Читать книгу Retribution - Ruth Langan, Ruth Ryan Langan - Страница 7

Tuscany—1998

Sidney Brennan worked quickly to catch the last rays of the fading sunlight that fanned over the pale, sun-washed landscape. The distant villa, with its stucco walls and tiled roof, was framed with those long rows of grapevines that grew in such profusion. She mixed the paints on her palette until she had the perfect shade of light that tinted the hills surrounding the village in hues of terra-cotta and burnt umber.

At last she set down her paints and took a moment to assess her work. Though she’d captured the feeling of the place where she was staying, the painting didn’t move her. Instead, it left her feeling empty.

Like her life. Like her heart. Like her future.

The best that could be said about it was that it was merely adequate. There was no passion. No fire. Anyone looking at it would recognize this place. But would they feel the burning desire to live here? Did the painting call to them?

What was calling to her was food. She touched a hand to her middle and realized she’d forgotten to eat. Again. Picking up the canvas and paints, the easel and stool, she lugged them across the field and stowed them just inside the door of the villa before going to the kitchen in search of food. Half an hour later she sat on a little balcony and nibbled cheese and bread, washing it down with wine while she watched the sun set over those glorious, purple-hued hills.

This lovely old villa in Tuscany was to have been her haven while her heart healed and she immersed herself in the great passion of her life. She’d come to this place to follow a dream. Instead, it had become her prison. The solitude she had always enjoyed was now filled with utter loneliness. She was bedeviled with memories. Memories that had begun to affect her work. Though she was perfectly capable of capturing the light, the scenery, the feelings of this place, there was no denying that the work she was turning out was mediocre at best.

Sipping her wine she closed her eyes to the beauty around her and drifted back to the month before graduating college.

Silver mylar balloons floated above the hospital bed, anchored by an ice bucket painted with a happy face. Champagne and tulip glasses were cooling on ice. The groom-to-be, too weak to stand, lay surrounded by pillows. He wore a tuxedo jacket over his hospital gown, with a white rosebud pinned to his lapel. His mother and father stood beside the bed, exchanging anxious, worried looks.

The entire Brennan family was there. Judge Frank Brennan, who would perform the ceremony, stood beside his wife Alberta, whom everybody called Bert. Their daughter-in-law Charlotte, nicknamed Charley, stood with her daughters Emily, Hannah and Courtney, dressed in pale pink confections that made them look like prom queens. “The Wedding March” drifted over the intercom, and patients and their families stood in the doorways of their rooms to watch as the young bride, dressed in a traditional white-lace gown, walked slowly along the hallway on the arm of her father, Dr. Christopher Brennan. As they progressed to the groom’s bed, those on the cardiac floor who were mobile followed, until the room and the hallway outside were filled to over-flowing with curious onlookers.

The bride settled herself on the edge of the bed beside her husband-to-be, and handed her bouquet to her sister, Emily. When the music ended, the young couple joined hands.

The judge cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved.” He swallowed the lump that threatened, and forced himself to continue in a strong clear voice. “We are gathered together for the most joyous of occasions. The union of this man to this woman in holy matrimony.” He closed his book and glanced around. “Sidney and Curt have written their own ceremony, and ask only that we share this moment and offer our blessings.”

He nodded at the young couple, who were staring into each other’s eyes with matching looks of love and wonderment.

The groom-to-be spoke first in halting tones, pausing often for a wheezing breath. Beside him, a machine gave off blips that matched his erratic heartbeats.

“Sidney, the first time I saw you, with that red hair flowing down your back and those eyes as green as shamrocks, I was determined to get to know you. I figured I didn’t stand a chance, since you were the most popular student on campus. But after one meeting, I knew that I wanted more than friendship. I sensed that you were fated to be my wife.”

Sidney smiled. “I can top that. I fell in love with you before I even saw you. I remember seeing a bronze sculpture of three little ducklings. One had just fallen off a curb, and the other two were poised, as though to follow. I was so enchanted by the work, I stood there for an hour or more, marveling at the fact that I could almost feel their downy feathers and hear their little quacks of distress. And then a week later I met the artist, and I knew I’d met my soul mate.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “This isn’t exactly the way I’d planned our wedding. And certainly not what I’d hoped for our future. But I’m grateful for the time we’ve had.” He closed his eyes, as though even that small effort cost too much. “You’ve given my life meaning, Sidney. Just knowing you, loving you and knowing you love me, is enough for a lifetime.”

His hand released its grip on hers and fell limply at his side. Sidney leaned over to brush a kiss on his lips and felt the lack of response. At the same instant a machine beside the bed began emitting one long continuous beep. It was, to Sidney’s ears, the most chilling sound she’d ever heard.

Dr. Christopher Brennan shoved his way toward the bed, touching a hand to his patient’s chest. When he looked up, his eyes met his wife’s.

She put her arms around their daughter, gathering her close as Christopher gave a shake of his head. “I’m sorry. We thought there might be enough time. But it’s…too late.”

Curt’s mother was weeping while his father stood beside her, looking lost and helpless.

A nurse began hustling the others from the room.

Before the family could make their exit, Sidney caught her grandfather’s arm. “Wait, Poppie. Say the words. I need…I need to hear the words that would have made us husband and wife.”

The old man arched an eyebrow and glanced at his wife. At her little nod he cleared his throat. The book in his hand was forgotten. Now he would simply improvise, and hope he could find something to say that might ease the pain of the moment for all of them, but especially for this sweet, beloved granddaughter who had always seemed more delicate, more fragile than her sisters. The depth of her pain and grief tore at his heart.

“We have all witnessed the two of you pledge your love to one another. It matters not whether you had the opportunity to be joined as husband and wife, but rather that your intentions were true. It matters not that one heart stopped, for the other heart is strong enough for two. And so I declare, by the power vested in me, that the pledge made this day will be remembered by all assembled here, as it will be recorded, I’m sure, in both your hearts for all time.”

Sidney opened her eyes. The Tuscany landscape was now steeped in shadow. The air had grown cooler, forcing her to draw a shawl around her shoulders.

She’d come here because it had been Curt’s dream. It was all he’d talked about. Her graduation, their marriage and the year they would spend in this lush, lovely place, living in an ancient villa that belonged to a friend of the family, while studying the masters.

Poppie was fond of saying that plans were what people made while real life was happening around them.

The realization came slowly, like the light fading behind the craggy mountain peaks in the distance. She couldn’t go on living Curt’s dreams. She had to live her own. In the real world.

She needed to go home to her family. Back to Devil’s Cove. To paint the things she’d always loved. Nature. Wildlife. Especially waterfowl. Wasn’t that what had first attracted her to Curt? The fact that they shared a love of art, a love of waterfowl, and their delightful antics had been a special bond between them.

For the first time in a year she felt a stirring of hope. Of life. Curt was gone, and the pain of that loss would never leave her. But the dream lived on. Only now, it must be her dream. Her choice. Her future.

She must face it alone.