Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JAY
Jay opened his eyes. In less than a nanosecond, he remembered everything that had happened a few hours earlier.
He turned toward Claire and found her curled up with her back to him.
The sheet and blanket barely covered her shoulder, leaving much of her bare back exposed.
He longed to touch her, to feel the silkiness of her skin, but he let her sleep.
Carefully, he slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers.
Then he tiptoed out of the bedroom, taking his glasses and cell phone with him.
He shuffled into the kitchen and started the coffee maker.
Then he pulled everything he needed for French toast from the refrigerator.
He had just started scrambling eggs in a small stainless-steel bowl when his cell phone erupted with alerts.
Jay wiped his hands on his boxers and grabbed the phone, finding half a dozen texts from Rob.
Rob: Call me
Rob: ASAP
Rob: I’m not fucking around
Rob: I need to talk to you right now
Rob: Some shit is going down
Jay stood frozen, reading the texts again and again.
He knew one thing with absolute certainty: Rob Bradley was no alarmist. Jay fought hard not to become one himself.
He checked the time. Seven-thirty here. Eleven-thirty back home.
Had something happened to Abby? One of the kids?
He tapped the Favorites icon and placed the call. Rob answered on the first ring.
“Are you alone? Or somewhere you can talk?” Rob asked.
“Claire’s here but she’s asleep. What the hell is going on?”
“Abby and I were invited to a private showing at an art gallery tonight. A friend of Abby’s had tickets.
She couldn’t make it, so she gave them to us.
The artist is a director here in L.A. who was injured in a car wreck.
Evidently he’s a very private guy, so this event was a big deal.
Jim fucking Carrey was there. Matt Damon and his wife.
Anyway, he claims some woman showed up out of the blue right after he wrecked.
Keep in mind this was late at night, and he was pinned in his car.
The woman called 911 and then stayed with him until help arrived.
He doesn’t know the woman’s name, but he remembers her face and painted this portrait of her.
Tonight was his big gallery event, featuring this exact painting.
He’s trying to find this woman to give her the painting for saving his life. ”
“Okay,” Jay said, confused. “So?”
“Jay. I know the woman in the painting. I know her as well as I know you or Abby or my kids. But no one knows her better than you.”
“Who is it?” he asked.
“It’s Hope.”
Jay limbs turned to lead weights. He had to press his body against the counter for stability. Had he heard wrong? Surely Rob was confused. Or saw something in this painting that just wasn’t there.
“How do you know for sure that it’s Hope?” Jay asked after several beats of silence.
“I’ll let you be the judge, and then you tell me.”
A few seconds later, a text from Rob containing an image popped up.
Jay’s finger hovered above the message for a moment.
What if it is Hope? Then what? He clicked on the text and in an instant the photo filled his screen.
Waves of heat rushed through his entire body as he gazed at the beautiful face of his deceased wife, a swirl of muted colors on canvas.
“Jay? Did you get it?” Rob asked. “It’s showing it was delivered on my end.”
“I-I got it,” Jay stammered.
“I know this must be a shock. I mean, what are the goddamn odds here?”
Jay didn’t respond, lost inside the photo of the painting.
This man captured every line and curve of her face, as if Hope had posed for him for hours on end.
But how? He said she saved him, but there were no other cars involved in Hope’s accident.
Police and paramedics said she was killed instantly.
“So, here’s the deal,” Rob said. “I spoke to this guy’s assistant—a really nice young woman named Liz.
I told her I might know someone who knows the woman in the painting, heavy on the word might.
She understood exactly where I was coming from.
I have her number and can text it to you if you want.
Obviously, this is your rodeo, to ride out how you see fit.
I just know that for whatever reason, Abby and I were placed in that gallery tonight to find the painting. ”
“Did you meet the artist?” Jay asked. “Or talk to him at all?”
“No, he was swarmed the whole night. Like I said, there were A-listers about. We drank some champagne, popped back a few canapes, and strolled around, pretending we knew stuff about art. This guy is actually pretty good. Of course, what do I know?”
Robert John Bradley, you know way more than you ever give yourself credit for.
“Think I should reach out?” Jay asked.
“I can’t answer that,” Rob said. “Maybe reach out to Dr. Larson. He might have some good insights.”
“That’s a really good idea,” Jay paused. “Go ahead and send me the contact info for this Liz person. I’m gonna email Dr. Larson right now.”