with Shane Fox,—yes,thatShane Fox, the Oscar-winning starlet who once played Marilyn Monroe so convincingly that she was awarded an Oscar and Golden Globe for her performance. Shane was a Hope Falls local now, having fallen hard for one of the firemen while prepping for a role, and Zee had worked with her on a number of shoots over the years, from Harper’s BAZAAR to Vogue to Vanity Fair. He texted Frankie earlier that he was meeting her for a photographer-slash-caffeine-sherpa catch-up.
Zion fancied himself a life coach, and honestly Frankie couldn’t argue with the fact since he’d been hers for the past decade. She wasn’t sure she would have survived New York, or her relationship with Tristan, without him. Actually, that was probably why it had lasted as long as it had. Most of her needs were met by Zee.
Within seconds, Zee’s reply came in, starting with a string of exclamation points and a GIF of a raccoon clutching its heart.
Zion:OMG. Is that ALL your work?!
Frankie could picture him at Brewed Awakenings, showing Shane the video while explaining the situation.
Zion:This is INSANE. Like a literal museum. I’m jealous. Why has no one ever made a shrine for me?!
Before Frankie could respond, another message came through.
Zion:Shane and I are in agreement…Most. Romantic. Gesture. EVER!
This time Frankie was able to respond.
Frankie:But where is he then? I didn’t see or hear from him yesterday or today…
Zion’s reply was immediate, he must be doing voice to text because there was no way that he was typing that quickly.
