Chapter 54 Jordan
Jordan
Now
The mood board was missing, and now it’s back, leaning against the wall under the window in plain view.
It’s enough to make me wonder if I really am losing my mind.
But who cares, because it’s a chance to redeem myself.
I snatch it up and dash back through the apartment, ride the elevator down to the lobby, and all but run to the library, only to find that the lights are off, the chairs have been rearranged in a circle around the table, and there’s no sign of Catherine, her husband, or Dr. Burgess.
I rush back through the lobby and to the room they want to turn into a coffee shop, hoping they’ll be there, but the door is locked.
When I return to the lobby, it’s empty. Angelo is missing, and the sign is out on his desk.
Considering how quiet this building is, he sure does spend a lot of time helping other residents, most of whom I’ve never even seen.
When I step back into the elevator, I’m tempted to go up to the penthouse to show the magically reappeared mood board to Catherine and Ron.
But I don’t, because I’m afraid it would only make things worse if I showed up out of breath and flustered, banging on their door in a frantic attempt to redeem myself.
Instead, I press the button for the fourth floor.
Maybe I’ll text Catherine once I get back to the apartment, ask her to stop by whenever she has a minute.
That way, I won’t look quite so desperate.
But I don’t get that far.
Because when I step out of the elevator, I notice the painting hanging on the wall opposite.
It should be an impressionist rendering of the Glendale, which Catherine claimed her great-grandfather had brought back from Paris in the late 1800s after meeting édouard Manet at the Folies-Bergère and providing him with a photo.
But it isn’t.
The painting that now confronts me is about the most grotesque piece of art I’ve ever seen: a woman wearing a pale-blue dress, tears streaming down her face as she tries to hold on to an infant, arms lifted toward the sky as the back half of the child disintegrates into a swarm of bees that spiral up into a dark and angry sky.
I recoil. Who would put such a dreadful piece of art here, and more to the point, why?
I’m overcome by a flash of memory from my trip to the basement.
Of the stuffed toy in the shape of a bee.
Surely this must be coincidence. Horrified, I can’t stand to look at this dreadful painting a moment longer.
I tear my gaze away and hurry into the apartment.
Only then can I breathe again, because the painting has stirred in me a deep sense of loss.
The woman trying desperately to keep her baby even as the dream of motherhood crumbles through her fingers.
If whoever replaced the previous artwork knew anything of my history, they would never have put such an awful canvas right outside my door.
I spend what’s left of the afternoon in a funk.
The day’s events hang over me like a dark cloud.
The missing, then not missing mood board and my discovery of that hideous painting.
I have a feeling there’s an uncomfortable conversation with Catherine in my future, because I have no intention of letting that painting stay there.
I read for a while, but it’s hard to concentrate.
After several chapters, when I realize that I haven’t absorbed a single word, I give up.
At one point I pick up the phone and call Dawn, hoping she’ll come over and keep me company, but she doesn’t answer.
Disappointed, I turn on the TV, then sit on the couch with a cup of herbal tea and a pack of cookies I find in the pantry.
That evening, when Sam arrives home from work, I’m expecting him to mention the new painting in the hallway, but he doesn’t. Instead, he saunters into the living room as if nothing is wrong and throws his coat over the back of a chair. “I hear your presentation went well.”
I look up, confused. “Where did you hear that?”
“Catherine. I ran into her in the lobby, and she told me how pleased everyone was with your work and how excited they are to have you on the team. She said your concept was ‘fresh and unique.’ Those were her exact words. It’ll make a great quote for your website. I guess you found the mood board, huh?”
“No, I didn’t. I had to make a new one at the last minute using leftover scraps, and it was awful. I completely screwed up. Regardless of what Catherine told you, no one was impressed. She made her disappointment abundantly clear.”
“That’s weird. But hey, sounds like she’s changed her mind, so it’s all good.”
“Yeah. Especially since the original mood board was right here when I got back.”
Sam looks at me, and I can tell what he’s thinking. That I somehow missed it and freaked out. I lay those suspicions to rest before he can even voice the thought.
“Whoa. Easy there,” he exclaims once I’m finished. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t. And you should be happy. Catherine and the board liked your ideas. Even if you did misplace the original mood board, there’s no harm done.”
“I guess.” I struggle to inject even an ounce of enthusiasm into my reply.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you think? That painting opposite the elevator. Why would someone put a thing like that on the wall?”
“What painting? The one of the Glendale?”
“No.” I can’t believe he didn’t notice it. “The one that replaced it of the woman holding the disintegrating child. It’s creepy and gross and in poor taste, and I understand that no one here knows about my miscarriage, but—”
“Jordan, what are you talking about? The painting in the hallway is the same one that’s always been there.”
“No, it’s not. I’ll show you.” I jump up and head toward the foyer.
I pull the door open and step into the hallway, then come to a halt. Because he’s right. The painting of the Glendale hangs on the wall as if it never went anywhere.
“Well?” Sam is standing in the doorway.
“I swear, it was a different painting earlier.”
“Or you saw what you wanted to see.”
“Why would I want to see that?”
“You tell me.” Sam turns and goes back inside.
“Sam, wait.” I hurry after him. “Please, listen to me.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “This can’t go on.
You’re hearing babies in a building where there are none.
You somehow got locked in a storage cage, even though you had the padlock in your pocket.
A storage cage that contained an unused crib, I might add.
You lost that job with your mother’s friend Judy because you told her you were too busy, and you don’t remember doing it.
You’re seeing paintings that aren’t there of disintegrating babies.
I’m worried, Jordan. I know how much it hurt when we lost the baby.
We went through hell—both of us. But I thought we’d come out the other side.
That you were ready to accept what happened and move on. Now I’m not so sure.”
“This has nothing to do with the miscarriage,” I snap at him. “That was awful, and it almost tore us apart, but I’m better now.”
“Yet you’re hearing phantom babies and hallucinating moving toys,” Sam says. “Oh, and let’s not forget the mysterious disappearing mood board. This isn’t normal, Jordan. Maybe you need to start taking your meds again.”
“I’m not going back on those antidepressants. You know how they made me feel.”
“Then at least talk to your dad. He’ll know what to do.”
“I’m not doing that, either. This isn’t in my head, Sam. It’s real. Why won’t you believe me?”
“Because it doesn’t make sense. I’m right here in the apartment with you, and I haven’t seen or heard a thing.” Sam reaches out like he wants to comfort me.
I take a step back. “Don’t touch me. If you won’t listen to what I have to say, then I don’t want your pity.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“And you’re being an asshole.” I know that he’s not, but my frustration gets the better of me.
Because if the tables were turned and he was experiencing stuff like this, I’d like to think that I would believe him.
Instead, he doubts me and my mental stability, even though he’s supposed to be the one person who will always support me, through thick or thin.
Sam’s face is thunder. “I can’t deal with you right now.” He turns toward the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower. Maybe when I’m done, you’ll be more reasonable.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” My teacup is still on the coffee table.
I resist the urge to pick it up and throw it as Sam stalks off into the bedroom and slams the door.
After all, the cup hasn’t done anything wrong.
Instead, I pick it up and go to the kitchen, rinse it, then put it in the dishwasher, mostly because the alternative is to stand there stewing.
I hear Sam moving around in the bedroom, and then the shower running.
There’s a ding from Sam’s phone, which is sitting on the island.
I glance down in time to see a text message flash up on the lock screen, then disappear. But not before I’ve read it. And what it says sends a chill running through me.
Last night was fun. We should do it again soon.