Deliver the Moon (6 page)

By the time the bus reached the U District, Louisa had unfastened and fastened the button on her blouse at least twenty times, finally leaving it
un
fastened. And she’d taken the clip out of her hair, letting the curls spill over her shoulders.

****

Gabe tried to look however it was he was supposed to look as his work was being discussed by the curator of Bowman Galleries.

He knew his slight smile must look forced, that he probably appeared bored or uncomfortable or both, but he couldn’t help it. He hated these things. All these strangers coming up to tell him how much they loved his work, ask where
does
he get his inspiration, what’s the
real
meaning of the photographs. Blah, blah, blah.

He did his best to be social as the curator ended his spiel and people began to mingle, to gather around Gabe for idle chit chat.

The bell on the front door tinkled and Gabe had to grin. Fifteen minutes into this thing, and someone was already bored enough to leave. He glanced to the front of the building to get a peek of the fortunate someone.

A thin and elegantly clad older woman shuffled through the door, her gnarled hand clutching a varnished wooden cane. Her hair was shockingly white, yet becoming and stylish in a smooth French twist on the back of her head. Something about her struck a familiar chord with Gabe, and he narrowed his eyes, watching her. He was about to head over to offer his assistance with the door, when someone entered the gallery behind her and took the old woman by the elbow.

Gabe’s breathing quickened.
Lou.
Which meant the older woman was Frannie. He waited for the door to open again and for Evan Payne to rear his perfectly-coifed head. But it didn’t. Louisa and Frannie were alone.

He couldn’t take his eyes off his ex-wife. Her hair was loose and long, the wild tresses a jumble of dark curls across her shoulders. A silky jade-colored blouse clung gracefully to her slight curves, disappearing into the band of a slim-fitting ivory skirt that stopped just above her knees.

Politely extracting himself from the group around him, Gabe made his way toward the two women. When he was close enough to see Louisa’s expression, he couldn’t help thinking that for someone who usually loved this type of thing, parties and the like, she certainly looked uncomfortable. He could guess why.

He sidled up to her and touched her sleeve. “Lou,” he greeted softly.

Her shoulders jerked. She looked up and him and smiled…sort of. “Hi, Gabriel. I hope we’re not too late.”

He waved at the crowd behind him. “Ah, you just missed an exhortation of my many talents and brilliance as a photographer.” He grinned down at her. “In other words, you didn’t miss a thing.” He turned to the elder woman. “Frannie Hargrove. Still a knockout, aren’t you?”

Gram’s blue eyes twinkled like an eighteen-year-old’s, and she held out her arms for a hug. “Oh, you lie like a fox. We both know I’m a wrinkled old prune, but thank you anyway.” Her embrace was surprisingly fierce, given her age and stature.

When Gram released him, he said, “Thanks for coming, you two. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Well, thank you for inviting us,” Louisa said stiltedly, looking around the room, her expression uncomfortable.

Gabe’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t invited them. He’d wanted to, but he’d assumed any invitation he sent to Louisa would end up in the trash, so he’d refrained. “Uh—”

Something pointy jammed into his foot. He glanced down in time to see Gram pulling away the tip of her cane. She shot him a conspiratorial glance, complete with a wink.

Ah
. He bit back a grin. He knew he’d always liked the old woman. “You’re welcome,” he finally said to Louisa. “So…Where’s your fiancé?”

“Who?” Gram yelled.

“Evan,” Louisa said firmly. She rolled her eyes and sighed. “He, uh, is out of town.”

“Meaning, he doesn’t know she’s here,” Gram said.

“Does he know you’re here?” Gabe asked at the same time.

Louisa’s eyes narrowed. These two were so maddening. “Evan doesn’t own me. I don’t need to know what he’s doing every second of every day, and he doesn’t need to know the same about me.” Her words were very defensive, she knew, and so did they by the glance they exchanged.

With a grin tugging at his mouth, Gabe said, “Come on, there are refreshments and coffee over here.” He hooked Gram’s hand through his arm and his other hand grazed Louisa’s elbow as he guided them across the room, but he might as well have been hanging all over her, because every pore, every inch of her body was aware of him beside her.

“I’m surprised you came,” he murmured to Louisa, pouring coffee from an elegant silver server.

“I probably shouldn’t have.” She took the coffee from him, not quite able to meet his gaze. He could always read too much in her eyes.

“No, you probably shouldn’t have.”

Something in his voice made her glance up at him. She expected to see a hint of suggestion on his face, like the way he used to look at her. But his eyes just looked so…sad. He was one of those people whose eyes turned down slightly at the outer corners anyway, but it was more than that. He—

“Excuse me, Gabe?” An artsy-looking older man with a slick gray ponytail interrupted them. “May I speak with you a moment?” His voice carried a thick British accent.

“Sure,” Gabe said, then turned and motioned to Gram who had taken a seat with her coffee. “Frances Hargrove, meet Cedric Bowman. He and his son own this gallery.” He put a hand on Louisa’s shoulder. “Cedric, this is Mrs. Hargrove’s grand-daughter, Louisa D’Angelo.”

Louisa hoped she wouldn’t be quizzed on the man’s name later, because she was too focused on the sensation of Gabe’s fingers on her shoulder to have heard the introduction.

Cedric’s manners were as impeccable as Gabe’s, as he focused on the elderly woman first, taking Gram’s hand and leaning over to kiss the weathered skin. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hargrove.”

Gram actually blushed.

He turned to Louisa. “D’Angelo? A sister or cousin, perhaps?”

“They used to be married,” Gram said loudly, and Louisa blushed, avoiding Gabe’s eyes.

Cedric peered harder at Louisa and took her hand. “Well, it is nice that you two are on good terms. Unfortunately, that’s rare these days.”

Gabe gave Louisa’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Have a look around.”

The gallery owner’s words floated through her mind. Were she and Gabe on good terms? They weren’t really on any terms, good or bad. All she knew was that, despite everything and crazy as it sounded, it was good to see him.

“My goodness, but he’s a fine looking man,” Gram mumbled.

“Hmm? Who?” Louisa asked, staring after Gabe. He’d followed Cedric upstairs, and she could see him in the loft, right behind the railing. The gallery owner was showing him some papers and was smiling. Gabe listened intently without so much as a smirk. He never was quick to smile, she so well recalled.

“The Pope,” Gram snapped. “I’m talking about Gabe, you silly girl.”

Louisa didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at Gabe. Yes, he was most definitely a fine-looking man. Knowing she wouldn’t be caught, she let her gaze skim over his body. He wore beige trousers and a button-down burgundy shirt, the clothes complementing his new muscularity. He didn’t look like a starving artist anymore.

She also liked how he’d cut his hair. It was still a little long in back, right below the collar. If he didn’t have such thick waves, it would certainly hang lower. She’d never minded his ponytail, but this look was better on him. Before, while he’d certainly looked the part of an artist with long hair, the free-spirit attitude suggested by a ponytail never matched his personality.

Gabe was definitely not a free spirit. In fact, she’d once told him he had a brooding quality about him, that he reminded her of a Heathcliffe or a Rochester. He’d laughed and criticized her for romanticizing what was simply a reflection of his hard life before meeting her.

She picked up a cookie, biting into it as she watched him. He glanced down and caught her staring. He didn’t smile, but gave her one of his intense looks. A brooding look, she thought with a grin.

“That’s a mighty long perusing you’re giving your ex-husband, missie,” Gram remarked.

Louisa blushed. “Like you said, Gram. He’s a fine-looking man. Come on. Let’s look around.”

Gabe’s photographs hung on charcoal dividers, placed strategically around the room. Louisa’s first glimpse of his work startled her. She’d been expecting the dark, haunting portraits that had made him famous. From the time she’d first met him, he’d been drawn to taking photos of the dark side of life, the downtrodden, images of stark reality. His work with World Geographic Magazine, his brutal yet honest portrayal from war-torn countries, had brought him fame and probably fortune.

But these photos were different from what she was used to. The invitation she’d received called these series of photos “Rebirth.” The first one she approached was of a family. Like his work of old, this family looked homeless, their faces thin and gaunt, hunger raging on their haggard bodies. Behind them lay what was left of a town—piles of rubble, litter, abandoned vehicles. But there the similarities to Gabe’s old work ended. These people didn’t look hopeless and scared as one might expect. The man had his arm around the woman, who held a young boy. Only the child looked into the camera, a slight lift to the tiny mouth. The man was looking at the woman, and the woman at the child. And love shone in their eyes, along with a proud determination that seemed to jump out of the picture, telling all who viewed it that this family might be down and out, their country might be in ruins, but they had all they needed. Each other.

Louisa touched her throat, deeply moved by the image in front of her.

“Love can overcome the greatest odds,” Gram whispered beside her.

They moved on to the other photographs. Each and every one of them caught a moment which should have been stark and helpless, but Gabe had brought out the human side of these people. And in every one of them, a starburst was somewhere to be found. On one, it was the reflection in a mud puddle. On another, it was on the glare of a broken window. Sometimes it was obvious, other times it wasn’t. Louisa found herself moving from picture to picture, trying to find the starburst. Kind of like a spiritual
Where’s Waldo?
search.

“So? What do you think?” Gabe’s voice was right behind her.

Louisa blushed, having been so intent on the photographs that she hadn’t heard him approach. “Your work is very surprising, Gabriel.” Her voice cracked.

Gram chuckled softly.

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“You know I’ve always loved your work. But this—” She swept her arm to encompass the room. “This is not what I’m used to from you. It’s almost—I hate to say it—
spiritual
.” She waited for him to laugh or scold her.

He did neither. “I’ve changed, Lou,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Is, um, Cedric happy with the opening so far? Is it a success?” She warned him with her eyes not to continue the other path of conversation.

Gabe stared at her a long moment, his gaze narrowed, then he shrugged. “It’s hard to say, but a lot more people showed up than we’d expected.”

“Have you made any sales yet?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything, necessarily. Most pieces in this price range are bought by collectors. They’ll either send someone in to scope out the work or they’ll do it during a less hectic time. Tonight is mainly for show, for recognition.”

“Then you probably should be mingling, shouldn’t you? Gram and I don’t want to hog all of your time.”

“Believe me, Lou, I’d much rather give you and Gram a personal tour than small talk with people I’ve never met and will probably never see again.”

“You still hate this kind of thing, don’t you?”

“With a passion.”

He took Gram’s arm, and Louisa’s skin tingled in anticipation of him taking her arm, too.

He didn’t.

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the exhibit.”

As he talked to them about his work, answering their questions, Louisa couldn’t help but remember the early days in their relationship. The good old days. Many of their dates had consisted of going to museums or gallery openings, because neither of them had money.

Even though she’d always been interested in art, she’d never truly appreciated it until she met Gabe. He taught her it didn’t matter if the artist was well known or if his or her work was considered “great.” He always said truly great art was that which delighted one’s heart and mind, and every person would have his or her own opinion of what is great. That simple philosophy changed her whole perspective when visiting museums. Before, she’d forced herself to spend time in front of pieces she
should
like because the work or the artist was famous. Now, if something didn’t catch her eye in some way, she moved on.

Evan didn’t share her and Gabe’s feelings about what was “great” and what was not. He was an avid art collector and prided himself on the original works and limited editions hanging on his penthouse walls. He judged a piece solely on the basis of what it was worth. If it didn’t cost a fortune, it was worthless. He readily admitted some of the pieces in his collection were ugly. Still, he insisted on hanging them and pointing them out to guests whenever he entertained.

“I’m happy you’ve done so well for yourself,” Louisa said. She was a little sad she hadn’t been around when he’d finally made it. She could have been.

But he’d chosen to do it on his own.

****

“You really should be more social,” Louisa told Gabe after they’d toured the entire show.