Once Upon a Lie: A Novel (Riveting Women's Fiction), page 10
Ty watched this, then repositioned his eyes onto her unhidden one. "Is that something you'll be able to do?" he asked.
Mia hesitated and wondered privately about the slick of fear coursing through her. She forced a smile. "Of course. I'll see if she's available." She shrugged, like what he was asking her to do was nothing. "This Sunday."
Ty gave her a closed-mouth smile and rolled his pen between his fingers before positioning it back onto his notepad. "Great. I'll see you Monday then."
"Till Monday," Mia said. Then she turned and left the room while Ty bent his head over his notes and wrote down whatever private thought had just occurred to him.
CHAPTER 20
The shadows cast by the shifting sun had stretched when Mia exited the Neurological Institute's double glass doors. It was only just after four o'clock, but the mid-September days were already beginning to give way to earlier evenings and cooler temperatures. A breeze blew over her, a chilled draft through the still-warm air.
Summer was ending.
She was half a block from the subway entrance that would begin her journey home when she slowed her steps and came to a halt. It had been a long time since she had been to the city.
Ty's questioning today, remembering those years when she and Holly lived in their two-bedroom apartment two blocks from Central Park, had ignited her nostalgia for a city that she now avoided. Those days she had spent fully focused on recovery while walking the park's expansive tree-lined paths, an oasis from the strum, churn, and noise. There was also her favorite deli across the street from their building, the bagel shop on Lexington, and when she was well enough, glasses of wine with Holly as they sat in their rooftop garden and watched the sky grow dark and the lights of the city come alive all around them.
She now thought of the city as an overwrought combustion of constant activity, a nauseous elixir of adrenaline and cortisol that bred stress—she had forgotten the beauty. The early mornings before the sun rose and set the clock ticking on the collective rush to hurry up and get ahead. The shared experience of living in a capital of the world, both loving and loathing its multifaceted presence.
Mia turned away from the subway entrance that would begin her journey home. She felt like taking a walk, alone, down these streets she had once known like the back of her own hand. Holly had the girls, she reasoned. Besides, she wouldn't stay long. If her job was now to remember, to dredge and troll for those images buried beneath her brain's black mud, the city that birthed her resurrection felt like the most logical place to start.
Mia entered the flow of people on the streets. Not quite as fast and not at all purposeful, but she kept a steady pace and didn't imagine she stood out. In New York, being fully cloaked in black attire, even when it was still near ninety degrees outside, didn't warrant even casual interest. It wasn't even unique.
And despite being surrounded by swarms of other people, Mia's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, and a sigh of relief exited on the breath she'd been holding for what felt like years.
In New York, she realized, she could be truly invisible.
She thought that once she'd had enough exploring, she'd just dip down into the nearest station and make her way back to the route that would take her home. In the meantime, she allowed her pace to quicken and discovered that she would suddenly need to take a right turn, then a left. She was moving, legs pushing, heart pumping. When was the last time her muscles had experienced any real physical exertion?
With her blood now coursing through her veins, she felt more alive. How could she have possibly forgotten how good this felt?
She had no idea how far she'd gone or even where she was, but it seemed people were leaving work now. The sidewalks swelled, people hailed cabs, and crowds descended the subway stairs for the connected cars that would take them home.
It was getting late. Past five now, for sure, but Mia didn't want to look at her phone to check. Her phone would verify precisely how long she'd been gone. It might contain messages from Holly or Alexander, checking on her. Wondering where she was and what time she would be home. Maybe even a worried text, Everything okay?
And with confirmation of their expectations of her, the magic of this moment, this endorphin-laced high Mia was relishing, would be broken, and she would slip down into the nearest subway entrance and do what was expected of her. Go home.
So, she left her phone in her purse.
She would go home soon, but she couldn't stop now. She needed to walk one more block.
And when she had, Mia found herself standing on the sidewalk facing the glassed entrance of an art gallery.
Its bright white space illuminated by the halogen lights on the ceiling. Each one directed so that it focused on the many framed artworks hanging on the walls.
Time and space zeroed in on her as she stared through the gallery's glass walls. The city around her was darkening—a stark contrast to the gallery's bright interior. She was vaguely aware of people rushing past her on the sidewalk. Inside, a handful of individuals gazed at the art on display.
She knew this place.
And she didn't.
It was a feeling. Gazing into the display before her, she felt excitement, expectation, and also fear. But why? She had no idea. She felt certain she knew this place while also having no memory of it.
"Excuse me," a man said politely, breaking her spell as he reached for the door.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mia said and fell back a step. "I'm blocking the whole door."
"No worries," the man smiled at her. He wore a white oxford button-down shirt with an open collar tucked into black jeans. He was carrying a large package wrapped in brown paper and shifted it to his other arm as he held the door open with one of his black laced boots. He inclined his head toward the gallery's interior. "Are you coming in for the show?"
Mia blinked once, and her eyes flicked to the large poster in the gallery's window. It was an advertisement for an art show opening tonight. "Um…yes," she decided on a whim. "Thank you," she added as she slipped past him and caught a whiff of his warm and woodsy cologne.
"My pleasure," he said as he followed behind her, then passed by as he carried his package to the back of the gallery and disappeared behind a rear door.
Maybe the gallery owner? Or manager? Mia wondered as she picked up one of the full-color information brochures from the pedestal near the entrance. It detailed the artist's biography and provided information about several of the works. Mia flipped the cardstock front to back, scanning more than reading, then looked up and considered the space she was in.
Why was she here?
It was all so random, and yet, that feeling of familiarity persisted. Mia was nearly sure she had never been here, not since the accident anyway. Attending art galleries was not something Holly would have ever had any interest in, so it was certain that she wouldn't have accompanied Mia to one during those early years when they lived here.
And Alexander? The mere mention of anything art related made his eyes glaze over.
Mia wondered if—
"Hello," a young woman said as she leaned into Mia's distracted field of vision. "Can I help you?"
The thread of her thought vanished as Mia focused her eyes on the woman before her. She, too, wore a white blouse, but it was tucked into a black pencil skirt. Her long red hair was tied back in a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her bright blue eyes evaluated Mia. Probably trying to determine if Mia was a "just-looking" type of visitor or could afford to plunk down the degree of cash required to remove one of these framed pieces and relocate it to a private collection.
"Well…" Mia returned the woman's smile. Suddenly Dominique's advice came back to her. "Maybe?"
The woman settled her stance, clasped her hands in front of herself, and waited for Mia to continue.
"I have this portrait—"
"I'm afraid we don't deal in consignment." The woman stopped Mia's explanation cold. "But if you like, I can give you the list we keep of all the local dealers. If you'll follow me." She turned and waited for Mia to make a move.
Mia raised her hands wide in front of her and shook her head. "No, I'm afraid you've misunderstood. I'm not looking to sell the piece, it's a portrait of my father, and far too dear to me to ever part with. What I'm looking for is some help identifying the artist."
The woman raised her eyebrows and gave her a lopsided smirk. "Do you have the provenance?"
Mia opened her eyes wider. "I'm not sure what that is?"
The woman set her lips in a straight line. Mia had the distinct impression that her ignorance was seriously trying this young woman's patience, despite the fact, there were only four other people in the gallery, and all of them appeared to be entertaining themselves just fine. "You know what, forget I said anything. Thank you for your help."
"Of course," the woman said, her tone a confectionary of falseness. "If there's nothing else?"
Mia shook her head and turned to go. This was a mistake, just some weird happenstance. Why had she even come inside?
"Leaving so soon?" a man's voice called out.
CHAPTER 21
When Mia turned back, she could see the man who had held the door striding toward her with the young redhead, who now looked decidedly less smug. Mia could only assume this was her boss.
When he reached them, he gave Mia a big warm smile. "But you haven't even seen the collection yet."
"She's not here for the show," the woman responded as if trying to preemptively explain why she had failed to make Mia feel welcome.
"Thank you, Courtney," the man said. "I'll take it from here."
The girl shrugged and headed over to an older couple discussing a large, blue and black canvas on the back wall.
"Now," he said as he resettled his piercing gaze on Mia. "If not for the show, what does bring you in this evening?"
Mia glanced at her shoes, wondering how to answer such a simple question when it didn't have a simple answer. What had brought her into his art gallery? Random rambling? The lights from their window reflecting onto the darkening sidewalk outside? Or the notion that she knew this place but held no discernible memory as to why or how.
Mia decided to stick with the reasoning she'd given Courtney. "I own this piece, but I'm unable to identify the artist. I shouldn't bother you with it…."
The man waved this away. "Don't worry about that," he said as he glanced back at Courtney, seeming to recognize that the young woman was the reason Mia was unsure. "My daughter is young and still learning the fine art of excellent customer service. I tell her all the time, art sales are a marathon, not a sprint. Maybe I help you today, and you buy a piece two years from now." He shrugged as he smiled. "I'm Gary Surrey, owner of this gallery. How can I help? Do you have a picture of the piece in question?"
"No, I," Mia began to explain but then remembered. "Wait! Actually, yes," she said as she shifted her purse to the front of her body and pulled out her phone. "I nearly forgot, which is ridiculous because the whole reason it came up, not knowing the artist, was because we were reworking our insurance and well…you don't need to know all that, I'm sorry."
She opened her photo app and first clicked on the grouping from June, and proceeded to scroll through all the photos she had taken for the insurance documentation. "Basically, no estimated value could be determined for the piece because I didn't have any documentation regarding who the artist was." She found the photo, clicked on it to enlarge it, then handed her phone to Gary."
Gary plucked a pair of black-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket, settled them on his face, then peered at Mia's screen. A second later, he glanced up over the rims. He pointed at the phone with his free hand. "Is this who I think it is?"
Mia nodded. “Yes, Raphael Renaud.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He was my father."
Gary's eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch as he gazed at the phone. He enlarged the photo and zoomed in on the signature. Mia watched his forehead furrow as he stared at the signature, then he leveled his gaze at her from above the rims of his glasses. "You should come with me to the back office," he said, handing her phone back.
"You know this artist?" Mia asked as she dropped the phone back into her purse and followed Garry's lead through the gallery.
"I wouldn't say that. But I have something that may interest you and might be able to help." Garry raised a hand and nodded as they passed the older couple in hushed conversation in front of the blue and black canvas. The man gave Gary a warm smile, but the woman's expression looked pinched. Mia had the distinct impression the couple did not agree on this piece and were quietly arguing over the purchase.
Gary held the door at the back of the gallery open for Mia. On the threshold, she hesitated. Her hands curled into loose fists and gathered the cuffs of her long sleeves into her palms. Through the doorway, she could see the cluttered back office. It had several large tables with stacks of framed art in various stages of either being wrapped or unwrapped.
She had the sensation of standing on a precipice. If she had headed for her subway station after leaving the institute, she would be home by now. Making dinner for the girls and waiting for Alexander to get home. Holly was probably getting worried— she would surely call her cell any moment now. And if she didn't answer, would she then call Alexander? Alert him to the fact that Mia was still not home? How would she explain her strange wanderings? What was she doing here?
"Everything okay?" Gary asked.
Mia shifted her gaze to his face, and she could see the concern in his eyes. She considered waving her hand, dismissing the attempt at identifying the artist of her father's portrait with a swift, oh, never mind, and leaving this gallery and its helpful owner without so much as a backward glance.
Gary's expression opened up into an easy and reassuring smile. "I know it looks like a disaster back there." He nodded toward the office. "But hand to heart, I swear that's not where I keep my bodies. You'll be perfectly safe." He leaned toward her. "Unless it's where my daughter keeps her bodies," he whispered. "I can't make any promises about her," he said as his eyes darted to where Courtney was again standing with the older couple. The rigid set of her spine gave away her annoyance with their indecision over the piece.
Mia laughed, and her unfounded anxiety evaporated under Gary's charm. She was being ridiculous. This constant dread, worry, and suspicion ignited her central nervous system; these emotions were what she was supposed to be working to recognize and dispel before they sent her spiraling. She shook her head once and entered the office space, promising herself she would record this very episode in the journal Ty had asked her to start keeping so they could review it at her next session.
Gary followed behind her and flicked the light switch on the wall to his right, flooding the messy spaces before them in bright white light.
He carved a path ahead of her, working his way around tables and stacks of art on rolling carts. "It's just here," he said as he rounded an enormous scarred and beaten mahogany desk shoved into the far corner, its top littered with papers, pens, takeout containers, and catalogs. The detritus measured over two feet high in some places, and Mia wondered if Gary usually allowed customers behind the curtain of the showroom facade out front.
"Sorry, this is such a mess," he said when he noticed Mia staring. He ran a hand through his hair and took in the sight as if only now considering the precise perspective of his working condition exposed under this particular lighting. "I keep meaning to clean it up," he added as he worked his way past his ripped office chair and reached for one of the small canvases that hung on the wall to the right of the desk.
Mia watched as Gary repositioned his thick-rimmed glasses and peered into the lower right-hand corner of the piece. He nodded several times to himself before raising his eyes to hers. "Can I see that photo again, please?"
Without a word, Mia handed him her phone with the portrait still visible on the screen.
"Thank you," he said as he took the device in one hand and held his canvas in the other. He studied the two for several seconds, his eyes darting rapid-fire back and forth. He enlarged the photo several times and examined the signature on his piece under a magnifying glass that he pulled from one of the desk's creaking drawers. After what felt like an eternity, Mia watched as a small smile lit the corners of his mouth, and he finally raised his excited gaze to meet hers.
He nodded his head several times. "I'm almost certain…of course, we'll need you to bring the original in, but I feel pretty confident they're the same."
Mia shook her head at him. "What are the same?"
"The signatures. The artists." He handed Mia her phone and the small painted canvas.
She studied them side by side for a few seconds. She was no expert, but they looked the same to her. "That's great," she said. "Who is it?"
Gary's face broke into a broad grin as his head slowly shook back and forth. "I don't have the faintest idea."
Confused, it was now Mia's turn to shake her head. "I don't understand."
"That piece." He pointed to the canvas in Mia's hand. "It was a gift for my mother. She owned and operated this gallery for fifty years. She knew everyone, and I mean everyone, who was anyone in the art world. She'd pick up the phone, and they'd be having lunch the next day. She passed away five years ago."
"I'm sorry," Mia said reflexively.
Garry nodded. "Thank you. I'd been living in Dallas. Making my own art." He shrugged off this confession as irrelevant. "But she left this place to me. Hoped I'd be able to keep it going the way she had. And that's neither here nor there other than to explain that that piece has been hanging in that spot next to this desk since before I took over the place. I have no idea if there's any documentation for it. All I know is that the artist inscribed the back of the canvas to my mother."
Mia flipped the canvas over and saw words painted in blue.
