Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Gage came up next to me and took it from my hands and held it up. “The blue…” he murmured. “It’s the exact shade of your eyes.” He stared at it, mesmerized.
I smiled. Yes, it was close, although the dress almost didn’t seem to be one singular color. My mother had kept the dress similar to this one in the back of her closet. I’d tried it on a time or two when playing dress-up. Once, she’d caught me and appeared almost angry. I’d held my breath, confused by her reaction when she’d never minded me digging through her clothes or costume jewelry before. But then she’d smiled and told me I looked beautiful and hurried away. I didn’t know what happened to that dress. She must have gotten rid of it because it wasn’t among her things when I finally found the strength to bag them up to donate.
“Please let me buy it for you,” he said.
I let out a quiet laugh. “I have absolutely nowhere to wear something like this to,” I told him. “Not here, and certainly not in Mud Gulch.”
“Still, I insist,” he said, turning toward the front register. “I’ve never seen anything that more perfectly matches your eyes.”
I laughed as I followed him. He’d made it sound like he’d recently come back from a lifelong pilgrimage to find the shade of my eyes. He was being kind because I’d mentioned my mother. Perhaps he’d seen the longing in my eyes. I was going to let him gift it to me because honestly, it did feel like a small piece of my mother that I’d somehow lost. Plus, I’d seen the price tag and it was only thirty bucks.
Gage paid for the dress and then presented the bag to me as we stepped out of line. “Thank you,” I told him with a smile. “And who knows. Maybe someday I’ll be invited to a ball and this will come in handy.”
“Perhaps you will.”
Faith was in the back office eating a takeout salad when we arrived at the gallery. “Hi, Gage,” she said as she wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up to shake his hand.
“I should probably be irritated with you,” he said as he took her hand. “But I guess we’re pretty much on the same team now.”
She smiled and I set the two paintings down on the round table in the middle of the room that held Faith’s lunch and a few stacks of mail and what looked like random paperwork. Her eyes widened, and she put her hand on my arm. “Oh my God, you found two more!”
“We did,” I confirmed as I turned them both over.
“And now you’re going to check them for diary entries. Oh my God,” she repeated. “Wait, let me get you a knife.” She took the few steps over to her desk and removed a craft knife from her drawer and handed it to Gage when he reached for it.
As Gage began carefully removing the frame backing, I gave Faith the quick version of events that had transpired since that morning, including talking to Mrs. Ramsbottom, and going to the two stores Haven had recommended.
“What does it mean?” Faith asked in a whisper, as though she was worried about interrupting Gage’s concentration by being too loud. “That those paintings were donated or sold?”
“We were wondering that too,” I replied in an equally hushed voice. “There are so many possibilities, I suppose.”
We both leaned forward, my breath catching as Gage opened the back of the first frame, exposing a folded piece of paper. I gasped softly and reached for it, my hands shaking as I put it on the table and opened it. All three of us leaned in, tears pricking my eyes as I took in my mother’s handwriting.
Last night, M.S. and I had a picnic dinner on the shore of the lake and then stayed up half the night talking about everything under the sun. He’s worldly and interesting. He’s been so many places I’ve only dreamed of. But he has sadness in his eyes too. He’s so different than I thought he was when I first met him. So much deeper and kinder.
He loves animals. I’ve never seen a man who looks so deeply into a dog’s eyes. It’s like he’s communing with them. It makes me smile. They love him back which my mom always said means a person has a good soul.
He’s smart too. He’s read just about every book ever written, or at least it seems like he has. He’s always referencing this quote or that quote, and I wish I could remember them later because I would write them down and think about why they mean so much to him. When I told him he must have the memory of an elephant to recall all those words, he got this troubled look on his face and said he wished he didn’t.