CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Revenge is a Cold Dish

The next day was a perfect blend of reminding Brian exactly what he had lost when he broke my heart, and what he could have if he wanted it back again. Every time Nick took a picture of us, I felt closer and closer to seeing the truth — that I was right. That Brian regretted turning his back on his painting, the city, me.

I took Nick’s growing scowl as a very good sign.

By the time we walked into the exhibition, my nerves were back in sixteen year old girl mode — that moment right before the first kiss, when you don’t know if it will happen, if you’ll clunk noses, if you’ll be disappointed. Your heart races, your palms are sweaty. You’re hot. You’re cold.

Nick had peeled off, at my signal, to get in position for a great shot of Brian’s reaction. Brian was oblivious. We’d been talking about pianos and antiques, and how some of the shops on Fifth Avenue had bought from him to create their window displays. “I have a knack for knowing what old mirror or chest will enhance a window setting.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I answered, but in truth, my palms were sweating and my heart was racing and the blood rush in my eardrums made him hard to hear.

“I love this gallery,” I said. “I hear they have an exhibit from a Long Island man.”

“Where in Long Island? Maybe I know him.”

“I didn’t hear,” I lied, knowing that as soon as we turned the corner he would be greeted by his paintings, his mother, and the people his mother had invited.

He took my arm, and guided me into a corner. “Diana. Wait. I have something I need to say.”

“You should save it for later, tonight. When we’re alone.” I tried to move past him, into the gallery.

He stopped me. “I was a fool.”

The buzzing in my ears grew louder, but I tried to play it cool. “Yes. You were.”

“I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand you were afraid?”

“I was afraid.” He smiled, and I noticed there was nothing stronger than affection tinged with apology in his eyes. “I was afraid you would manage to talk me into doing something I really didn’t want to do.”

“Of course you did. We’d talked about it for months. We had the plan all set. All you needed to do was get on that train.”

“You talked about it for months. And I listened. It mattered so much to you.”

“It mattered to you, too.”

He shook his head and took my hands in his. “You mattered to me.”

“You broke my heart and abandoned me because I mattered to you?” Even my parents hadn’t tried that malarky on each other.

His grip on my hands tightened. “I was a fool. I should have faced you. I should have let you know sooner.”

“Like when you conveniently didn’t pack your suitcase?”

“I was afraid, if I told you, that you wouldn’t go. And I didn’t want to stand in the way of your dream.”

I felt hot, and then cold. “So…what you’re saying is that you decided to do a preemptive heartbreak to avoid killing one of my dreams?”

“I knew you’d understand.” He smiled in relief and pulled me into a bear hug. A friendly bear hug. No spark at all. “Now that the air is cleared, let’s go see this gallery you love.” What was wrong with me that I killed all the sparks before they could turn into something that would burn permanently warm and strong?

I registered the disaster that was about to happen too late. He rounded the corner before I could stop him. He looked puzzled, for a moment, as he saw the first canvas, hanging in the place of honor. A large fire-hearted canvas full of the swift dark passion of youth. His steps slowed. “What did you say that artist’s name was?”

I picked up a brochure, “Here, I’m sure they’ve written all about him in this.”

He didn’t take the brochure, because he noticed that his mother was standing there, beaming at him. And then his breath caught when he looked from face to face, and saw a sea of people he recognized.

And it was a sea of people, which took my breath away. His mother had outdone herself on getting folks to come out and validate him as an artist. Apparently the people of Smithtown did know how to get into the city when it was important. I could see the artbeat reporter Tina had arranged for busily going from one guest to another, writing notes in double time. The gallery owner would owe me one.

Brian did a slow spin, taking in the walls covered with his work. When he looked back at me, his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

It was bad enough I’d given him a showing he really didn’t want, I could not let him cry in front of his friends. I said the first thing I thought of to brace him and shock those tears back inside. “Your mother helped me get all this arranged.”

As if freed by my words, his mother moved in to embrace him. He hugged her and raised his hand in a shy wave to the crowd. “Fancy meeting you here.”

One minute, the day was just Brian and me, the next it was Brian and everyone who loved him, with me on the edge to watch.

I spotted Nick high up on a windy ramp, scowling, but dutifully getting pictures of the crowd from above. I picked my way through the people, noting how the crowd thinned the higher I went, until it was just Nick and me, alone, looking down on the crowd.

“He looks shellshocked.”

“Why wouldn’t he be? Look at all the people who came out for him.”

“Congratulations, may he show well, sell well, and be critically acclaimed.”

“The artist’s triumverate.” Call me a coward, but I wasn’t ready to admit that he’d been right about Brian.

“Exactly.” His scowl grew even darker.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be crowing. Didn’t you capture that definitive shot to prove me wrong yet?”

“Look.” He held out the camera to show me the pictures he’d been taking, before and after Brian had arrived. They were okay, but not amazing. “Olivia is right. I’m too safe. Ever since California. I can’t get an honest shot.”

“You got that one of me looking at Brian with my gut in my eyes.” I started to laugh at the absurd image but trailed off when he looked at me in misery.

“That was an accident, my finger hit the button twice. I was going to switch out lenses. I would have missed it if I’d done what I intended.”

It was time to put him out of his misery. “You don’t have to be afraid your photos will prove me right—”

He interrupted. “I really don’t want to be one of the guys who breaks your heart, Diana.”

My anger rose. First Brian telling me he hadn’t wanted to break my heart, and now Nick. All for my own good, of course. “Too late.” I snapped. “You already have.”

He looked dubious. “How? By wanting to see that page you have on me in your little black book? I—”

I knew this wasn’t the time or the place. At least, it wasn’t in The Plan to tell him now. But my gut said otherwise. “I dropped your key when I came over to your apartment.”

“You did?” He didn’t meet my eyes. “How can I be blamed for that?”

“You can’t. But you can be blamed for not giving it back to me.”

He started to protest but I held up my hand. “Don’t you dare pretend you didn’t see it. The keychain is that big rusty nail you twisted into a heart for me. I’ve always had your key, since the second day Emily and I moved into that apartment. I could have been an axe murderer and still you gave me your key.”

He looked like a man with nowhere to go and no intention of telling the truth.

I wasn’t going to let him get away with the lie he was clearly trying to scramble to come up with. “It’s okay. Your gut said not to give me the key back. I get it. So there you go. You broke my heart and here I am, still standing. Still asking you to do what you do so well.”

I leaned in and smiled, aware that we could be seen by everyone else in the gallery. I pretended to be teasing him. But my words were deadly serious. “Nick. Take the shots that prove you’re right and I’m wrong. Be honest. It’s what you do. It’s what I need you to do. Break my heart. I’ll give you your page. You can burn it, frame it, flush it. Whatever you want.”

He swapped out his lens and starting scanning the crowd. “So if I break your heart, you’ll break mine?”

“Fair’s fair.”

“So it is.” He lifted the camera and leaned over the parapet. Elbows braced, he started taking pictures. I could tell they were going to be honest. Just like I wanted.