“Triumphant,” Dries crowed. He pointed at a small group at the head of the room. “More newspapermen. The exhibit will be written up in every paper.”

A tall, severe gentleman interrupted us. “Mevrouw Van Gogh. Might I trouble you to discuss an exhibit later this year in Pulchri?”

And it went on and on. Gallery owners sought me out. Before the day finished, I placed ten paintings with Buffa in Amsterdam, and twenty with Oldenzeel in Rotterdam.

I’d never wished more for Enrique Gaspar’s time machine. I wanted to travel back for Vincent and Theo and whisk them forward. But as much as I wished to do so, I couldn’t gift this moment to them.

Yet when I lifted my son into my arms and turned slowly around in the middle of the room, showing Wil the paintings and the crowd that admired them, I felt both Theo and his brother with me.

I hugged my little son closer. “See, Wil? This is your Uncle Vincent.”

And then, when nobody was looking, I whispered to the ceiling, “I love you, my dearest. Be at peace.”

Epilogue

Emsley

On the first anniversary of Violet’s death, Strena, Bram, his grandfather, and I drove out to the cemetery. My father and mother were coming down from Hartford on the weekend and were visiting Violet then. After Mom told me over the phone that they were coming, I asked her if she would still want to know who her father was—if it was possible to find out.

She told me she had to think about it.

As I was trying to figure out what I’d say if her final answer was yes, a cab pulled up and Diya jumped out with a large bouquet. She was working for a startup in Silicon Valley that was disrupting the fast-food industry. I’d kept in touch with her. Life was too short to hold grudges. She was in New York for a meeting, and when she called and invited me to coffee an hour earlier, I told her where I was going. She asked if she could come along.

Trey had transformed Ludington’s LA into a political polling company, then renamed it after himself. Ludington’s New York was the only Ludington’s, and I liked it that way.

I’d let Trey go. I had everything I wanted.

Bram Sr. stepped forward and laid a bouquet of red roses on the grave. “Senator Wertheim had a fatal heart attack. I thought you’d like to know. He didn’t suffer enough. I’d say kick his sorry ass, my dear Violet, if you run into him, but I know you went to different places.”