Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
It was the third week of February on Martha’s Vineyard.
Oriana and Reese were in the car on the way to the doctor’s office, shivery and unfocused, trying not to think about the conversation ahead.
Since they’d returned from Nederland, they’d known this day was coming.
All Oriana wanted in the world was to go back in time, to return to Nederland and that snowstorm, to eat dinner in bed and watch movies and speculate about Larry Calvin Johannes’s con artist skills. She didn’t want to face real life.
Before they left the car, Oriana and Reese held hands and reminded one another that whatever happened, they would be there for one another.
“I love you,” Oriana reminded him. “Through thick and thin.”
Inside the doctor’s office, Oriana and Reese sat with their hands laced together, listening to the latest diagnosis. Reese’s cancer was not in remission. Not yet.
Oriana felt as though her chest was crushed.
But Reese looked as though he wasn’t surprised, as though he’d expected this diagnosis.
They asked about the next round of treatments and how they should best prepare for them.
Reese took everything in stride, which forced Oriana to do the same.
She told herself that she could break down later, when Reese couldn’t hear her.
She had to be emotionally strong for him.
That night, their children came over for dinner—Alexa and Joel and their partners and children.
Oriana ordered heaps of Mexican food and watched from the head of the table as the people she loved most filled their plates.
Reese’s appetite was okay for now, but would definitely deplete the minute he started his next treatment, so he ate as much as he could.
Oriana was pleased that her children did their best to keep the conversation going, to smile and laugh and make memories. She knew that they probably wanted to break down into fits of panic, like she did.
Alexa poured Oriana a glass of wine and moved back to her chair beside her son, forcing a smile as she said, “You haven’t told us much about your trip to Colorado! What happened out there?”
“Those snow pictures were insane,” Joel said, his eyes flashing. “You must have felt trapped up there.”
“We loved it!” Reese said exuberantly. “It was such a cozy feeling to be all the way on top of the world with all that snow coming down. It made me think I might want to buy a cabin in the mountains one day.”
Oriana’s chest heaved with fear. Lately, she’d both loved and hated it when Reese brought up plans for the future. She didn’t want to count on anything. Then again, she never wanted their life together to stop.
“I’ve always wanted to take up skiing,” Joel said thoughtfully.
“You’ll have to come out,” Reese said, taking a bite of refried beans. “Oh, but that’s not the most exciting part. Your mother is a genius. She really is. She figured out that this painter guy she discovered, Larry Johannes? He’s not who he says he is.”
Their children gaped at them and smiled, waiting for Reese to fill them in.
“You tell them, honey,” Reese said to Oriana, clearly proud of her.
But when Oriana thought back on Larry and Henrietta and all the grief that surely surrounded them, she felt a sense of loss and disbelief. She wanted to focus on her life with Reese, on Reese’s cancer and treatment, on everything coming for them.
“To put it simply,” she said finally, “I’m pretty sure that Larry’s paintings were painted by his wife.”
Alexa gasped. “The one who disappeared?”
Oriana nodded. She remembered the baby sonogram and the tremendous pain that Henrietta had clearly been going through during the summer of 1975. It felt insane to carry someone’s story so many years after the fact.
“And they really don’t know where she is?” Alexa tilted her head. “I mean, people don’t just disappear, right?”
“They did back in 1975,” Reese said. “It was a different time. It’s wild to think of how much everything has changed since then.”
But their daughter continued to look quizzical. “Have you reached out to a private detective or something? Maybe there are ways you haven’t considered. Maybe there’s a way to figure out where this woman wound up.”
Reese’s eyes found Oriana’s over the table. “I wonder if it’s worth a try,” he offered.
Oriana got up, pressed her napkin to her lips, and asked if anyone needed anything.
When they said no, she cut into the kitchen, stepped into the pantry, and sobbed into her hands as quietly as she could.
When she’d cleared herself out, she stepped back into the kitchen to find her daughter there with her arms open.
Oriana stepped into her daughter’s embrace but focused on her breathing to keep from crying.
“I know,” her daughter whispered. “I know, I know, I know. I feel it too.”
It was awful to keep pretending everything was all right. But it was all they could do until it was impossible.
The following morning, Meghan came over with a big platter of scones and made a big pot of coffee. Reese was still asleep upstairs, as his body needed as much rest as it could find, which Oriana was grateful for, as it meant she could cry to her sister, her second-favorite person after Reese.
Meghan listened with a soft and kind expression, one that told Oriana she could say and do whatever she wanted.
“I find myself hating my career,” Oriana said under her breath.
“I hate Larry Calvin Johannes. I hate every artist I’ve made super-wealthy.
What was it all for? For money?” Oriana gestured vaguely at their beautiful but far too large house, their fine furnishings, their enormous television.
“What was it all for?” she repeated. “Why did I think I needed so much? I’ve been allowed to love Reese, to be by Reese’s side through thick and thin.
What if he dies, and I find myself sitting in this big, stupid house by myself? I don’t think I’ll be able to take it.”
Meghan didn’t tell Oriana to calm down. She didn’t tell her to stop talking about Reese’s potential death.
She understood that death was on the cards, at this point—that this cancer diagnosis could have its way with Oriana and Reese and everyone in the Coleman family.
When the time came, she wrapped Oriana in a hug and asked her what she wanted to do.
“I want to quit,” Oriana told her, her voice muffled in Meghan’s shoulder.
“I want to tell Larry Calvin Johannes to take his arrogance and his stupidity elsewhere. I want to tell the Manhattan art community that I don’t have time for their new waves of artistic promise, nor their swanky parties, nor their designer purses.
I want to sit by Reese’s side and watch comedies and plan our next adventures.
Maybe we really should buy a cabin in the mountains.
Perhaps we should buy a boat and sail around the world. ”
Meghan urged Oriana to consider retiring for a little longer. “I don’t want you to make a choice you’re going to regret later on,” she said. “You’ve loved your work for a very long time.”
But Oriana was suddenly adamant that she had to be finished.
“I’m going to make the necessary calls this afternoon,” she said.
“But first, I’m going to call Larry and tell him that I know what he’s up to.
I’m going to tell him that he didn’t get away with it, and that wherever she is, his wife knows what he’s up to.
I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure people know about his fraudulence. He won’t sell another painting again.”
Meghan laughed and shook her head. “I always knew you were a spitfire, Oriana,” she said. “But I’ve never seen you like this before.”
Oriana knew that Reese’s cancer diagnosis had changed her. She knew that Reese’s illness had forced her to reckon with who she was in the world and who she wanted to be. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe times of strife were exactly when you had to make changes. Otherwise, you sank like a stone.