50. Winds Of Change
Chapter fifty
Winds Of Change
Maggie
Still shivering from my walk to work this morning, I gripped my coffee cup trying to soak in every ounce of warmth. It was only October and I was already freezing. What would I do when we had lake-effect snow every day in December with negative windchills?
Just thinking about the winter weather to come made me shudder. I wasn’t going to make it. Even the two days a week I’d negotiated with Brenda to come into the office was too much. I was so glad that the rest of the week I’d be working from home.
Having time away from work, I felt freer than I ever had in my life.
I was a creative spirit who didn’t want to be trapped at the office for sixteen-hour days.
Instead, I worked late into the night on my photos, took road trips to new rural towns to take more photos, and focused more on my artistic career than how to take aesthetically pleasing photos of products.
After a month of this new arrangement where I worked from home more than in the office, I had thirty photos that I was almost ready to show Karpathia. Once I was brave enough to show her, then maybe in another month or two, I could consider a gallery show of my own.
Even my time at work felt better. I tried a few different light options in a shoot that turned out really well.
“These are better than before,” Brenda said, barging into my office with a print one afternoon. “How does taking photos of barns make these commercial shots better?”
I snickered. “I’m flexing my creative muscles more. It’s going to affect all of my work and benefit you. Remember?”
She huffed. “You’re going to ask for more money, aren’t you?”
“It crossed my mind, but I’m worth it,” I replied.
With a snarl, Brenda stomped out of my office. It felt good to be appreciated as a creative and not just another worker bee. I let that high get me through the rest of the day until I was settled in with Rusty at home.
And boy had Rusty settled into my apartment.
I had a cat tree in the living room, cat toys all over the floor, two scratching posts for his claws, and had special bowls made with his name on them.
He felt comfortable enough to sprawl all over anything left on any surface of the house.
Not even the top of the refrigerator was safe from his curious little paws.
If it wasn’t for the top shelf of my closet that I could close, I’d have nowhere safe.
The next day, I was settled at the kitchen counter, working on adjusting the lighting in a shot of a storm, when a knock at the door startled me.
Checking the peephole, I squealed and threw open the door.
“Kar, you’re reading my mind. I was just thinking about you,” I said, ushering Karpathia inside. “What are you doing here?”
With her orange curls bouncing, she pulled me into a hug. “It’s been too long. And I heard you weren’t at Kent more than part-time now, so I wanted to see.”
I laughed. “See what?”
“See that you were here. See your sweet face. And see your progress, of course. You’re working on your art, aren’t you?” she asked, moving into the room and gasping. “And I had to visit my favorite nephew.”
With his usual saunter, Rusty headed right for her. She bent down to give him a rub, cooing at him in French.
“He was a gift from Mom,” I said, trailing off as I got misty-eyed. “I truly believe that.”
Rusty pushed his head against Karpathia’s hand, always such a slut for rubs and compliments in any language.
Taking a seat on the barstool at my island, I smiled watching them together.
“So, where are the photos?” she asked.
“I’ve done some soul-searching and a lot of editing. So, I’m almost ready to show you, but not yet. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”
“Nope. Not good enough,” she said. “You’ll never be done primping them. This is that tough love thing again,” she said, rising. “Show me now.”
I froze. “What? They’re not ready yet.”
She tipped her chin to me. “You let me be the judge of that, no?”
When I hesitated, Karpathia came over to me. With her gentle hand on my arm, she gave me a dose of what I needed most.
“If I don’t push you now, you’ll never be ready.
You’re at a crossroads, cher, I can feel it.
You’ve had months to work on these and fidgeted with all the settings until you found the perfect combination.
But holding them back now will not be progress.
Giving you more time will make you lose the momentum you had.
So, I’m going to make you uncomfortable today so you thrive forever. Understand?”
Taking a few deep breaths, I nodded. I did understand, but it didn’t mean I felt better about it. Without further stalling, I connected my laptop to my desk with a giant monitor then pulled up a separate folder of the photos I’d liked the most.
Playing the slideshow on the slowest motion, I let it page through my folder of shots for Karpathia as I paced my living room.
She stood still, staring at the screen silently as I nibbled on my thumbnail, terrified of what she would say.
It was only a few steps; my place was small.
Maybe 800 square feet. But the point was that I couldn’t watch her face.
I couldn’t see the disappointment when she saw that they really weren’t ready.
It had been over twenty minutes when she hadn’t said a word before I couldn’t take it anymore. Spinning around, I faced her, trying to figure out what she was thinking.
My voice was tense. “What does the silence mean?”
Karpathia didn’t say a word, but rather strode to the French doors that led to the balcony, gripping the doorframe as stared out at the city for a few moments. When she turned to face me, tears blurred her vision.
“Kar?” My voice quivered. “You’re scaring me.”
Her hand flew to her chest as her head lowered and the tears fell. “Oh, cher. I’m overcome.”
I had seen a lot of reactions to art by Karpathia over the years, from rage to quiet reflection and even some tears, but this was how she reacted to my art?
When her eyes lifted to mine, they were filled with resolve. “You’re back, cher, and better than ever. There’s so much grief in your work right now, and as much as I know losing your mother is a part of it, there’s so much more.”
Glancing away, I stopped the slideshow. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m finally feeling good about my work/art balance. I even created a family for myself with Wyatt and his bodyguards. We have dinner a few times a week at least. I never did that before, so I’m growing and thriving.”
She forced a smile. “You’re compensating for a lack of family, sure, but there’s a deeper grief in your work. The loss of true love. What happened with that man in the picture? The one you said was from back home? Did you see him?”
I flopped on the sofa, pulling up my legs and grabbing a throw pillow to hug. “Yeah, I saw him.”
Rusty hopped up, bumping his head on my arm until I gave him an ear scratch.
Karpathia crossed the room and sat in the chair next to me. “Broke your heart, did he?”
“No,” I argued. “He can’t hurt me anymore. I don’t feel anything for him at all.”
Leaning back in her chair, she studied me. “We all need love in our lives. Some need it from different people over different stages of life. But you’re one of those who needs your swan. You need a mate for life. What happened, cher?”
I let Rusty climb into my lap. “We connected in some ways but never spoke about things enough to connect in our heads, maybe. I don’t know.
He was my first, I was his, but we never talked about what it meant.
He friend-zoned me, my mom died, and at the end of things, I just felt used.
” I buried my head in Rusty’s soft fur. “I loved him my whole life, I probably still do, but he never said he felt the same. I gave him chance after chance, but nothing. So, after Mom died, Easton came and took care of me while I was too grief-stricken to function. Paul abandoned me entirely, Easton said he was my boyfriend, I guess, and for some reason, Paul believed him, so I left.”
“You left?” she asked incredulously. “Didn’t you have a talk first? Or share what was in your heart?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t. Paul didn’t feel the same. And I didn’t even know about Easton calling himself my boyfriend until I talked to my aunt and uncle a week later. Things are only coming back to me a little at a time from the day of the wake. I was in such a fog of grief.”
“But surely you told Paul at some point what he meant to you,” she prompted.
“Why should I tell him how I feel when he never said anything but wanting to be my friend? Every time I tried to tell him how much I … cared, he threw friendship back in my face.”
“Oh, Maggie, you have so much to learn about love.” She glanced out the window, then returned with a wistful look in her eye. “Love that is true isn’t something you keep to yourself. It’s something you share and give freely whether it’s returned or not.”
There was something in her face that I hadn’t ever seen before. “Kar?”
She gave a soft smile. “We’ve all faced unrequited love at one point or another. Even me.” Pausing, she brushed it away as if it were nothing. “It was years ago. Wrong place, wrong time, but at least I made it known. I’ll always be proud of myself for being honest.”
“I’m so sorry.”
It wasn’t enough, but it was all I could say.
“I don’t regret a thing.” Her smile widened. “He will always hold a special place in my heart. The point is that I understand what you’re going through. I also know that your man, Paul, came to Chicago before you went home.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“He came to my gallery opening the day you and Easton came together,” she said, standing. “If he saw you two together back then, it could be possible that he thought you two were dating before you went home.”
I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. “He never said anything.”