Chapters (59)
- COVER
- About the Author
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- Acknowledgments
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
It was ridiculous, something cribbed from a noir movie. People didn’t do that in real life.
They do, though.
Vera’s eyes caught mine, and silence hung between us, neither one of them trying to set me straight. ‘Van Gogh,’ I said finally.
Vera laughed. ‘Yes, Van Gogh,’ she said, blinking too fast. ‘I didn’t tell you before because I wasn’t even sure John was on board.’ Her eyes flashed to her husband’s. ‘Are you?’
John bit his lip. ‘I don’t think I really have a choice anymore.’
Vera turned back to me. ‘Are you absolutely horrified?’
I paused. For the first time in ages, I held the power, not them. ‘Why are you telling me now?’
Vera spoke first: ‘You’re like family to us. We owe you the truth.’
I pursed my lips. ‘How would it even work?’
John scratched his chin. ‘You saw it, that hike isn’t far from my studio. Vera’s idea is, I would go there, rest until dark, then leave in the middle of the night, head up to Lake George. It’s not totally foolproof. Vera would have to get a car with plates that weren’t tied to me …’
Vera cut in. ‘I would manage it, don’t worry. There’s a guy, he’s an artist, but he has other ways of making money, too.’ She turned to me. ‘John would drive up that night, but I would stay. I could mourn, keep the gallery going, and try to sell his works. Eventually, I’d put the farmhouse and the cabin on the market, get out the little equity we have, hire someone to manage the gallery, and join John when things were in good shape and his death was accepted as a finality.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
‘I’m still me,’ Vera said. ‘I keep my contacts in Manhattan. I keep my career. John’s paintings would sell – especially after such a tragic accident. Sam Alby won’t have a damn thing left to do. He won’t have anyone to sue or threaten. I could even come back occasionally. How could he stop me?’
John ran his hands through his hair. ‘She’s right. As drastic as the idea is, as hesitant as I’ve been to accept it, it would be a fresh start.’
‘But what if someone recognizes you?’ I asked. ‘If your accident gets in the news?’