Chapter 15 #2
They are tucked away in the back, hidden under heavy tarps that have gathered a thick layer of dust. I’ve thought about holding a bonfire in the backyard, watching them turn to ash, but somehow, I could never bring myself to do it.
My hands shake as I pull off the tarp, coughing at the dust cloud that rises.
I drag my past work into the light, each one feeling heavier than the last. They’re my babies, my original vision.
“Hello there, Louisa.” My voice catches as I run my hand down Louisa May Alcott’s frame, feeling the familiar texture of the carved wood.
I love the way her mouth is oddly shaped, because she wrote famous stories.
I wanted the mouth to be the focus, to draw attention to the words that changed literature.
“And hello there, Nathaniel Hawthorne.” The words die on my lips as emotions shift and heave inside me.
Then I think about my favorite one. Edward Teach—Blackbeard. The one I sold before Todd knew about them.
This one hurts the most. Not only because it was my favorite one, but because Todd painted a version later.
He saw a sketch of my Blackbeard but not the final version.
Of course, everyone loved his version, praised his innovative vision.
Personally—even though I’m biased—I think mine are better, richer, with more depth, more to study. More soul.
That was the one painting I showed him, my heart full of trust and excitement.
Maybe if I’d shown him Louisa May Alcott instead, he might have thought my concept was too feminine for him, but something about a famous pirate inspired him to steal without thinking twice. Without a single moment of hesitation or regret.
I slump onto my stool, the metal cold against my legs, and stare at my past work. Time seems to stop as I fall into a stupor, overwhelmed with the task before me. To promote the artist who stole my work. To smile and pretend everything is fine while he basks in the success of my vision.
It felt like hours but was probably minutes when I hear the knock at the door to the shed. The sound makes me jump. “Mandy? It’s me, Barrie.”
I briefly panic, my heart racing, but then force myself to calm down. A part of me doesn’t care if she sees my paintings. She’s a friend and has been since the day she arrived in town in someone else’s wedding dress. If I can’t trust Barrie, who can I trust?
“Come on in.”
She enters, still wearing her party dress from the event. “We were worried. Well, I was worried, because, well, everything that happened. Then I saw you leave and told Seymour I’d find you and—”
Her words trail off as she takes in what’s in front of her. A part of me feels naked, exposed, but another part of me stands taller, wanting to shout out, Look at what I did. Look at what was taken from me.
“Wow,” she says, and I hear the genuine awe hiding in the shadows of that one word. “Did you do these or...”
“Or did Alexander Silvano?” The name comes out like venom, my usual ability to mask the bitterness completely gone. After tonight, after everything, I’m too raw to pretend.
Barrie walks closer. She’s still dressed up from the event, and she leans over, studying my work with genuine interest. Then she backs up, standing next to me.
“They’re brilliant, and I’m no art buff.
Did you paint these as a way to learn as a painter?
I swear they’re better than his. I suppose the hard part is coming up with the idea, though. ”
So much there.
So much sits behind her words. She’s right. It’s easier to follow through on an idea, to copy someone else’s work, than it is to come up with your own concept. I learned that lesson the hard way, paid for it with five years of buried creativity.
It would be so easy to lie. To tell her, that yes, I was just practicing, but maybe...it would be nice to tell someone else. To not carry this burden alone anymore. My shoulders ache from the weight of it.
And honestly? I’m tired of carrying it.
What happened, happened. Five years ago. I need to let it go. If only I could just punch Todd in the face and confront him, then maybe I could. Because five years ago, I was so shocked that I shut down. I didn’t confront. I just...disappeared.
The screech of metal against concrete makes me wince as Barrie drags a chair closer to me. She sits, her presence warm and steady beside me. A few minutes pass in silence. There’s so much I want to say, to tell her what happened, but the thoughts freeze in my throat. I can’t speak.
When she speaks, her voice is soft, caring, like she’s talking to a spooked animal. “What’s wrong?” More quiet moments pass. “I can feel your pain. It’s in the room. It’s written all over you right now.” She quickly adds, “But if you want to sit in silence together, that’s okay, too.”
Before I can stop myself, the words start coming.
It starts slowly, a drip, then they flow like a broken dam.
“I dated Todd Stane, better known as Alexander Silvano about five years ago. We were serious. Both artists. I don’t show my most personal work to just anyone.
But I’d been working on a series, and I’d already sold a painting.
Then, I showed Todd, and he was excited for us, for the future. ”
Barrie sucks in a breath and lays her hand on my arm, her touch gentle but grounding. “Oh, no,” she whispers.
“A few months later, he brought me to an art showing, to this big reveal.” My voice catches, the words thick in my throat.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I blink them back.
I’ve never told anyone what happened, but it feels right now.
“He was the artist. The main attraction was a Picasso-style painting of Phineas T. Barnum. The rest is history.”
“He didn’t,” she says, horror clear in her voice.
“It was awful. It’s still awful.”
She reaches over and hugs me, really hugs me, her arms warm and secure around me. She whispers, “This is for all the pain you’ve held inside for the past five years. This is for all the times you needed a hug.”
Fine, I’ll admit it. A few tears slip out, dampening her shoulder.
I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, and she lets me go. “Thanks. The worst part?”
“There’s more?”
I nod, my stomach churning. “Seymour chose him as the artist for the next gallery event. The one I have to plan.”