Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
It was the beginning of April, and Reese’s second round of treatments was finally finished.
Oriana watched her husband out of the corner of her eye as she drove them back home from the most recent check-in with the doctor, waiting for some indication that he was cured and they were done with this.
But he was gray-faced and exhausted, still trying and failing to gain back the weight he’d lost since this had all begun.
It felt incredible that they’d learned about his cancer so many months back. It felt as though everything had changed.
On Martha’s Vineyard, it was the beginning of spring.
Lawns were tinged with green, and there was a soft and fecund nature to the air, as though flowers all over the island were blooming and summer houses were being opened.
The fruits and vegetables at the grocery stores were healthy-looking and plump, and Oriana had been experimenting with different salad recipes, trying to bring fresh nutrients into their lives.
Meghan was growing tired of all of Oriana’s experimentation, especially when those experiments involved kale, but Meghan never refused a night of dinner at Oriana and Reese’s.
She brought her husband Hugo over often, and the four of them found as much laughter as they could, given the circumstances.
When Oriana and Reese returned home that afternoon, they shared a brief yet powerful hug in the kitchen.
Storm clouds brewed on the horizon, and Reese said he was tired, that he wanted to watch a movie and go to bed soon.
Oriana popped them a big bowl of popcorn and tried to keep from watching Reese as he watched the movie.
She had to stop watching him for signs of weakness, for signs of getting better.
There was so much you couldn’t see on the surface.
Plenty of people looked healthy and weren’t, and vice versa.
Reese admitted he was beat about a half-hour into the movie, and they agreed to watch the rest tomorrow.
This was maybe the hundredth movie like that since Reese’s cancer treatments had begun last year.
He was exhausted almost all of the time.
Sometimes Oriana felt as though they were on a never-ending nightmare cruise called “cancer.” She imagined that they would never be able to get off this cruise.
But when Reese got ready for bed, Oriana poured herself a glass of wine and retreated to her brand-new space in the house: her art studio.
It was incredible to Oriana that she hadn’t worked as an art dealer in nearly two months.
When her “free time” had begun, she’d needed to find a place to put her energy.
She couldn’t always throw it toward Reese, as she knew he’d get overwhelmed.
It was with this strange and overzealous energy that she’d begun painting for the first time.
Mostly, she was terrible, and she knew she was terrible.
But her artist daughter Alexa told Oriana that she had a “remarkable eye.” She said Oriana’s paintings were different from any she’d ever seen.
Oriana hoped that was a good thing, although she didn’t really care.
She wasn’t making art for money. She was doing it for her heart.
Oriana painted for four hours, throwing her brokenness and her emotion onto the canvas.
It was an abstract painting that, to her, represented her love story with Reese.
It was filled with vibrant blues and exuberant purples and calm brushstrokes.
It evoked everything she’d felt when she’d said “I do” all those years ago.
It was ten thirty at night when Oriana retreated downstairs, washed her hands of paint, and poured herself a glass of wine.
She felt dizzy from nonstop painting, as though she’d been allowed to enter into another world.
Her phone was on the sofa, where she’d left it when she’d gone upstairs.
It surprised her to see that she had multiple missed calls—some from Meghan, and others from an unknown number.
She called Meghan back right away, conscious that her sister kept strange hours. Meghan answered right away.
“I saw your friend on the news,” she said, a smile in her voice.
Oriana collapsed on the sofa and tugged a blanket over her. “My friend?”
“Isabella. The journalist,” Meghan answered. “She was talking about your ex-client and favorite person.”
“Ugh. Larry.” Oriana had tried her best to shove all thoughts of Larry out of her mind since she’d cut ties with him and quit. “How are things going for him?”
“The newscaster, that lady with the bob, she interviewed Isabella about Larry’s paintings and his missing wife,” Meghan explained. “Apparently, Isabella has been searching high and low for signs of his wife. What’s her name?”
“Henrietta Johannes.”
“Yes, exactly. In any case, there’s still no sign of her.
Isabella and the newscaster talked about how much easier it was to disappear like that back in 1975.
The newscaster asked if Isabella had talked to the cops, and Isabella said she had.
Apparently, Henrietta went missing on the first night of Larry’s very first exhibition.
Can you believe that? What strange timing. ”
Oriana was sure she could believe almost anything when it came to this case.
“But Isabella said that the exhibition was a total failure,” Meghan said, “because Larry had a wild freak-out that night when his wife didn’t show up.
He started yelling at servers, art buyers, and anyone who got close to him.
He took off, out of his mind. They don’t know what happened after that.
My guess is that he went to the cops or the bus station or something.
But, you know, I guess it could all be an act?
Maybe he wanted to pretend he didn’t know where she was? ”
“It’s hard to say,” Oriana said gently. She felt herself drifting off to sleep.
“Oh, but they talked about you on the news,” Meghan said.
“They talked about how it was you who brought Henrietta to everyone’s attention.
Larry’s paintings are still selling, but not the new ones he’s trying to push out there.
His most recent agent dropped him, and he’s taking to social media to promote his brand on his own.
I don’t think he’s going to have a lot of luck. ”
Oriana rubbed her forehead, imagining a man of eighty attempting social media for the first time. It was not a pretty sight.
“They said you’re a hero for what you did,” Meghan said. “You stepped away from Larry when you realized he was a fraud. You said aloud what mattered. It’s a rare thing.”
Oriana groaned and rolled onto her side.
A headache churned at the back of her neck and threatened to overtake her.
She wanted to tell Meghan never to bring up Larry Johannes again.
She didn’t want to think about him; she didn’t want to think about the wife who’d hopefully escaped him. She had to focus on the here and now.
And then, a text message appeared from that same unknown number that had called her several times.
UNKNOWN: Hi. I know you don’t know me, but I have information about Henrietta Johannes. Please call me back when you get the chance.
Oriana sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. “Meghan,” she said. “I have to go.”
“What’s going on?” Meghan demanded.
“I’ll explain when I know myself,” she said. She told her sister she loved her, hung up, and dialed the number immediately. She prayed it wasn’t a prank.