Chapter 46
Present Day
Lincoln and I have been texting every day since our impromptu lunch date, and we’ve had a couple of pseudo-dates in between:
meeting for coffee on my deck and making a joint run to Costco. All of it is fun and sweet and, most of all, light-years away
from everything I thought I wanted from Lincoln when I first met him.
It’s a little scary how easily he’s slotted right into my life— our lives, if I include Hallie in the count.
Today Lincoln invited me to join him at the Spoleto Festival downtown, and I jumped at the chance. Not only is it a major
annual art event for the city, but his old boss, the big bad villain who once stole him away from me, Marcus Wilson, has a
feature.
Lincoln and I weave through the crowd hand in hand, making our way to the gallery. He looks back to check on me, adorable
in his sunglasses and casual shorts and tee. I’m wearing a flowy dress, perfect for the thick summer heat.
“Want to stop for a drink?” Lincoln asks.
I nod, and we dip into a nearby café. The blast of cool air-conditioning is like a balm. “We could also just stay here.” I
fan myself.
Lincoln laughs. “There’s no pressure, Mack. I can meet you back here afterward, but Marcus would kill me if I no-showed his exhibition.”
I shake my head. “I was just playing. Plus, I’ve got to meet the man responsible for my heartache all those years ago.”
“Ah, there it is.” Lincoln slides up to the counter and orders something iced.
He turns to me, and I order an iced tea with a shot of lemonade, a drink made for a day like today. We grab the cold cups
and head back to the street. Within minutes sweat beads along my lower back.
“Here,” Lincoln says. “The Winship Gallery, this is it.”
I follow Lincoln into the small entryway and up the narrow creaky steps to the second level. We pass into a large open space,
painted bright white from the wood plank floors to the tall ceilings. Photographs are displayed in small groupings, but Lincoln
sees what he’s looking for right off the bat.
He strides up to a man wearing black jeans and a black shirt with curly gray hair cut short. He lights up and reaches out
a hand to Lincoln. They shake and pull into a hug.
“I think I see a few more grays since I last saw you,” Lincoln says.
Marcus laughs. “Probably from everything you put me through over the years.”
Lincoln smiles and turns to me. “This is Mack Bishop, my guest for today.”
I smile to myself at how delicately he introduces me. There are so many land mines surrounding who I am to him, but still, he gracefully finds his way. I reach out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Marcus. I’ve heard wonderful things.”
Lincoln turns back to Marcus. “Remember that girl I mentioned the first year?”
Marcus groans. “ No. No more Mack.” He stops and his eyes fall on me as he registers. “This is the Mack?”
I raise my hands. “Guilty.”
Marcus whistles and rubs at his beard. “Lordy was this boy torn up about you. Almost talked himself out of staying a few times.”
“Which, if I remember correctly, you were mostly ok with at the time,” Lincoln says.
“Eh,” Marcus says. “I wasn’t too happy about accepting you under the circumstances we did—not that I’d ever mention it when
you were an apprentice—but I got over it with how good your work became.”
My brow knits and I look at Lincoln, whose expression matches mine.
“What circumstances?” I ask.
Lincoln looks at me. “I swear I don’t know. What do you mean, Marcus?”
“Oh.” The word is heavy like an admission. “You didn’t know. Looks like I’ve put my foot in it...”
Lincoln reaches out and takes Marcus’s arm as he starts to back away. “What is it?”
Marcus lets out a breath. “There was a sizable donation from a family friend of yours. They asked that we review your portfolio
for immediate admission to the program, and the president and top fundraiser went over my head. Your work was good, but if
you hadn’t been shuffled up—”
“Family friend?” Lincoln asks. “No, there must’ve been a mistake. My family never had a friend with money to donate to art
programs, let alone sums enough to sway an admissions council.”
“That’s all I know,” Marcus says. “I didn’t have much of a say in it.”
“Who was it? What was the name?” Lincoln demands.
The realization hits me first, and it’s like watching an accident happen, knowing this is the last moment he’ll be without the scar of knowing.
“I just don’t see how...” Lincoln’s voice drifts into silence as he stands unmoving, thinking.
I clear my throat. “Marcus, was it a woman who donated?”
He nods. “I believe so, if memory serves.”
Lincoln’s head whips in my direction, and I see the understanding hit him. “Magnolia Bishop.”
Marcus nods slowly. “I wouldn’t have remembered on my own, but now that you say it, it rings a bell.”
I look at Lincoln regretfully, knowing I’ll see only feelings I’d never wish upon him shape his expression. “I’m so sorry.
I had no idea. Not now, not before.”
Lincoln’s eyes are wild, and he bops around like he’s shaken. He stops and looks at Marcus. “You’re here tomorrow?”
Marcus nods.
“Mind if I come back then?” Lincoln asks.
“Of course,” Marcus says kindly. “I’m really sorry, man. I had no idea you didn’t know or I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”
I step in. “I’m glad you told us. Magnolia is my mother, and it seems she was in the business of arranging marriages back
then. We’ll see you tomorrow, Marcus.”
I take Lincoln’s hand and lead him, shell-shocked, down the stairs and back out onto the street. I walk us toward the studio,
and with each step the fury toward my mother grows. I’ve always known how she plays me, how so often she’s toyed with my life
like it’s her own personal dollhouse, like I’m her property. Even the small steps forward we’ve taken recently now look like
something to be suspicious of in my mind’s eye.
By the time I reach the studio doors, my hands shake as I strug gle with the keys in the lock. Finally I pop it open and enter, flipping on the lights.
I go straight to the coffee maker, and even though it’s far too hot for hot coffee, I fill the reservoir and dump in the grinds
because it’s the only way I know how to take care of Lincoln. My mother shouldn’t mess with my life, but I’d take it ten thousand
times over before letting her have a single touch on his.
Lincoln slumps onto the sofa, and once I’m sure the door is locked, I bring him a water from the fridge. I unscrew the cap
and hand it to him.
“I’m so sorry, Linc. She had no right to meddle.”
He looks at me. “Am I a fraud?”
I fight the tears sitting at the back of my throat. Even though I know, rationally, that I’m not, I feel responsible for this.
For bringing her into his life.
I shake my head. “You just got a taste of the rich-kid life.”
Lincoln lets out a sigh. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s what all the wealthy families do—buy their kids’ spots. Which just makes it tougher for good, regular kids, just like
you were, to get in.”
“I’ve always prided myself on the fact that I made this career happen, that it was hard work and dedication that got me here,”
he says.
I reach out and take his arm. “And it did. Magnolia’s check gave you a shot to play the game. It didn’t give you your skills
or your work ethic or your amazing eye or your charisma that charmed so many reporters into covering you.”
Lincoln pulls a smile that fades at once. Like he’s trying too hard.
“I’m sorry I brought this on you,” I say. “It’s bad enough how she interferes in my life—even to this day—but you?” I look at him and every feeling I’ve ever had of fondness, of longing, of admiration, of love—it floods me. He’s better than Magnolia. Probably better than me too. “You’re all the good parts, Lincoln, and she could never spoil you.”
I rest my hand on his knee and let it sit.
Eventually he lets out a loud breath. “And now I’m thinking about everything else that set in motion.” Lincoln wraps a hand
over mine. “She broke us up, didn’t she?”
My insides curl at the words laid out in front of me because I’ve been fighting considering that part. It’s the only real
reason she’d throw money at the situation: It was a problem to be fixed. We, he and I together, had to be undone, and that
was the clean way to do it. All she had to do was write a check and make her wishes known.
The rest took care of itself.
“My mother...” I swallow the tears. But they sting, and they burn, and they cut at my insides in a way I haven’t felt before.
“This is probably the worst thing she’s ever done to me.”
I let my tears run in this quiet, still half-dark studio, the place where I’ve made my dreams come true, and outside on the
street, the party rages on. I hear the happy chatter and the too-loud laughter of people who haven’t just suffered a deep
betrayal.
Magnolia has always thought she’s known best for me; all the withholding and the stepping in was done in the name of what’s best for me . Until now, I couldn’t know, not for certain, whether she got it right or wrong.
I pull myself up straight. “I would’ve gone with you,” I say. “If you’d asked, I would’ve gone.”
Lincoln’s arms are around me as he rubs gentle circles on my back. “I should’ve stayed.”
“No.” I wipe my tears. “If anything about Magnolia’s meddling works, it’s the part where you got your shot. But whatever she thought about keeping us apart, she was dead wrong. I mean, look at us.”
Lincoln’s hand is on my cheek. He cups my face and says, “I’m sticking around this time. For as long as you’ll let me.”
I manage a wet smile. “You’re sure, considering I still can’t divorce my mother?”
“I hate to tempt fate, but I think we’ve seen the worst of her,” he says, then lays a gentle kiss on my forehead.
We stay here, recovering in the studio, for a while. Eventually I go get the coffeepot, and by then it’s actually cool enough
to enjoy. I am calm by the time we push out of the doors and lock them behind us. Well, at least on the outside.
I still have fury like a fireball ready to unleash on Magnolia, my mother dearest. I’m an expert by now at keeping my true
feelings for her in check; it’s just that now, I know I’m ready for that to change.
In the quiet I have counted every wonderful part to this man at my side—including his willingness to forgive, his patience—and
I’ve come to one clear conclusion: I’m done with Magnolia’s rules. I will not stuff down my anger. I will not smile and pretend
like my mother’s transgression against him, her betrayal of me, too, is any version of all right. I will no longer be in the
business of saving face for the Bishop women.
I’ve got an overdue temper and an axe to grind; I have no reservations about letting this get messy.
I’m hitting the road in the morning.
To go give my mother a piece of my mind.