Chapter 9 #2
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to pry.”
But it was too late. Annie had already taken control of my computer, typing furiously. Seconds later, Delphine’s profile popped up. “I wrote it, which she didn’t like, but I thought I captured her pretty well. Not that it did any good.”
I peered over her shoulder to read.
@PaintItBlack
Age: 36
Sensitive artist with a Rock & Roll soul.
Photos
Delphine in her gallery at closing time, soft light falling across her cheekbone as she adjusts a frame—serious, focused, effortlessly striking.
Smiling gently over the rim of a wine glass on her patio, a cardigan draped around her shoulders, the garden blooming behind her.
In her potter’s overalls, wide-brimmed sun hat tilted low, reaching to snip a faded rose in the garden.
About Me
I’m an art gallery owner, ceramic artist, and single mother. My goal is to share unknown artists’ work with the world, one show at a time. My own ceramics are in galleries across the state, though I rarely mention it—despite my daughter insisting I should brag more.
You’ll often find me in my potter’s shed, wearing clay-streaked overalls. Other times I’m dressed elegantly for a day at my gallery. I’m sort of two people in that way—the one my family and friends know is artistic and a little Rock & Roll, while my public persona leans toward polished tastemaker.
Five years ago, my husband died suddenly. To say it was horrific and hard on both my daughter and me is an understatement. But with help from dear friends I now call family, we found a way forward.
My fourteen-year-old daughter is obsessed with sports (especially soccer). She tells me I can be a little too honest with people. I tell her I don’t see the point of relationships that aren’t based in honesty.
Neighbors often ask me why their plants are dying (usually overwatering).
My yard overflows with flowers, vegetables and herbs during the spring and summer.
I read thrillers until two in the morning, even though I know I’ll regret it.
As has been pointed out many times by my daughter, I have strong opinions about coffee, books, music, and movies.
But you don’t have to agree with me. Just have some of your own.
I’m looking for someone who appreciates strong, independent women and won’t try to tone me down.
Some of my favorite things
Dark chocolate with sea salt
Fresh flowers
80s rock ballads (especially on vinyl)
Thick, twisty novels
Pasta tossed with veggies from my garden
A glass of bold red wine
The smell of rain on warm stone
A perfectly set table
Sand between my toes
Prompts
My real-life superpower is growing the perfect peonies.
After work, you’ll find me in my garden, creating pottery in my shed, spending time with my daughter, or hanging out with friends.
I promise I won’t judge you if you have no idea how a kiln works—I’ll show you.
All-time favorite song: “Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler.
What’s your comfort movie—and will you share the popcorn?
Mine is Amélie. It’s my go-to when I want to lose myself in a story. Yes, I’ll share the popcorn—just don’t talk during the movie. I REALLY hate that.
“I was only fourteen when we put it up,” Annie said.
“I figured.”
“We thought it was such a good idea, but not for my mom.”
“It’s a good profile.”
“Would you click on her?” Annie asked.
“In a heartbeat,” I said, a little too quickly.
Annie’s mouth curved up just slightly into a smile. “You know Seraphina thinks you guys are perfect together.”
“I do know that. But your mother doesn’t agree.”
“For the record, I wish she did. The others do too. We all like you.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I said.
“Although, Robbie did his little compatibility test and you guys only came in at eighty-eighth percentile.”
“Madison already told me that,” I said.
Annie’s mouth dropped open. “She did? How did that come up?”
“I’m not sure, actually.”
“Robbie’s system is flawed,” Annie said.
“How so?”
“You weren’t on the app, so he had to guess at some data points. For example, if he saw how many things you have in common, like art and music, it probably would have skewed higher. And you both love thrillers, red wine, sad songs, and sand between your toes.”
“That’s all true,” I said, more pleased than I should have been.
“She loves to sleep too,” Annie said. “Sometimes she’ll go to bed at eight. Mostly in the winter when it’s super dark. It used to worry me because of my dad. He spent a lot of time in bed.”
“Different reason than your mom and me,” I said softly.
“Right.” She tugged on an earring absently, looking pensive. “I know you can’t say anything about the meeting last night, but was she okay? She wouldn’t talk about it when she got home, but I could tell she’d been crying. Mom doesn’t cry.”
“Oh, well, I can’t speak to that, of course. But, in general, I thought she seemed pretty good for her first time. She even shared a little.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Yes.” Why had she been crying? Thinking of her driving home in tears made my chest ache.
“Sometimes I wonder if she’s going to be okay.” Annie sighed, tracing the wood pattern on the desk with the tip of her finger. “I wish you could know how she was before. She laughed all the time. She always had music playing in the house. But it was like the music stopped when my dad died.”
I didn’t say anything, simply nodded.
“And I’m going to college in a few years, and I don’t know how it’s going to be for her, all alone at the house. Especially now that the others are married and moving on. I can see already they don’t have as much time as they used to. Now Esme’s going to have a baby, so she’ll be even busier.”
“Their bond’s pretty tight. I think they’ll be all right.”
“Do you miss your mom?” Annie asked after a second.
“Every day. But I feel her here. Besides her house, this was her favorite place in the world.”
“Did you always know you’d take it over after she died?”
“It’s been in my family for forty years, so I figured I’d be involved in some way.
The timing worked out well, with my retirement from the Navy and all.
It will sound odd, but being with her when she was sick—being there when she passed over to the other side—was a profound experience. I’m grateful I was there.”
“That must have been super hard though.”
“It’s hard to see anyone you love suffer, but the doctors kept her comfortable. And it gave us a chance to share memories and say whatever needed to be said. That was a gift.”
“I can’t even think about life without my mom.”
“My mother lived a long, satisfying life, full of gratitude and wonder about the world. She traveled. She read whatever she wished. She swam in the ocean. So when it was her time, she had no regrets. And when that’s the case, losing them is easier. With Nate, well, that wasn’t the case, obviously.”
“That makes sense.” She gestured toward my profile. “What’s that song? I never heard it before.”
“You want to hear it?”
She nodded.
“Let me get some headphones from the office,” I said. “You keep an eye on the customers.”
“Really?”
“You got this, kid.”
I quickly gathered my phone and headphones.
To my delight, Annie was helping someone pick out a book for their teen daughter by the time I returned.
After the customer had their book, I rang them up, teaching Annie how to use the system.
“Next customer’s all yours,” I said as the woman headed toward the door.
“Yay.”
“Okay, ready to listen?” I pulled up the song and handed her my noise cancelling headphones. She put them on and I hit play.
Watching her listen to it for the first time was one of the most extraordinary things I’d ever seen in my life.
At first she went very still. Then she sank into the chair behind the desk, closing her eyes, tapping her foot to the beat.
At one point, her hand moved to her chest, hovering above her heart. A lone tear traveled down her cheek.
She tore the headphones off, staring at me. “That’s the most beautiful song I’ve heard.”
I smiled. “I think so too.”
“It’s got so many layers to it,” she said.
“Agree. The more I listen to the lyrics, the more I discover.”
“Like a good book. Or poem.”
“Right. I’m really glad you enjoyed it.”
“I think I might put it on repeat later,” Annie said.
I was about to tell her to listen to all the many recorded versions, written by Stephin Merritt, but, before I could, the door swung open and Ms. Delphine Delacroix herself appeared.
She was dressed in a beige suit, her hair loose about her shoulders.
The woman made me wish I was a painter with the talent to capture her beauty.
I’d do nothing but paint her again and again.
Delphine stopped short upon seeing her daughter standing there with me.
“Annie, what are you doing here? I thought you were with Gillian and Grace for breakfast.”
“I was, but we finished early. Leo was fussy so Gillian wanted to get him home. He’s teething. I thought I’d buy a book on the way home, and I saw the help wanted sign in the window, and guess what? Dorian’s giving me a job.”