Love Story (17 page)

“You have a lot going on to deal with.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m almost twenty-seven—too young to have fucked up my life this much.”

Carolyn sat forward. Her warm brown gaze was intense. “That’s not nearly as bad as what I’ve seen in others, Elizabeita. What you want to work on is actually pretty tame.”

“Seriously?”
She heard the hope in her own voice. “So I’m not a lost cause?”

“Hardly. Now, start with the risk taking, since you mentioned it first.”

Nick didn’t know how he’d ended up in this place. He’d been home alone today, after Mellie went to school and his mother went shopping with a friend. So he took the subway to the Museum of Modern Art on West Fifty-Third Street. Elizabeita
had talked so much about the place. She hoped she might be the head curator here someday. The long, sleek glass-fronted structure, with the entrance at street level, was appropriate for some of the greatest pieces of modern art. He shook his head. Listen to him. Like he knew what he was talking about.

He walked through the revolving doors, paid his admission at the desk. He bypassed the museum
store, restaurant and art lab and took the elevator up to the viewing galleries. Since he knew nothing about the art, he got off where the elevator stopped for the other patrons and wandered around.

He went up to a large painting. Every color of the rainbow was included on the canvas in small, thick blotches. There was a big yellow circle that stood out in the middle. A lot of white. Touches
of black. He had no idea what the hell the thing meant. He stepped close so could read the name of the thing.

I’m not going to tell you the name of the painting. It’ll give you too much information.

Yeah, but she wasn’t here, was she? So he cheated. Its title was
Shimmering Substance.
Hell, that didn’t say much.

Next, he went in search of a Picasso and found several paintings of women,
which seemed to be his favorite choice of subject. Like the one Elizabeita had shown him. He walked down the row of them and stopped before one that intrigued him.

The subject was two women, he could tell that much. One was standing in front of a mirror. Ah, one was her reflection. But the two images were completely different. Nick struggled for the meaning of the work. People saw themselves
differently than they were, maybe. Or maybe people had different parts of their personalities. That was true of Lizzie/Elizabeita.

As he stared at the painting, he wondered if she’d gone to a therapist, as he’d suggested, to talk about her risk taking. In some ways, he wanted her to get rid of Lizzie, but in others, he kind of liked that side of her, without the extreme sports. Who was he
kidding? He didn’t care which person she was if he could only be with her!

Are you in love with her?
Luke had asked.

He hadn’t been sure then, but as he’d made his case to her brother, it clarified some things to him, and apparently, to Luke.
Sure sounds like love to me. Be careful with her, Casella. You were police, but I was Secret Service. I can have you taken care of.

Nick was
glad Elizabeita had somebody watching out for her.

After an hour of studying the art she loved, he slipped on the blue windbreaker he’d brought along and went outside to the sculpture gallery. He dropped down on a bench. Fall was coming as there was a bite to the air. Usually, he looked forward to it. Usually, he and Mellie raked, then trampled leaves and drank hot chocolate outside, the steam
curling into their chilly surroundings. Would he be doing those things with his next child? Elizabeita would probably let him. But he wanted her, too. To hold her close and watch their kids pick out pumpkins, open Christmas presents and find Easter eggs.

Damn it, he wasn’t giving up. He’d get her back and they’d do all of that together. He stood, and as he went out through the museum, he promised
the famous paintings he’d seen here that he’d wait for her--with the caveat that, if it went on too long, he’d take action. As he left, it was as if Picasso and Pollock had given him their blessings.

“That’s it. The last one hung.”

The security sensors had been installed, and the lighting adjusted, so her part was done. The museum administrators would prepare the opening.
Elizabeita stepped back from the paintings. She’d dreamed of having her own exhibit for so long, had gotten one she loved dearly, had planned and prepared for. She’d met Nick in the process.

“This turned out great,” Jay said. “Too bad Nick isn’t here to see the finished product.”

“I miss him,” Marianne put in. “Even though he was grouchy sometimes.”

“I miss him, too.” The words slipped
out, but of course they were true. “It’s almost four. Why don’t you two go home? And Marianne, good luck with the interview tomorrow morning.”

The young intern was applying for a job as an assistant to an assistant to an assistant curator. Since the emailer incident and Ellen’s leaving, promotions were in the works.

“Thanks, Elizabeita.”

“Did you hear I got my internship extended until
June?” Jay asked.

“No, I didn’t. Congratulations.”

The two left and Elizabeita locked the gallery door. She sat down on the bench in the middle of the exhibit. And of course, thought of Nick.

The first time he gave an opinion on modern art:
I could probably leave the paint on the wall, and people would think it was just another piece of modern art.

When she chided him that he would
have been different if he’d spent some time in a gallery:
Honey, all the art in the world wouldn’t have changed my life… Or my disposition.

Then there was the time he sat with her and studied Dali’s work and began to understand it. He’d been a quick learner. Too bad she was so slow on the uptake.

She’d seen Carolyn a few times, talked to her sisters and her mother. But still, she’d been
unable to commit to him. “Why is this so hard?” she said into the empty space.

She thought back on her life, how she’d lived it so far. And for the first time, she wondered if for all those years, she’d made everything harder than it needed to be. By choosing risky situations. By defying fate. By taking on everyone and everything she thought was wrong. And of course, by protecting herself
from tragedy, which could happen anytime.

Did she really want to live the rest of her years that way?

Picasso/Dali, Dali/Picasso: Two Legends Side-by-Side opened to much fanfare. The mayor of New York attended and congratulated Elizabeita. Other bigwig politicians saw it as an opportunity for supporting the arts, so they attended, too. At one time, kudos from these people
would have meant the world to her. But not tonight. Tonight, she was hoping to see someone else. To act on other things that were more important to her now.

She felt a tug behind her and turned to find Nia, Sal and Rafe had arrived.

Sal’s face was animated. “Aunt Lizzie, I’m so excited. I feel…I feel like he’s almost here. My namesake. Salvador Dali.”

That made her smile. A real one.
She squatted down in front of him. “He is, Sal. In many ways. A person’s art is who they are and what they value.”

“What’s a value?”

Elizabeita stood and Rafe scooped up Sal. “It’s what’s important to the artist. You know the paintings I did of you and your Mom?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They show what I value and what’s most important to me.”

Impulsively, Sal threw his arms around Rafe
and hugged him tightly. “I love you, too.”

Closing his eyes, Rafe held on to the boy who was his son now.

Yeah, that tableau was part of what
she
valued.

Luke came up to them. “Hey, baby, how are you?”

“It’s a great night. I’m so glad you came.”

“Kelsey didn’t. The baby’s cranky.” He gave her a knowing look. “Just wait.”

“In some ways, big brother, I can’t.”

“Hey, guess
who I saw on my way in?”

“Who?”

“Nick Casella.”

Her heart began to beat fast. Then she thought of something. “How do you even know who he is?”

“I found out from the girls. And paid him a little visit.”

“What? Luke, no.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I only punched him once.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. He’s no worse for wear. If it means anything, little
sister, he told me he’s in love with you.”

Her eyes widened and she went speechless.

Angling his head, Luke said, “Hey, there he is now. He’s got a kid. About Lexy’s and Amy’s ages. They might be playmates if you don’t blow this, kiddo.”

“Excuse me.” She walked away from her brother and crossed to where they stood in front of
Femme Dans Un Fauteuil.
Neither noticed her.

Mellie
held his hand. “I don’t get it, Dad. What does this one mean?”

Nick smiled down at his daughter. “This one is a portrayal of Picasso’s girlfriend.”

“I wish you had a girlfriend.”

Elizabeita couldn’t help herself. “I wish he did, too.”

Nick spun around. He’d dressed in a dark pinstriped suit with a white shirt and blue tie. Just the sight of him filled her heart with joy. “You do?”
he asked hoarsely.

“I do.”

“Hi, Elizabeita. Holy cow, what’d you do to your hair?”

She dropped down again. “Sometimes, I like to be different, but I never did my hair this way at work. Today, I decided some risks were worth taking, so I put burnt orange in it. In honor of Dali, who uses a lot of the color.”

“I like it.” She looked up at her father. “Dad, can I have streaks in my
hair, too?”

“Yeah, sometime we can try it.”

Mellie grasped her hands. “Are you coming to our house again, Elizabeita?”

“I’d like to.” She glanced at Nick. “I need an invitation, though.”

Nick just stared at her blankly, as if he wasn’t following what she was saying.

His mother came over to them and must have heard her last remark. “Hello, dear. I’m making Nick’s grandmother’s
recipe for sauce this weekend. How about Sunday?”

She turned to Irene. “Hi, there. And I’d love to come.”

Mellie leaned into Nick. “Maybe if she does, Daddy won’t be so sad anymore.”

“Mom, would you take Mellie to see another painting? I want to talk to Elizabeita.”

When they’d left, she and Nick stood facing each other among people murmuring about the show, her family across the
room and Dali and Picasso, of course.

And right in front of everybody, he took her hands and linked their fingers. “Does this mean what I think it does?”

“Maybe. Come with me.” She pivoted and, keeping hold of one hand, tugged him forward.

In minutes, they were in her office. The door was closed, the lights off, and slivers of moonlight peeked in through the blinds. Elizabeita threw
herself into his arms. “Kiss me. I can’t stand another minute of being away from you.”

Still shocked, Nick hiked her up, turned and pressed her against the wall. She kissed him hard, explored his mouth, but when her hands started to travel, he stopped her. “Baby, no, not here. This is your big night.”

She slid to the floor and sighed. “I know. We can’t. But God, Nick, I’ve been dying.
These pregnancy hormones are killing me.”

He met his forehead with hers. “I missed you, too.”

When she looked up at him, he caught his breath because of what he saw in her eyes. “That’s not all it is.”

“For me, either. I love you, Elizabeita.”

“I know. Luke told me.”

“What?
”

“I love you, too. And I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to get here. But I can take the risk
of being with you now. Marrying you, I hope. Either way, I want you in my life and our baby’s.”

“Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Marry me. Soon. So we don’t have a lot of explaining to do to Mellie.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Again he picked her up; this time, he whirled her around. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it. I finally do.”

He gazed at her hair. “By the way, I like the
streaks.”

“Yeah. I decided I didn’t want to get rid of Lizzie altogether.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I missed her, too.”

“I’ll be better about my safety, Nick. I promise.”

“I trust you will.”

There was a knock on the door. “Elizabeita, are you in there?”

“Y-yes, Delores.”

“I don’t see lights on.”

She flipped the switch.

“Someone’s out here who wants to meet you.
He claims to be a descendent of Salvador Dali.”

“I’ll be right there, Dee.”

Nick said, “Do you think that’s possible?”

“I think anything is, tonight.”

He kissed her again. “Okay, let’s go solve another mystery. It’s what brought us together, after all.”

Elizabeita turned off the lights and opened the door.

Nick took hold of her hand. “Did Dali have children?”

“None
with his wife. She had her own kids, though. Maybe the guy’s a descendant of hers.” She winked. “Or maybe he slipped up with somebody, like you did.”

Nick grazed his knuckles over her belly. “This wasn’t a slipup, Lizzie. This was a miracle. Just like our love story.”

“Love story? How romantic.”

“I can be. Especially with you.”

She leaned into him as they walked down the corridor.
Nick held her close to his side, where he planned to keep her.

Donuta Ludzecky, the matriarch of the family, affectionately known as
Matka
, sat in the front of the church next to her soon-to-be husband. She was dressed in beige lace, wore pretty shoes and held a bouquet of lilies Gerald had picked out himself. This was a happy day. The Ludzeckys had had many ups and downs since Donuta’s twin sons-in-law
were killed nearly five years ago. In this very church where the funerals had been held, she’d worried about her eight children’s reaction to the horrific event. But today, there was hope and good fortune on the horizon for all of them. She thanked the Lord looking down at them in His home. And, as the priest gave his talk before vows were taken, she took stock of each of them.