Chapter 7
Penelope
Tilting my head, I studied the canvas. I’d been working on a new painting—acrylic on canvas—for a few weeks and I was finally starting to feel like it was coming together.
It was an ocean beach, similar to one I’d visited when I was a child. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, staining the sky with shades of pink, purple, and orange. White-tipped waves stretched as far as the eye could see and the gray sand contrasted with the colorful sky.
My painting area was in a storage room off the garage. A space heater provided enough warmth that I’d taken off my cardigan, and the window let in just enough natural light. It wasn’t the ideal space, but it was what we had room for. Sean didn’t want to share his home office.
Although I wasn’t sure why. He hardly ever used it.
I checked the time. The celebration of life was that afternoon, and while I still felt a twinge of anxiety about going, paying my respects in person felt like the right thing to do. I was just glad Sean had agreed to go with me—grudgingly or not. I really didn’t want to go alone.
After adding a few more brushstrokes, I took another long look, recalling something Edwin had said in class—sometimes a painting is finished even when we don’t think it’s perfect.
That was how my beach painting felt. It wasn’t exactly what I’d intended to paint, but continuing to tinker wasn’t going to improve it. I needed to let it be what it had become.
I put everything away and went to the kitchen to clean my brushes, idly wondering what Sean was up to.
We still had some time before we needed to leave, but I had to plan ahead in case he headed into the bathroom.
I didn’t know if it was an over-thirty thing, or just a guy thing, but he could spend forty-five minutes in there like it was nothing.
Before I could call for him to see where he was, he came out of the bedroom and started putting on his shoes.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Yeah.”
“Um…where?”
“Chad’s.”
I hesitated, waiting for him to explain, but he didn’t. Just tied the lace on his shoe.
“What’s going on at Chad’s? Will you be gone long?”
“We’re testing out his new home theater.”
“But…”
“What? Are you going to be mad because I didn’t invite you? It’s just the guys.”
My heart sank and my shoulders slumped. “No. The celebration of life is today.”
His eyebrows drew in. “What celebration of life?”
“For Edwin Morris. You know, the painter?”
“Oh. You actually want to go to that?”
“Yes, I do.”
He shrugged. “I forgot.”
I glanced away. Of course he forgot. He’d probably only been half listening when I’d told him the day and time.
By the way Sean hesitated, his eyes on me, I knew he was waiting for me to tell him it was fine. That he should go hang out with his friends. And in that split second, I realized that was exactly what I was going to say. I didn’t even want him to go with me anymore.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll go by myself.”
He nodded, as if that was exactly what he’d wanted—expected—me to say. “Good. I gotta go.”
He grabbed his things and left.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I let out a long breath. Maybe I’d just stay home. It wasn’t like I knew Edwin’s family. No one would expect me to be there. I’d met his wife once, but that hardly counted. I doubted she’d even remember me, especially with what she was going through.
The real problem was, I was shy, especially around strangers.
I was just about to go change into pajama pants and bury myself in a throw blanket with a good book when Theo popped into my head.
Would Theo go with me?
No. That would be weird. You didn’t take your work bestie to a funeral.
But once I’d thought the thought, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking it. Because if he didn’t have other plans, I had a feeling Theo would go with me. He was the type of guy who’d be there for a friend.
And despite the fact that none of Edwin Morris’s family or friends would care if Penelope Fallbrook attended his celebration of life, I cared. I wanted to go.
I grabbed my phone and sent Theo a text.
Hey. Weird request. Is there any way you’d go to a celebration of life with me this afternoon? Sean can’t go.
It only took a moment for him to reply.
Sure. What time?
My lips curled in a little smile. Yep, the type of guy who’d be there for a friend. We texted back and forth a few more times, working out the details. I told him the place and time. He offered to drive, so he’d pick me up in an hour.
With that settled, I went to my room to shower and get ready.
Knowing me, I had paint on my face again.
The celebration of life was at the Painter’s Loft, the gallery in downtown Tilikum owned by Edwin and his wife, Gina. It was housed in a restored brick building a block from Main Street. We had to circle to find parking a short walk from the gallery.
Theo turned off his truck and I adjusted my glasses.
I’d chosen a simple long-sleeve black dress I’d had forever and knee-high black boots.
My hair was down and I’d triple-checked to make sure I didn’t have paint anywhere—on my clothes or my skin.
Theo looked nice in a button-down shirt and black slacks.
“Thanks again for coming with me,” I said. “It’s probably weird. But I don’t think I’ll know anyone and I still want to go, even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable.”
“I don’t mind weird.”
“We don’t have to stay long or anything. And I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Pen, it’s all good. You don’t owe me anything.”
Oh my. One of his dimples was puckering. A rush of tingles swept through me.
“Besides,” he said, “there’s always food at these things. I’ll just hang out by the refreshments.”
We got out and walked up the sidewalk toward the gallery.
I wondered if there were so many cars because of the celebration of life.
The obituary had said it was an open-house style event, and the public was welcome.
It was nice to think that a lot of people would come pay their respects.
I hoped that brought some comfort to his family.
Theo opened the glass door and ushered me inside.
The interior was spacious and open, with pale birch floors and paintings on the walls illuminated by gallery lighting.
Stairs ascended to a loft with a matte black railing where more artwork was displayed, and a door near the back led to a large space used as a classroom as well as Edwin’s personal painting studio.
The displays that were usually in the center of the room had been moved to accommodate the guests, and there was a table set up in the entrance with a guest book. A woman in a black pantsuit and a name tag that read Lisa stood behind the table. She greeted us with a warm smile.
“Welcome. Please sign the guest book.” She gestured to the book, then to a small stack of blank white stickers. “And if you don’t mind, a name tag would be appreciated.”
I wrote our names in the guest book while Theo made us name tags in his blocky all-caps handwriting. For a second, I thought he might write a nickname instead of Penelope. He hesitated after writing the first three letters of my name, but seemed to decide it wasn’t the time for too much silliness.
He handed me the sticker and I attached it to my dress while he pressed his name tag to his shirt.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Feeling a little self-conscious, I followed Theo into the gallery. People stood in small groups, talking in low voices, and an air of melancholy hung over the room. That was certainly understandable considering the circumstances.
Theo leaned closer as we took a few more slow steps deeper into the gallery. “Do you see anyone you know?”
I glanced around, scanning faces and name tags. There wasn’t anyone I immediately recognized, other than the familiarity of Tilikum residents I could recall seeing around town.
“Not really.”
He nodded, and there was something about his calm demeanor that put me at ease.
A room full of people I didn’t know, especially if there could be small talk involved, was basically my nightmare.
But Theo didn’t seem the least bit anxious.
He exuded his typical casual confidence—relaxed body language, laid-back expression.
It slowed my racing heart and made me feel considerably less jittery than I would have otherwise.
As Theo had predicted, there were two large tables with food and beverages along one of the side walls. Theo and I glanced at each other and simultaneously shrugged as if to say, Why not? We walked over and started putting various finger foods on small paper plates.
With several pieces of cheese, some crackers, a dollop of fig spread, and a few green olives on my plate, I stepped aside so I wouldn’t be in the way. It felt better to have something in my hands.
Theo stood next to me and took a big bite of bruschetta. “Not bad,” he said, still keeping his voice low.
Glancing around the room again, I nibbled on my food. I thought I should probably find Gina Morris and say hello. I’d only met her once, so I didn’t think she’d remember me—especially with everything she’d been through—but it seemed like the right thing to do.
“I can’t believe she showed her face here,” a woman on the other side of Theo said to her companion. She looked to be about Edwin’s age, probably in her sixties, as did the woman she was talking to. Her name tag read Jean and her friend’s said Kathy.
Theo’s eyebrows lifted as he met my eyes. We both took a subtle step closer. It was like being in the teachers’ lounge when someone was about to spill the tea.
“I can’t, either.” Kathy shook her head and appeared to be looking across the room at someone.
“Who?” Theo whispered.
I shrugged. I couldn’t tell.
“Gina is showing so much class,” Jean said. “I’d have asked her to leave.”
“Does Gina know she’s here?”
“She must. I saw them standing quite near each other just a few minutes ago.”
“Are we sure Gina…” Kathy paused. “Knows?”