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“That’s what all parents say,” Sarah teased.
“That’s the second time you’ve called me old,” Jeremy said. He splayed out his hand, gesturing around the office. “We’re already at the doctor to take care of my old broken bones. Give me a break.”
The gossip channel transitioned. Across the screen, red letters formed the words:
ART WORLD DRAMA
Then, a gorgeous brunette jumped on-screen with a microphone and a green screen behind her. Jeremy wondered if the woman had her sights on being a “real” journalist and had ended up here, in the gossip world.
The woman began to speak with a chipper tone. “Luxury yachts. Apartments across the world. Million-dollar deals. Are we talking about a big-time actor or director? No! We’re talking about a good, old-fashioned painter.”
Jeremy’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.No. No. It can’t be.
Suddenly, a photograph of Asher Tarkin appeared on-screen. In the photograph, he was wearing his iconic, all-black outfit, and his dark hair covered most of his eyes.
The woman continued. “He’s been called the most elusive and most sought-after man in the art world, with his art selling for millions upon millions of dollars. Recently, Asher wanted to do something extraordinary— sell the very first painting that ever made him ultra-famous, for a bidding war that began at one million dollars. The bidding war was set at the Et, Tu? gallery in Paris. Yes, that’s right, folks. Asher is most often found on the cobblestoned streets of Paris.”
Jeremy’s heart banged like a bass drum. The images on-screen shifted to several paintings, all by Asher Tarkin, before finally landing on the painting that had made him famous back in the nineties. Jeremy nearly fell apart at the seams. Just as he’d suspected, the painting was of his ex-girlfriend, Alana Copperfield.
Beside him, Sarah fidgeted. Jeremy gave her a sidelong glance, grateful that he’d never told her anything at all about his ex. What could he say?I broke up with her because I thought my life was about to begin— a whole new life without her. She got upset, and I chased her down in my truck. That’s the moment everything changed for good.
The woman continued with her on-screen story. “In recent years, Asher Tarkin has crafted a reputation for being quite the party boy. Rumors of his infidelities have circled throughout the art, music, and film world. Apparently, on the night of the sale of this iconic painting, Asher’s wife had had enough.”
Jeremy’s lips parted in surprise.Alana. They were talking about Alana.
The station played a grainy video, clearly captured with someone’s phone at the Paris gallery. In it, Alana Copperfield walked toward the painting from her youth and tossed an entire glass of red wine across it. In the video, the crowd hissed and screeched with surprise as Alana turned around, lifting her arms triumphantly. After that, the video went black.
“Oh my God,” Sarah breathed.
“What is it?” Jeremy asked.
All the color drained from Sarah’s cheeks. If Jeremy hadn’t known better, it seemed like Sarah had an emotional reaction to Alana. But, again, Jeremy hadn’t told her anything (had he?). Plus, he hadn’t kept a single photograph or letter or memento from his and Alana’s time together. That time of his life was finished.
“Jeremy?” Doctor Dodger stepped out of his office, his white coat catching the light.
Jeremy turned to catch Sarah’s eye. “I’ll be right back.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes still so deep in her head.
Jeremy limped toward his doctor, whom he’d known for the better part of twenty-five years. Jeremy had been Doctor Dodger’s very first patient after medical residency, a nineteen-year-old ex-football player with barely working legs and a serious rage issue. Back then, he’d often lashed out at those most interested in helping him get through his recovery. Doctor Dodger had been the first to push Jeremy to go to psychiatric therapy, something people in Jeremy’s family just didn’t do. The therapy had been a Godsend, helping Jeremy dig through the trauma of his past and make space for his future.
Doctor Dodger checked Jeremy extensively and discussed the prospect of arthritis, which was more common in people who had serious traumas from previous accidents. He also suggested that the pain was a sort of “phantom pain,” which often plagued people who’d suffered serious injuries but was often untreatable and generally misunderstood.
As Jeremy sat in silence, watching his doctor prescribe him yet another medication for yet another ailment, his thoughts returned to the vision of Alana tossing wine across the painting.
How many times had Alana tried to visit him in the hospital after the accident? At least three times, probably more. He’d instructed his nurses and his friends and his family not to let her anywhere near him. In his out-of-control eighteen-year-old brain, he partially blamed her for what happened, as though she’d pulled him out into the road after her just to punish him for ending their relationship. Obviously, that was impossible.
Doctor Dodger handed him a prescription and told him to call him if the pain continued after ten days. Jeremy laughed and said, “I’m fully prepared to experience pain like this the rest of my life.”
Doctor Dodger winced. “You’ve been through so much, Jeremy. I wish there was a way to promise we could fix it all for good.”
Jeremy headed for the door, pain lacing up and down his thighs. “If I hadn’t stopped complaining about this a long time ago, I never would have found a way to survive.”
“You’re a good man, Jeremy.” Doctor Dodger jumped forward, holding the thick door open so that Jeremy could limp through. He then waved through the foyer toward Sarah, who sat in rapt attention in front of the television. “Hi, Sarah! Sarah?”
Sarah blinked across the room, nonplussed.
Under his breath, Doctor Dodger whispered, “Gosh, she’s really gotten skinny, hasn’t she?”
Jeremy could have collapsed in a heap and wept himself into unconsciousness. But instead, with his prescription in-hand, he said, “You ready to go, Sarah?”
And Sarah rose up on the legs that shouldn’t have supported her and helped him toward the front door.
