Rowan hesitated before sitting next to Matilda on the bed. No one spoke. The only movement were the tears tracking down Tilly’s cheeks.
Rowan understood loss. Sometimes a person needed silence when it hit. Sometimes, like now, they might need to know they weren’t alone.
Rowan wasn’t sure how much time passed before Matilda took a shuddering breath. She still looked at the painting, but her body had straightened. She had come back to herself. “It’s hard to be the one still alive.” She looked at Rowan, who was still sitting beside her. “I imagine you and your sisters know something about that.”
“Yes.” An understanding of each other’s loss passed between them. “Would you rather have kept this picture private, Tilly? I can choose another for the installation.”
“Absolutely not! I never want to forget what kind of love Jon and I shared. I want my son, my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren to see what love looks like. Bran and Patrick have certainly found it with Raven and River.”
Before Matilda could query Rowan if she’d found anyone special, Rowen hopped up and said, “Let me show you the other two. Though if they affect you as strongly as the first, we’re going to need whiskey first,” she teased, making Matilda smile.
“You can show me and then you and I are ordering room service and working on getting three sheets to the wind. How’s that sound?”
“Like my best night ever. We should invite Jo. She leaves for Tokyo day after next and then Switzerland.”
“I would love to see Josephine. Let’s invite her over. Your Nan’s been hounding me to get information on Honey Bunny. This will kill two birds, so to speak.”
Poor Jo, Rowan thought, smiling. She led Matilda to the second painting. It was a small five-by-seven landscape of Matilda walking across a shallow rock bed stream. She was holding hands with two precious towheaded boys who were smiling up at their grandmother.
“Rowan, damn it! I’m not one to curse, but you are making me an emotional wreck,” Matilda complained as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue Rowan handed her. “That was the year I decided to be an adventurer,” she laughed, remembering. “I told Jon and Hugh that I was taking the boys camping, and they weren’t coming with us. We went Devil’s Den State Park in Arkansas. It was so beautiful. We went in the fall, and I remember the boys and I were in awe at the changing leaves.”
“Do not tell me you slept in a tent. I won’t believe you.”
Matilda rolled her eyes, making Rowan giggle. “I did buy a tent and probably two thousand dollars’ worth of stuff that I didn’t even know how to use. The boys were beside themselves with excitement. They’d camped with Hugh before, so they knew more than me. Bran helped me unzip the tent, and when I saw the twelve pages of instructions, I promptly called the park ranger station. I asked the kind woman who answered if there were any furnished cabins.
“They only had the biggest one left. It slept eight, had beds, linens, heat and air, and a full kitchen. I booked it immediately, packed up the tent and all the other bags of crap, and foundour cabin. It felt as luxurious as a five-star hotel after the near miss with the tent. The boys and I proceeded to have the best weekend of our lives. I swore them to secrecy, of course. Jon and Hugh were forced to be impressed with my outdoor skills, and to this day, as far as I know, they never told on me.
“In my defense, I did start a fire and cook over it. I burnt everything, but my sweet grandsons never complained. Probably because I gave them each their own bag of marshmallows.”
Rowan was laughing so hard by the time Matilda finished recounting her adventure she was wheezing. The thought of the well-to-do Mrs. O’Faolain in flannel, hiking and starting fires was a visual she would never forget.
“I can’t believe you chose to paint this picture out of all the ones in those boxes. Rowan,” Matilda started, shaking her head, “you have made me remember two of the best moments of my life.”
“I’m beyond thrilled. I was nervous. I’m a novice artist at best, but your photos are a true inspiration. There weren’t copies so I didn’t want to use the originals, and I thought oil paintings would give an old-world whimsy to your memory closet. Now that I have most of your pictures sorted, Tina plans on putting the rest in chronological order in photo albums.”
“A novice? Rowan, surely you jest. You are a true talent. As fine an artist as any painter with works hanging in museums. You and your sisters have proven that you’re all talented designers, but darling girl, you are an artist. A painter. Your focus should be,” Matilda waved her hand at the stands holding the paintings, “this.”
Rowan blushed at the praise. She was thrilled that Matilda liked what she’d done so far. That was enough recognition for her. “Okay, one more,” Rowan announced while handing another tissue over. She walked to the last easel and turned thestand around. It was a teenage, beardless Hugh, grinning and shaking hands with his father.
Jonathan looked so much like Hugh did now, minus the beard, that Rowan’s heart had squeezed with emotion. There was a new silver Porsche in the background. The back of the picture was inscribed,Hugh’s 16thBirthday.
Rowan swallowed. She missed her family. Her sisters. Bran and Patrick. Hugh.
Matilda studied the painting for several minutes. “I was so mad at Jon that day.”
Oh shit, Rowan cringed. “Oh, geez, really.”
“Buying my baby boy a sports car that I knew very well he would drive too fast in. I was furious but then, Hugh shook his dad’s hand with that big grin, and Jon grinned back. Those two always melted my heart, and damn if I could stay mad at that husband of mine for longer than an hour,” Matilda huffed, clearly still amazed at her husband’s charm.
“I was relieved when Jon took hold of the back of Hugh’s neck like he was a pup and growled into his ear that if he broke one single law in that car, one speed limit, the consequences would be severe. Whether Hugh listened is anyone’s guess. I would say no, but he was never in an accident or arrested, so...”
“Then, do I have your approval to use these in the cabinet?”
“Of course. You captured all of our expressions even better than the original pictures. You do realize that if I were to show anyone your paintings, you would be booked out for years.” Matilda took Rowan’s hands into hers, “please tell me that you’ll consider pursuing your art.”
Rowan wouldn’t promise anything. She was, however, very pleased that her work had touched another person as it had her. “I’ll think about it.”
“Hmm,” was her only response. “Tell me, how are you coping without seeing your sisters and nephew?”
