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.You were meant to be together and yet you weren’t.”“Hey—life goes on.But I’m gonna miss you too.How ’bout an art lesson before you leave me?”“Sure,” Cara smiled.“Remember all the paintings by Filippo Lippi we saw in Italy?”“I remember.”“Lippi was an orphan who was taken in by a monastery and raised to be a friar.Problem was that he was an artist.Not just some painting monk, a real artist—the kind driven by passion.He couldn’t possibly remain pure.His sexual escapades were legendary.He was painting a portrait of a young lady under the care of nuns, and one day he ran off with her.They had a child together, a child that would become another famous artist.Lippi lived a very interesting life, captured by pirates, got into all kinds of trouble.Cara, let us hope that we never become true artists, just lovers of art.”“Hm—I guess true greatness is overrated anyways.”“Speaking of great, one day remind me to tell you about Caravaggio, the greatest Italian painter of all—a murderer and a madman.That’ll be the final lesson.”Chapter Thirty OneCara graduated from RISD and entered the field of graphic design.She painted in her spare time, eventually producing a body of work worth exhibiting.One rainy summer night, her paintings were glowing inside a South Beach gallery—the softly lit walls flickering as bright flashes of lightning exploded outside.“Such a shame Cara—this is like rain on your wedding day—I’m surprised the turnout is this good,” said Denise, the gallery owner.Cara smiled as she walked away to be with the guests.“Are you kidding? —my first solo show—I’m not complaining.”Adriana was there, refusing the champagne—as pleased as any mother could be, thankful that Cara had found a way to balance her love for art with a practical career.At that moment, Cara felt vindicated—the years of self-obsession had not been fruitless.The price list sheets were as flattering as the smiles, which made her appreciate how much favor life had shown her after the summer of storms.A thin and handsome Alex stepped in out of the rain, closing an umbrella to reveal Joyce, his stunning fiancé—unveiling her with almost the same amount of pride that he had in his sister—grinning and turning his head to absorb the stories on canvas.Cara winked at him, and nothing else needed to be said.Ling was admiring one of the paintings.She drank in the composition, meditating on colors and shadows.She had come for nothing less than to devour the symbols and patterns.The painting of a young girl climbing a mountain of hearts glistened with varnish, the cool gray-blue skies being conquered by love as hot as lava.A quick glance and a smile from Ling made the evening a success, regardless of whether or not a single painting would be sold.Ling was not the only person whose friendship had been the result of knowing Diego—Priscilla was also there with her husband—a man who didn’t look like the type to travel the world with women waiting at every port.Priscilla looked with astonishment at a matted frame.“Hey—what’s that doing here?” she laughed.The sketch that Diego had made of Priscilla bore the label: Priscilla, by Diego Alonso – pencil on paper.“Can you excuse us for a moment,” Cara smiled at the husband, pulling Priscilla away to whisper privately.“I don’t think any of Diego’s work had ever been in a show before—so I just had to get one of his pieces in—as a tribute.”“So you’re the other woman,” Ling cut in.“Oh!” Priscilla moaned with realization.“He loved you so much—he wanted nothing to do with me.”Ling smiled and raised her champagne glass.“Diego was a good man—let’s toast to him.”As the glasses rang, through them Cara saw a vision—past the many people filling the gallery, a shadowy figure emerged from the heavy downpour.The quiet party ambiance was interrupted by the sound of wind and rain—and then with the closing of the door there was soft music and conversation once more.At first, Cara thought it almost comical—absurd.Ling noticed an expression she had never seen before in Cara.Priscilla understood everything as she turned around to see a familiar looking man placing his wet umbrella into a brass stand.“Hold—this—please,” Cara said as she handed Priscilla her champagne glass without looking at her.Cara walked cautiously toward the man as if she were meeting the author of her heart.“Hi Matt—Thanks so much for being here.Is Sheryl coming?” Cara said listening to her own words as if they were being spoken in a dream.“Oh—I’m not with her anymore.” Matt said without any sorrow.He grinned.“It was a di-sas-ter.”“You’re not seeing anyone?”“No—Cara—I’m not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]