Chapter 7
By Saturday, Marley was feeling a little weary. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Hunter, or Jack for that matter, but she just didn’t know how long she could keep up this pace of playing substitute mom and substitute sales clerk at the gallery while trying to paint. Still, she didn’t want to be selfish, and she knew that people were more important than things. She also knew that Hunter, though a pretty resilient girl, wasn’t ready to be dumped at the babysitter’s.
“Any word?” Marley asked Jack as she and Hunter came into the gallery. It was the changing of the guard, as she called it in her mind. She’d been picking up Hunter after school and keeping her for the afternoon, then dropping her off with Jack and remaining in the gallery until closing. This let Jack take Hunter home and have something of a normal evening—fixing dinner, doing homework, that sort of thing. But since today was Saturday, Marley had kept Hunter for the entire day.
“Nothing,” he told her with his usual sober smile.
“So how’s it going?” she asked, changing the focus from Hunter’s missing mom to the gallery.
“A little slow, thanks to the weather, I think. But I’m hoping it’ll pick up this weekend. I ran that ad in the paper this week.”
She nodded. “The holiday shopping coupon.”
“So how was your day?” he asked Hunter. As usual, she filled him in on the details of what they’d been doing, actually making it sound much more exciting than it had really been. But today it had been housework, after Marley had realized that her little beach bungalow was in dire need of a good scrubbing, and she wasn’t sure how Hunter could possibly glamorize that.
“I got to wash windows,” Hunter told him proudly. “But first Marley let me paint them with the soap. Then we took pictures of them. It was really cool.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe you should do that at my place too.”
“No way, Grandpa.” Hunter shook her head. “Your house is all windows.”
Marley shrugged. “See the price you pay for that gorgeous view, Jack?”
“Thanks for doing this,” he told her as he reached for his coat. “You know tonight we stay open until seven.”
“No problem,” she assured him. “I brought a book to read if it’s slow.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“And I’ve placed an ad for a new employee,” he said quietly. “I’ve been asking around.”
“You’re going to give someone else Mommy’s job?” Hunter asked with concerned eyes.
Jack looked stumped.
“I think your grandpa is just looking ahead to the holiday season,” Marley said quickly. “A lot of shops hire extra help at Christmastime. Right, Jack?”
“Exactly.” He nodded with a grateful expression.
“I can work when school gets out for Christmas,” Hunter offered. “Mrs. Hanford said we have a vacation.”
Marley and Jack exchanged glances—Marley knew they were both wondering how they’d keep Hunter occupied during her two-week winter break.
“You guys have a good evening,” Marley said as she put Hunter’s hood back over her head and ushered her toward the door. She leaned down and kissed the girl’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“And I’ll call you later tonight,” Jack called out as they left.
Marley liked being alone in the gallery. It was so quiet and calm, and Jack’s selection of jazz music was always soothing. And the smell in here—that gallery smell, a mixture of paints and wood scents and the spiced tea that Jack often brewed in the back room—was always familiar and comforting. Really, there were worse ways to spend a Saturday night, and she’d seen plenty of them in her lifetime.
Still, as she walked around, looking at the familiar pieces of art, including her own—which she wished would sell—she felt worried. Yes, this was a slow season, but her paintings were her livelihood. If she wasn’t creating them, increasing her stockpile, she wouldn’t have inventory to sell when things finally did pick up with the warmer weather and the tourists. But she was determined not to worry about that.
Just go with the moment, she’d been telling herself. Enjoy playing grandma. Help Hunter to feel loved and at home and not abandoned.
Even so, it was hard not to be seriously miffed with Jasmine at times. What kind of mother did this? Marley stared at one of Jasmine’s pieces—an intricate pen and ink drawing of the waterfront. “Make it marketable,” Jack had encouraged his daughter after Jasmine had complained that her other pieces weren’t selling. Of course, Marley understood why their typical clients were hesitant to hang pictures of dragons and demons and scary subjects on their walls, but, as with all things, Jasmine was determined to be her own free spirit. Marley could relate to that on some levels, but when one had a child to support, not all rules could be broken.
“Jasmine is like her mother,” Jack had told Marley last night when they’d talked on the phone after Hunter had gone to bed.
“How so?”
“Well, Diane was a free spirit too. We met in the late sixties, and she didn’t want to get married. She said marriage was too institutional and traditional,” he’d explained. “Even when she was pregnant with Jasmine, Diane was sure our love was enough to keep us together and make us a family. But I’m more old-fashioned, so I put my foot down and insisted that a baby needed a married set of parents.” He sighed. “I guess I just didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That she really didn’t want to be married. Diane left me when Jasmine was a little younger than Hunter.”
“Did she take Jasmine with her?”
“Not the first time. But after about a year, Diane decided she wanted Jasmine after all. Of course, that led to some pretty rough years and custody battles. Finally, the judge convinced Diane that if she really cared about her child, she’d continue to live in the Bay Area and share custody. And for a few years she did.”
“And then?”
“About the time Jasmine was hitting her turbulent teens, Diane decided to leave again.”
“With or without Jasmine?”
“This time we let Jasmine decide. She was only fifteen, and I know it was hard on her, but she finally decided to stay with me and finish school with her friends.” His laugh suggested he wasn’t amused. “I wasn’t sure whether I had won or lost that battle because, take it from me, parenting a rebellious teenage girl was no walk in the park.”
Marley wanted to point out that the situation with his daughter hadn’t improved a whole lot since then but controlled herself. No sense in rubbing it in. “Kids,” she said, as if that said it all.
“Yeah.”
“Even so, you gotta love ’em.”
“Agreed. And I shouldn’t be too surprised that Jasmine turned out like this. I do take some responsibility for it, but I think genetics has a bit to do with it as well. Like mother, like daughter.”
A long pause had followed, and Marley wanted to ask him if he had any kind of long-term plan for Hunter—in the event that Jasmine had bailed permanently—but it was late, and she was tired. She suspected that Jack was too. So they’d simply said good night and hung up.
Still, as Marley wandered aimlessly around the gallery, she wondered. What would Jack do if Jasmine really was done with her short stint of “motherhood”? Of course, she knew the answer to that—Jack, despite being sixty-four, would raise Hunter himself. And he would do an excellent job of it. Perhaps the real question was where Marley would fit into this new equation. Where would she want to fit in? The truth was, she wasn’t even sure.
The jingle of the bell on the door brought her back to reality and the present.
“Hello,” she called out in a friendly tone, making her way toward the front of the store. As usual, she tried to be congenial without being pushy, always keeping a comfortable distance between herself and a potential customer.
“Attractive gallery,” the man told her as he started to browse a wall of watercolors.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve heard good things about this place.”
“You’re not from around here?”
“No. I’m from Santa Barbara.”
“I’ll bet they’re having better weather down there.”
“You can say that again. I came up for my favorite niece’s wedding—it was Friday night—and I’ve never seen a soggier bunch of guests. Everyone got drenched getting from their cars to the reception. But like I told my niece, rain on your wedding day is good luck.”
“Good luck?” Marley wasn’t so sure.
“It’s true. Well, at least it used to be in some cultures. Rain meant good crops, as well as plenty of children.”
“I guess that makes sense.” She considered this as she tried to appear busy by wiping down the glass countertop by the cash register. Come to think of it, her wedding day, despite a forecast for rain, had been surprisingly sunny. That figured.
“Aha,” the man said with what sounded like appreciation. “Now these are really nice.”
She looked up, realizing that he was in the area where her pieces were displayed. Well, her paintings as well as several others. But, out of curiosity, she decided to wander on over. To her pleased surprise, he was staring at one of her works.
“I really like this.” He nodded with appreciation. “Is this a local artist?”
Marley felt her heart skipping a beat or two. “Uh, yes, as a matter of fact.”
“The use of color and composition is so fresh and lively. It makes me think of Gauguin and Tahiti, warm beaches, tropical places.” He chuckled. “I’m sure that would be appreciated around here—especially this time of year. But I’m guessing the artist has spent a considerable amount of time in the islands.”
Marley cleared her throat. “No, not actually.”
“Really?” He turned and looked curiously at her. “Are you sure about that?”
She smiled. “Actually, I’m positive.” She pointed to the placard with her name on it. “I’m Marley Jacobs.”
He looked surprised.
“Actually my legal name is still Marley Phelps, but I use my maiden name to paint with.”
“Really?” He studied her. “You painted these?”
“I did.”
“And you’ve never lived in the tropics?”
She shook her head. “Not because I never wanted to.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“What?”
“Go live somewhere tropical.” He smiled. “I’m sure a talented and successful artist like you could afford to live wherever she liked.”
She thought about this. “Well, the truth is, I’ve only just restarted my, uh, my art career. And I recently relocated to Clifden, which I have to say isn’t always this rainy and gloomy. In fact, I heard the sun will be out again tomorrow. Then you’ll see it’s actually quite beautiful here.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that.” He turned back to her paintings, folding his arms across his front and leaning onto his back leg. “My flight home is in the morning.”
Marley was unsure of what to do. Normally, if someone showed interest in a piece of art, she would be quick to talk about it, explaining a bit about the artist and the work. But in the case of her own art, she was suddenly tongue-tied. She had never been good at selling herself or her own work. Explaining the pieces felt awkward. Besides, it seemed obvious that the man already had a good understanding of art in general.
“I really like this,” he said quietly, almost as if talking to himself.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He turned to look at her again, almost as if he still wasn’t convinced this was indeed her work. “And you say you just recently restarted your art career?”
She nodded. “I’d been somewhat shut down, if you know what I mean, a bad marriage … and things. But then I got out, and once I really started painting, it’s like I couldn’t stop. I do my pieces extremely quickly—it’s like they’re in my head and I can hardly get the paint onto the canvas fast enough.” Just saying this gave her the urge to grab a paintbrush and get back to work. But because of helping with Hunter, she’d barely painted these past few days.
“Is this the only place your work is shown?”
“Yes. Well, other than the pieces that have already sold.” Feeling a bit more confidence, she continued. “A designer in town is quite fond of my work. So are some friends. So my art is making it onto some local walls.” She smiled uncomfortably.
“I’m not surprised.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to tell you something that might surprise you.”
“What’s that?”
“I think I could get you about five times as much for these paintings down in Santa Barbara.”
“Seriously?” She looked skeptically at him.
He just nodded. “I have a gallery—a rather nice little gallery in a great location.” He pointed to her largest painting. “In fact, I think I could almost add another zero to that price and many of my customers wouldn’t blink an eyelash.”
Marley blinked both eyes. “Really?”
He smiled at her. “In fact, case in point, I’ll buy this one from you tonight. I assume you can ship?”
“Yes—sure—no problem.”
He turned to look at the others. “In fact, I’ll buy them all.”
Marley felt slightly faint. “You will?”
He laughed. “Yes. And, mark my word, I won’t be sorry either.”
As she wrote up the large purchase, she felt lightheaded. For a moment, as she was running his credit card, she felt certain that this was a hoax. Either someone was secretly filming her for one of those “got you” reality shows or his card was stolen. But the transaction seemed to go through. Besides, she told herself, as she wrote down the shipping information, nothing could be sent until Monday. If Thomas Hatfield was a crook, they would know by then.
As she was finishing up, Thomas handed her a second business card. “You keep this one for yourself, Marley,” he told her. “And feel free to contact me if you’d like to do more business.” He glanced around Jack’s gallery. “If you like, we can cut out the middle man too.”
“Well, I … uh, thank you.”
He put his wallet back in his pocket. “And if you’d ever be interested in doing a special show, just give me a call, and we’ll see if we can set something up. Perhaps in the spring.” He reached out and shook her hand. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Marley Jacobs. I think you’re off to brilliant start in your art career.”
“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”
“Thank you,” he told her. “I’ll have to thank my niece for tipping me off about this gallery. Well worth my time.” Then, just like that, he left.
Marley felt like the slightest breeze could blow her over as she leaned onto the counter by the register for support. Had that really just happened? Was this for real? She actually opened the register again, just to pull out the receipt and stare at all those numbers, that total. She couldn’t believe it—but it was not a dream.
She looked at the clock and saw it wasn’t even seven yet, but she was tempted to close the gallery anyway. She wanted to call her friends and invite them to meet her in town to celebrate! No, she decided, she would be sensible and reliable. She would finish up her shift first and celebrate later. She’d tell Jack about this stroke of good fortune when they talked later tonight, after he’d had time to feed Hunter, spend some quality time with her, and get her tucked into bed. She wouldn’t interrupt him. In the meantime, Marley felt she’d burst if she didn’t tell someone right now.
She pulled out her phone and thought about her friends. Janie was probably out with Victor, and Abby and Paul sometimes took in a flick on Saturday evenings. So she decided to call Caroline first, quickly spilling her good news. Then, after Caroline let out an ear-splitting shriek, she insisted on meeting Marley in town for a celebratory dinner. “I needed an excuse to do something fun tonight.”
“It’ll be my treat,” Marley told her.
“And I’ll spring for the champagne,” Caroline promised.
It wasn’t until Marley was locking up the gallery that she began to wonder about that “extra zero” Thomas had mentioned earlier. Had he been serious? If he was serious, if he really did plan to mark her paintings up that much, had she been a fool to sell for such low prices? Although she’d never thought the prices were low before. Even so, she felt worried. What if she’d left money on the table? Marley usually thought of herself as fairly well grounded and realistic, but now she felt giddy and slightly crazy. Was that what fame and fortune did to a person? Not that she had either, but there was that elusive potential, that promise of something more. But what if she hadn’t been a very smart businesswoman about this whole thing?
Marley truly appreciated Jack on many levels, and she didn’t want to be greedy. But when she subtracted his gallery consignment fee, calculating her actual earnings on the paintings, she couldn’t help but wonder as she had so many times before, What if I’ve sold myself short?