Chapter 8 Nola #2
“I’ve worked at GoldenDesert for twenty years now and Mrs. Hutchings has commissioned two portraits during our time together. Three were done in her earlier years. She is interested in one more, so her collection will hold a total of six spanning the course of her life.”
“I have to say, I’m very flattered she reached out to me, but how did she find me? I’m not known in the art community as a portrait artist and you clearly did your homework on me before reaching out at all . . .” I let that hang.
“Of course. Mrs. Hutchings appreciates all kinds of art and since moving to White Pine, she’s become very enamored with a specific piece.” She tilts her head to the long wall opposite the windows. “That one over there.”
Callie and I both let out small gasps at the same time.
I had been so drawn to the view out the windows when we entered that I hadn’t taken in the whole room.
There, where Jacqueline directs our gazes, is one of the first paintings I did after I shifted gears.
It’s a landscape of the Sawtooth Mountains from Redfish Lake, a couple of hours north of the city.
With my world shattered, my career gone, and no idea what to do next, I’d strapped Emma into her booster seat, and we’d driven to the lake one fall day seven years ago.
While she played in the sand and dipped her feet in the water, I’d set up an easel and tried to clear my mind.
My art teachers had always said landscapes weren’t my calling, but I’d thrown caution to the wind. I’d needed a change.
The piece on the wall was what came of that day and the following weeks. Once I finished, I asked my former intern, Callie, who had recently graduated and joined me full-time, if she could find a buyer. That sale was the beginning of Nola Adler Art’s rebirth.
“Callie, did you know?” I ask her quietly.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “No. The sale had been to a private buyer. They must have donated it.”
“Mrs. Hutchings loves the movement, the colors, the way you captured the light over the lake and make the fall leaves come to life on the mountains, blowing in the breeze. She had me track you down, which led to us learning about . . . well, your career. And while you have never done portraits, she had to meet you. Her hope is to find an artist that will understand how to make her immortal on the canvas.”
“Immortal?”
“You met her at Bingo, correct?”
“Yes. She’s lovely.”
Jaqueline looks at me like I don’t quite comprehend who Stella is.
“‘Lovely’ is a term used to describe a grandmother who bakes cookies and waxes poetic about the first snowfall of the season. What Stella Hutchings is is larger than life and this portrait will be her legacy. The artist who works with her will have to understand her—not just the Stella Hutchings of now but the entirety of who she always has been.”
I put off doing too much research on Stella over the weekend, wanting to let her present herself to me and get a feel for how she envisioned this piece of art before I brought any preconceived notions or ideas to the table. But I solidly reply, “I understand.”
“Where is she?!” Stella’s recognizable voice bellows from the hallway.
“Mrs. Hutchings!” a woman calls out.
Jacqueline’s eyes go wide and she pushes away from the table, phone in hand, as Stella comes wildly into the dining room.
She’s wearing a bright blue kaftan with a gray shawl around her shoulders.
In place of the composed and sophisticated woman I met three days ago stands a woman with fire in her eyes and hair askew.
“There you are!” she sneers at her assistant. “I have been waiting for you for forty-five minutes. We can’t miss this plane—Nicholas is waiting for us at home!”
Jacqueline doesn’t appear frazzled by her employer’s behavior. She turns to the nurse who’s rushing after Stella, calmly placing her hand on Stella’s shoulders. Stella bumps it off with a hostile glare and the nurse sighs.
“Have you called Max?” Jacqueline asks the nurse softly.
“Five minutes ago. He’s on his way,” the nurse responds.
“When did this start?”
“Right after you left her. She was getting herself ready and I was giving her meds when she—”
“I told you I don’t need meds. I’m healthy as a horse.” Stella lifts her chin in defiance. “Jacqueline! Nicholas expects us home by dinner. I have my meeting tomorrow at the country club with the event planners. Have you arranged the menu for the gala yet?”
We watch the interaction between Jacqueline and Stella and something’s wrong.
Not just wrong but it’s clear we are intruding.
I’m about to tell Callie we should go and give them privacy when Max strides into the room, immediately going to his grandma.
He’s in his P.E. joggers and hoodie, worry etched on his face.
She takes one look at him and breaks into an arrogant smile.
“And there he is. My only grandson. Finally break away from playing your little game and chasing pretty tail to come visit ol’ Stella?
” She waves him away and his face pinches briefly before going stoic again.
“Well, you’re too late! I finally found Jacqueline!
She’s been hiding from me, but we are about to get on the plane and head home.
Your grandfather and I have dinner reservations tonight at Melvyn’s and I want to get back in time to change and fix my hair. ”
Max reaches out to take Stella’s hand, wrapping it softly in his, and leads her to an accent chair close by. Everybody gives him space as he sits her down and takes a knee, placing himself in front of her.
She rolls her eyes and huffs out, “I don’t have time for this, Maxford.”
“Hey, Grandma,” he says, gently. His face goes soft as he puts his other hand on her leg. “I’m here.”
They stay that way for a full minute, quietly watching one another, before Stella’s face releases the tension it’s been holding and confusion clouds her eyes. When she speaks, her voice sounds tiny and scared. “Maxford?”
He gives her a small smile and squeezes her hand. “Yes, Grandma, it’s me, Max. I’ve got you, okay?”
“Where are your sisters? Why aren’t they here?”
“They’re in L.A. and Vienna. That’s where they work.” His voice is smooth and patient, like this is information they’ve gone over many times.
“Oh.” She wrinkles her brow. “Where’s your grandfather?”
Max’s face falls a little. “Grandma, he passed away five years ago.”
“Hm” is all she says. It’s at that moment she notices her surroundings and looks around. “Where am I? This isn’t Palm Springs.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You live in Boise, Idaho, now.” His voice is still soft and slow, trying to soothe his distressed grandmother. “You live across the hall from Opal. Remember her?”
“How could I forget my best friend?” she says with oomph in her voice again.
“Opal’s at the doctor’s right now but she’ll be back in a little bit, okay? I’ll stay with you as long as you need.” He adjusts how he’s kneeling and she takes that moment to glance around again.
“Maxford,” she says, her voice wobbling.
“Yes?”
“Who’s that? Why does she seem familiar?
” She looks at me and he follows her gaze.
That’s when he realizes I’ve witnessed everything that’s just happened.
Like a deer in headlights, he doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Stella scrunches her face, tying her thoughts together before asking, “Are you two in love?”