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“He must have been important to you over the years,” Oriana said.
“He really was,” Grant said. “Back before the internet was up and running, it was much more difficult to know if anyone was telling the truth about who they were or what they were up to. Carl got us through the dark ages, if you will.”
Oriana laughed glumly at his joke and took the napkin from Grant. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope this clears up soon.”
Oriana’s chin wiggled. “What would you suggest we do if we do track him down?”
“You’re going to need to know his secrets,” Grant explained with a sparkle in his eyes. “That’s the only way he’ll keep yours to himself.”
Brea and Oriana made heavy eye contact, both stirring with the same questions: what “secrets” could this blackmailer possibly have? They didn’t even know who he was. They couldn’t dive through the events of the past and pinpoint his face.
That night, Oriana made a bed for Grant in the guest bedroom and said goodnight. Just before he shut the door, he nodded and said, “You’re going to get through this, little sis. I know we don’t know each other well, but you have that Coleman strength. Roland and I both see it.” He paused, his eyes roaming along the carpet. “I’m sorry it took us so long to come together. But maybe the timing was just right so that we can help you with this terrible predicament.”
Oriana’s heart felt bludgeoned. “Thank you, Grant. Maybe you’re right. I hope you are.”
Downstairs, Oriana and Brea sat on the back porch, swaddled in blankets, staring out into the black night and listening to the ocean lap onto the sands. They were thousands of miles from where they’d done this in Thailand.
“It’s selfish to think of my career, isn’t it?” Oriana heard herself say, allowing herself the freedom of truth with her best friend. “I mean, I’ve had so much success. Much more than I probably deserved.
“I just can’t help but think of Bernard Copperfield out in Nantucket. How beloved he was until, out of nowhere, he was accused of stealing all that money and sent to prison for twenty-five years. One minute, he was on top of the world, and the next, his family and all of his friends hated him. The difference is, of course, that I’m responsible,” Oriana went on. “Bernard always knew he was innocent, but I’ve always known I was guilty.”
Brea furrowed her brow. “You’re not guilty. I’m the one who traded out the painting. I’m the one who took the money.”
“But when you told me the truth, I didn’t try to fix it,” Oriana said.
“You wanted to protect me,” Brea breathed, reaching over to take Oriana’s hand. After a long pause, she added, “I don’t think you should be worried about what your friends and family think, if and when this comes out. They adore you. More than that, I think they’ll agree with me when they say that a few random blotches of green and blue paint on a canvas shouldn’t amount to such drama.”
Oriana’s jaw dropped with surprise, and suddenly, she cackled, her body shaking. Ultimately, she knew Brea was right. Her family and friends knew very little about art. They wouldn’t turn their backs on her because of a mistake early in her career.
But she wasn’t willing to give up on her career just yet. They had to track down this blackmailer. They had to stop this in its tracks.
ChapterTwenty-One
2000
The living room where Brea had found Kenny after he’d collapsed was now filled with people eating potato salad, pasta salad, and scones. Everyone was dressed in black suits and dresses. Everyone looked forlorn, with their skin very pale due to the winter months and their cheeks slightly more plump than normal. It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and everyone was just eating a little too much.
Brea felt disconnected from her body. As she made the rounds, adjusting the barrette in her hair, she heard herself thank people for coming, explaining she was doing all right but that it would be a hard road ahead.
Oriana was in the kitchen, spooning more salad into a large bowl, her face blotchy from crying. To her credit, Oriana had hardly left Brea’s side since Kenny’s death and had even spent the night at Brea’s house on Christmas Eve, forcing her to watch old films and eat Christmas cookies. It had been a brief light in the darkness for Brea.
“Hi, honey.” Oriana washed and dried her hands and hugged Brea, her shoulders shaking. “I would ask you how you’re doing again, but I’m even annoying myself at this point.”
Reese appeared in the doorway, Alexa in his arms. Alexa rubbed her eye sleepily, and her hair was tousled, a big Christmas bow in the center. She hadn’t been able to part with it since she’d removed it from one of her Christmas presents.
“Are you going to take her home?” Oriana asked.
“I think I’d better,” Reese said. “Her stomach’s still acting up.”
“Poor baby.” Oriana walked over to them and kissed Alexa on the forehead as Brea stirred with rage and jealousy. She and Kenny should have been allowed that dynamic. They should have had a baby; they should have supported one another in sickness and in health. They should have been something more.
After Reese took Alexa and Joel back home, Oriana poured Brea and herself a glass of wine and insisted Brea sit for a while. “You want something to eat? A cookie? A brownie? Something?” Oriana was well aware that Brea hadn’t touched anything that morning, before or after the funeral.
“I’m not hungry,” Brea said.
In the sitting room, which was a smaller enclave of the larger living room, Brea and Oriana sat side-by-side, sipping their wine and watching a soft snow fall out the front window. Brea felt as though she viewed her entire life through Saran Wrap, like everything was at a distance, foggy. When Oriana asked her questions, she usually had to ask her to repeat herself.
