Part 7 (1/2)
Mama nodded. ”It's time for dinner.”
”Dinner?” I looked around the room. Pulled from my thoughts, pulled from staring blankly at my canvas, I was thrust back to reality. The day had slipped away and darkness hovered around the edges of the room.
”You were lost in your work.”
”Work? I haven't been able to work since I got to Los Angeles.” Perhaps the complaints I'd heard from other artists were true. L.A. was so soulless, so filled with the frenetic energy of desperate and sad people that it was impossible to truly create within the confines of the city.
”Come to the house for dinner,” Mama said. She turned and hobbled on her crutches back toward the house. I picked up my phone and glanced at the text messages and for any missed phone calls. But there were no new messages.
”Hurry,” Mama said. ”I have a surprise for you at the table.”
She nearly burst with excitement over the word surprise, and she quickly hobbled toward the house. I followed her into the kitchen and stopped. There, at the table, stood Maeve with hair as long as mine, only red instead of my white-blonde.
”I can't believe you're here!” I raced to Maeve and threw my arms around my little sister. I clasped her in the tightest of hugs. I hadn't seen her in nearly nine months and I'd expected not to see her until the end of the year.
”How could I have you here getting all the attention from Mama?” Maeve said.
She crushed me into another hug. Her hair was long and swung out over her back. She looked rested and relaxed for someone who'd just had a long journey.
”When did you get here?”
”A couple hours ago,” Maeve said. She looked from me to Mama.
”And you didn't come and get me?”
”We tried to call you,” Mama said. ”You were working. We didn't want to interrupt. I know from living with your father how hard it is to pull you from that creative s.p.a.ce in your head.”
I glanced around the room; it would be a dream come true if Papa walked out from the hall or the back yard or through the front door. We hadn't all been together here, in this, our family home, for many, many years.
”Papa says h.e.l.lo,” Maeve said, sitting down at the table.
”Did you go to Ireland?” I asked.
”No, he came to India,” Maeve said. ”Quick trip. He was doing some research for a new project.”
”A project set in India?” I asked. ”I haven't heard of that one.” I poured three gla.s.ses of wine. ”Did Mama know you were coming?”
”Not until I phoned her from the airport.” A smile curved about Maeve's face. So much for advance notice; my little sister always had liked to make an entrance.
”Mama looks better than I expected,” Maeve said with an impish smile.
”Well, thanks a lot.” Mama took a sip of her wine, but she smiled at Maeve's teasing.
”I didn't know what to expect. What with crutches and casts and talk of surgeries.” Maeve lifted the bowl filled with greens and scooped salad onto her plate.
”Oh, pish posh,” Mama said. ”There isn't going to be any surgery. I'm fine. In fact I can walk around-I've made it all the way out to the guest house and back several times on my own.”
”That's a walk,” Maeve said. She looked at me. ”Are you staying out there?”
”She's painting out there,” Mama said. ”And, there are some other things.” Mama's smile slipped from her face.
I had no intention of getting into the ”other things” that Mama thought I might be doing in the guesthouse. She was right, of course, although her mind probably went much further than what had actually happened between Sterling and me. And what had happened? I'd wanted him, he'd wanted me, we'd started, but then he'd pulled away. Not typical behavior for the philanderer that Mama believed him to be.
”How is the painting going? Mama said the opening was a smash.”
”All the paintings in the Malibu series have been sold.” Pride entered my voice. I was proud of my work, but I was torn by my ego. I didn't want my art to be just about commerce, however cool it was to be embraced so warmly by Los Angeles and its art collectors.
”And the new series?”
I pursed my lips and shook my head. ”It's all up here”-I tapped my finger to my temple -”but I haven't been able to get it onto a canvas yet.”
Maeve scooped quinoa with avocado and black beans onto her plate.
”I want to do a series on Venice,” I said.
”Not the one in Italy,” Maeve smiled.
”No. I've been there and it didn't grab me the same way that Venice, California does. Amanda's gallery is in Venice.”
”And isn't that where Sterling lives?” Maeve asked.
My eyes widened with surprise.
”You're not the only one who's stayed in touch with Amanda,” Maeve said. She shoved a bite of bread into her mouth.
No, I guess I wouldn't be. An uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest. How much did Maeve know about Sterling and me?
”This is an amazing night,” Mama said.
Maeve and I turned our gazes to her. She sat at the end of the table and light infused her face and eyes. Her eyes shone as though tears had formed, but a smile widened her face. ”I can't remember the last time I had both of you here, at this table, at home.”
I returned her smile. A small sigh escaped me. Perhaps enough time had pa.s.sed so that now only joy would be remembered and created with our visits to the ranch.
”Of course, I wish I didn't have to break my ankle to get you girls to come home.” Her lips curled up into an even bigger smile. She lifted her gla.s.s of wine. ”To family,” she said.
The three of us clinked our gla.s.ses. Yes, we were family, but did they feel what I felt? The absence of Papa was so heavy in my chest. I looked across the table filled with bowls of food to the chair at the far end where Papa always sat. He would be in that chair now if he and Mama were still a couple and we were still a family. He wasn't here, nor would he return to this place unless forced to by some unforeseen circ.u.mstance.
Ireland was Papa's home now and forever more. He had returned to the farm of his youth and intended to stay there, locked up in the drafty old Irish farmhouse on the coast. Much like the way Mama sat alone here on her Malibu hill. Each without the other, but still married, yet intentionally separate. Could they ever heal the rupture between them? I guessed no. Had they ever even tried?
”It's good to be here, Mama,” Maeve said.
”Where do you think you'll go next?” I asked.
”Next?” Maeve tilted her head to the side as if I'd asked her a perplexing question. ”I haven't really thought about it.”
Maeve traveled the world with abandon and no plan.