Chapter 40
The car ride from Carcen to the Burgundy Gallery may as well have been halfway around the world. Somehow we’ve all managed to cram into Luc’s car, André’s broad shoulders boxing Henry against the passenger side window. They’re uncomfortable and squashed, but it didn’t stop either of them from the grin they are sporting. I tune out the conversation happening behind me. Sweat beads at the base of my neck, my heart pounds so hard it almost jumps out of my chest, and I pretty much white-knuckle the seat belt the entire time. Luc rests his hand on my knee, stopping it from bouncing.
“You good?” he asks.
“Just peachy.” I subtly wipe my palms on my pants before placing them back on my lap. I’m anything but. And staring out the car window isn’t helping my already spinning head, marinating in regret and shame. The last time I did something like this, it ended in a spectacular failure.
“I am so excited for you, Aurora.” Madeline reaches across the front console to squeeze my shoulder. My eyes flick to meet Henry’s in the rearview mirror, the muscles in his cheeks working hard to keep the giant smile in place. André keeps uttering over and over, “We knew you could do it.” I’d since learned that André had helped Luc to enter the painting into the competition and keep it all a secret.
“Thank you.” Heat touches my cheeks as my free hand covers hers. I can’t accurately describe the mix of emotions stirring within me with each mile we drive closer to the venue, and having all my friends behind me already made me feel like I’d won.
Luc pulls off the shoulder of the road and drives through a much larger town than Carcen. Both sides of the brick road are lined with parked cars. Luc’s hand never lets mine go as he easily glides his car between the small streets and turns down a gravel road, dust kicking up behind us in a giant cloud. He stops the car, parking it next to a tree a bit away from the others. A new set of butterflies take flight in my stomach as Luc turns the car off.
We’re here.
There is no turning back now. Madeline’s hand falls from my shoulder as we exit the car.
“Thank god,” André whines as he slides across the seats and closes the door behind him. I roll my eyes but grin at the completely “André” comment.
“You’re telling me. Would it kill you to not man spread your legs? I’m an old man, my knees hurt,” Henry gripes.
“I can’t help it they’re so big. Gotta keep the boys comfortable.” He gestures to his crotch.
“Do you need a doctor?” Madeline turns to André, her eyes slowly blinking.
“No, why?”
“I’m pretty sure when your testicles enlarge, it’s a sign of some sort of infection, or maybe you might need your prostate examined.”
All three men wince at the mention of a prostate examination.
“No.” André shakes his head.
“Oh, good to know, so you will keep your legs closed on the drive home, then?”
Henry and Luc laugh. “She’s got you there, son.” Henry pats André’s shoulder as they exit the car.
I take a deep breath and steady my beating heart as I reach for the door handle. I can do this. I exit the safety of the car into the brisque autumn air, tuck my hands into my pockets, and use my elbow to close the car door. From the other side of the car, Luc clicks the button to lock the car.
“Ready?” I ask a waiting André, Henry, and Madeline, but more for myself. Am I ready to walk in through those doors and see the painting that Luc and André picked out to enter?
Am I ready to experience another rejection that led me to leave my home?
Am I ready to take that leap?
A giant toothy grin breaks out on Henry’s face as he walks over to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders.
Yes. I am.
“You have made me the proudest man today, Aurora.” He leads me into the giant church-like building. I lean my head against his chest. The truth is, it’s me who’s honored to have him care for me the way he does.
“I don’t know how we are going to fit all of us plus the trophy and Aurora’s painting in the car on the way home,” André remarks as he falls into step beside us.
“That’s if I win.” I run my hand over my dad’s tattoo. I admire André’s optimism. Misplaced as it may be. As much as I’m putting on a brave face, my coat pockets are hiding the way my hands shake. Since receiving the letter, I’d done some heavy research into this competition. It is one of the toughest in the region. I’m amazed that I’d even made it to the finals, but it also only added to the pressure. As much as I would love to, I honestly don’t think I have a chance of winning or even coming runner-up.
“Aurora, I will be shocked if you don’t win,” Henry states, making my eyes well up. I’ve always grown up believing blood to be thicker than water, but with my new-found family gathered around me, I knew the truth is blood has nothing to do with it. It’s what’s in the person’s heart that matters over the blood pumping through it. Aside from my dad, no one has believed my work is worth anything. The struggle to sell my pieces, all the art gallery rejections only emphasizing that. My gaze roams around into the eyes of André, Henry, Madeline, and Luc—I realize I’m more capable than ever. Luc pulls open the door and lets me walk in first as the others follow behind. Inside the venue, the intense heat was the first thing to greet us. I instantly start to undress all my layers. My overcoat, scarf, and hat go on one of the gold hooks by the wall, while the others do the same.
“Hello,” comes a woman’s voice from behind, startling me.
“Hi.” I offer a tight smile back at her.
“Is one of you Aurora Allard?” the woman asks, her gaze meeting each of ours.
“Ah, I am.” I lift my hand in the air. I should probably sound more confident, especially when I’m introducing myself.
“Perfect, you are the last of the finalists to arrive. Here is your name tag.” She hands me a little gold badge with the same coat of arms as the letter and my name written underneath in bold black writing.
“Thank you.” I tentatively take the badge from the woman and clip it through my cashmere turtleneck top.
“You ready?” Luc asks as he takes my hand and leads me farther down the foyer into a large, circular room already filled with people. To the right of the room, I spot my painting in a thick, beautifully carved frame. My portrait of Louis and Dad is the last painting in the row of five. The slight hum of the room licks across my skin, making it tight and pull across my bones—there are more people here than I’d expected. With my cheeks pulled taut in the most dazzling fake smile I can muster, I scan the crowd and take in the people chattering. The glint of four other badges catches my eye.
Those must be the other finalists.
The other finalists move through the crowd easily, chatting with patrons. Their paintings are on their own respective easels, each one stunning in its own right. I have my first oh shit moment of the night.
Does my painting have enough to win this? Or am I about to disappoint my family?
The tink of a fork hitting the side of a champagne glass silences the room. Luc takes my hand and tucks it in the crook of his elbow. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the same woman who gave me my badge earlier stands at the front of the room next to the five finalist paintings. “If I can have your attention, please,” she says, and the last few voices die off. “Thank you all for being here today. I don’t think I speak for myself when I say the caliber of entries this year exceeded our judges’ expectations.”
My fingernails dig into Luc’s thick sweater.
This seems like a fever dream.
“If I could please get the finalists to come stand next to their work,” she announces. Luc gives my hand a squeeze in support, before letting it go, and with a soft kiss on my lips, I join the other finalists next to my painting. My shoulders tense as I stand next to the other four artists, worried my monochrome portrait doesn’t stand a chance against their works.
“If we could have each of the artists speak a little bit about their portraits before the judges deliberate,” the woman continues. I stare at Luc wide eyed; my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my throat hurting, my voice not wanting to cooperate. I didn’t think I was going to be speaking in front of the crowd today. I have become very comfortable speaking in French over the last few months, but I still mix up my words sometimes. Luckily my fear of speaking isn’t crippling. I catch a passing waiter with a tray full of champagne and curse myself for not grabbing one earlier. As the four artists continue to introduce their work, I run through the background of my painting, making sure I have the right words in French to express myself—until it’s finally my turn.
The heat from all the eyes in the crowd pulls me from my thoughts. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My voice doesn’t work, no matter how hard I will a sound to come from my lips.
Shit.
I rub my hand over my dad’s tattoo, and my eyes flick to Luc, Madeline, André, and Henry—who gives me a thumbs-up. I clear my throat. “Good afternoon.” I step forward, my voice sounds weird even to my own ears. “My name is Aurora Allard, and I am privileged to present my painting titled Through the Lens.” I gesture to the painting next to me, the words suddenly flowing from my lips easily. “I was inspired to capture the utter sadness that one can experience that isn’t seen through the lens with which others perceive their lives. I wanted to show that everyone has a story that is different in perspective to what you see through your lens on their life.” After I finish talking, I stand back as the room explodes in cheers. I don’t care about anyone else, though. My eyes are firmly fixed on my family. This time the grin on my lips is real as I watch them clap and whistle.
A laugh bubbles from a well deep in my chest at Henry whistling loudly over the crowd as André shouts, “Woo, Aurora.” My eyes catch Luc’s as he winks at me and mouths, I love you. My fingers twitch as I resist the urge to blow him a kiss. I just hope I can at least place so the others won’t be too disappointed in me.