Lost (35 page)

  “Look, I didn't doubt for a moment she was the muse of the paintings. I just needed proof of her name before I gave her the letter.  Mr. Connor insisted on it,” he said with gentle patience.
  “Fine.  I understand.  But she's Sophie Morley, you have your proof, now give her the letter please,” my mom demanded, even as I still stood dumbfounded watching the exchange between them.
  “There's something else,” Michael said as he handed me the envelope with a slight humor that seemed completely misplaced under the circumstances.
  “What?!”  My mom demanded as I sensed her impending explosion.
  “I'm to sell all these paintings to Sophie Morley for 5 dollars...” 

  “
What?!
”
  But as my mom asked the obvious question, I burst out laughing, and crying, and laughing at the absurdity of this situation.
  Looking at me, my mom recovered quickly. “I don't understand,” she said exasperated.
  “I do!  It was always 5 dollars between us.  If I was bitchy I owed him 5 dollars.  When he was an asshole, he owed me 5 dollars.  Whoever got out of bed and went for the coffee run owed the other 5 dollars.  Oh, god... It’s always been 5 dollars between us,” I laughed and cried at once.
  Watching me and my mom, Michael handed back my ID at that point, and asked if I could wait until the next night to take the paintings.  He told me he needed them for a little exhibit he was having that night, and the following morning, but otherwise for 5 dollars they were mine.  He almost begged me to leave them in the gallery, and after his kindness I just couldn't refuse him, no matter how badly I wanted to take them with me right then and there.
  “But they're of her...” My mom protested until I stopped her.
  “It's okay.  I know they're here now and I'll have them tomorrow night.  What time can I pick them up?”  I asked obsessively rubbing the letter in my hand.
  “We close up by 5:00 on Sundays, so maybe quarter after.  I'll make sure they're taken down and packaged for you as soon as we close.  Is that okay?  You can pay me then if you'd like?”
  But again my mom was losing her patience. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.  Hand him a five, Sophie,” she barked as I quickly found a five dollar bill in my wallet and handed it over.
  I wasn't ready to be finished just yet though.  There were so many things I needed to know.
  “Um... How long have these been here?”
  “Since the first week of June, I believe.”
  Nodding, I went for broke. “Do you know where Peter lives or how to contact him?”
  Pausing like everyone else, Michael shook his head no but asked, “Don’t you?”
  “No.  Did he leave an address to mail his payments or anything?”
  “No.  These weren't for sale.  Ever.  Peter agreed to display them, but they were under no circumstances to be sold.  Well, except to you,” he smiled.
  “Do you know anything about him?  Has he been in recently?  Does he come in often?  Do you ever see him around?” The desperation in my voice was becoming more and more obvious.
  “I'm sorry, I don't.  Mr. Connor seems someone reclusive and-”
  “No
shit!
” I jumped in by mistake as my mom laughed at me.  “Sorry...”
  “Anyway,” Michael continued. “He’s been in only a few times since he dropped them off and though I've told him about the interest from a few Buyers and I've given him business cards from a few people who would like him to paint for them, he had no interest.  Mr. Connor only asked if a Sophie Morley-
you
- came by and received his letter.  Then he'd leave again,” Michael answered somewhat sadly.
  “How did he look?” I begged.
  “Look?”
  “You know what I mean.  How did he look?  Was he well or like weird or anything?”
  “I really couldn't say.  I don't know him at all, so I don't know what his well looks like.  Plus, let’s face it, I work with artists all day and some are crazy, some are eccentric, and some are completely normal.  I've learned to not expect or notice anything about the artists who come and go.”
  “If I give you a something tomorrow when I pick up the paintings, would you please give it to him?  Please?” I begged desperately again, though I truly didn’t know what the something would be.
  “Of course I will,” Michael said as he squeezed my hand in a kind little gesture of reassurance.
  “Thank you so much Michael.  You have no idea what today is like for me,” I said sadly.
  “I probably don't.  But I like seeing a happy ending of sorts,” he grinned even as my heart broke again. 

  I knew he thought this was a happy ending
of sorts,
but it still felt like a tragedy to me.  I was still no closer to Peter than I had been for the last 8 1/2 months of my life.
 

  “Let's go, Sophie,” my mom said tugging me into her arms as she tried to turn me from the room.
  “Thank you, Michael,” I whispered again as my mom pulled me out of our area.  Holding up my coat she helped me put it on, and as we reached the door and I paused for a second, she continued to pull me through the front doors.
  “Where are all the people?” I asked suddenly.
  “They're closed between 2 and 4 every Saturday.”
  “Oh!  What time is it?” I asked confused again.
  Looking at her watch as we stood outside I learned from my mom it was close to 3:30.  Shocked, I did the math in my head and almost laughed again.
  “How long have you been here?”
  “About an hour.  Why?”
  “Because I sat and stared at myself for over 3 hours,” I laughed.
  “Wow.  Narcissistic much?” My mom said so deadpan, we both burst out laughing. “Where’s your car, baby?”
  “At home.”
  “I'm parked just a little down the street, so I'll take you home.  Do you want to come home with me, or to your place?  And it's okay to come home with me.  After the day you've had, I would love to be there for you,” she smiled on the street still holding my arm in her own.
  “Sorry.  Being stubborn as usual I just want to go home.  In a weird way I'm sad, obviously, but I feel a little good, too.  I know I'll probably lose it sooner or later, but something feels good about all this, so I think I'll be fine tonight.  Oh
shit
!” I suddenly remembered. “I was supposed to bring a bunch of pottery to the cafe tomorrow, and I totally forgot to get my stuff from the studio. 
Shit,
” I moaned again frustrated.
  “Well, let's go.  I'll help you carry it all in.  Let me just call your dad,” she said pulling out her phone as we walked toward her car.
  As we walked, I still held the letter in my hand, trying desperately not to crumple it, but wanting to hold it tightly at the same time. 

  Actually, I was pretty impressed with my mom not ripping it out of my hands to read, or even asking about it.  It must've been killing her not to know what it said, like it was me, but amazingly, she left it for me to deal with as we each sat in her car while she finished up talking briefly to my dad.
  2 hours later, my mom and I both carried a heavy box filled with pottery into my quiet apartment.  Entering while juggling the box to turn on the light I was immediately obsessed with the walls of my home.  Looking around, I nearly threw the box of breakables on the couch while I spun around and tried to figure it all out.
  My mom looked around too, and seemed to know where my head was at.  She knew everything I was thinking, I could tell.
  “Are you sure it's a good idea to keep them in your home where you'll see them all the time and be reminded of...” But she didn't finish.
  “I have to,” I said absolutely sure.
  “Okay.  May I make a suggestion then?”
  “Of course.”
  “Put them in your bedroom,” she said so seriously I was surprised.
  “But I'll think of him every night.”
  “You do anyway,” which was true.  “Here’s what I'm thinking.  They are so personal you probably don't want anyone who comes over to see that side of you, or your relationship with Peter.  Plus, if they're in your bedroom, you can feel closer to him while you sleep, which I know has been one of your biggest battles since this all happened to you.  And for those of us who love you, it’ll be very hard to see you like that, both the beautiful paintings and the tragic drawing.  I know it makes me want to cry, your dad
will
cry,” she said with a grin.  “And your brother will be angry at your devastation.  So hanging in your bedroom seems like the logical choice.  Plus, you never have men over, so you don't have to worry about potential lovers seeing that side of you until you're ready,” she faded out.
  Listening to my mom, everything she said was exactly right.  So naturally, I cried a little as I walked to her to give her the biggest hug I could.
  “Thank you so much for coming to me so quickly today.  I know I couldn't have survived today without you.  You were amazing, and actually a little scary to Michael,” I whispered as she laughed.
  “Mama-Bear Syndrome.  You'll understand one day.”
  “Let's hope,” I replied sadly. “Anyway, thank you so much for being there for me.” 
  “You never have to thank me for being there for you.  It's my job and even if it wasn't I would be anyway.  I love you so much, Sophie,” she whispered back squeezing me tighter. “So what do you want to do now?”
  “Absolutely nothing.  I still don't even want to read the letter yet, but when I do I'll tell you what it says, I promise.  I'm just so tired, all I want to do is lie down, watch shitty TV and go to sleep early. And you have to get home to dad who is probably pacing right now waiting for you to give him the scoop you wouldn't give on the phone in front of me,” I grinned.
  “Yup, he is.  Are you sure?”
  “Yes.  Go home, and thank you so much for today.”
  “Can I call you later?”
  “Sure.”
  “Okay.  I'll call around 9:00 to see how you're doing.  And we'll go with you tomorrow to pick up the paintings, okay?”
  “Thank you.”
  “Good night, Sophie,” she said walking to my front door.  Looking back one last time, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek with a gentle smile that made my eyes fill, but shook her head no to my tears and walked out my door.
  Closing the door behind her, I realized once again my mom saved me, cared for me, and then left me to do the rest on my own, like she knew I needed to.
 

CHAPTER 28

 
I can't even explain the compulsion that made me hold the letter in my hand but not read it.  I can’t explain why after my mom left I had a shower, cooked some soup, and sat on my couch eating, but didn't read the letter.
  I think I was afraid Peter would say something mean, or maybe I was terrified he would tell me our relationship meant nothing to him.  I think I was desperate to still believe I had meant to him what he had meant to me.
  I was afraid of the letter because his absence left an opening to rekindle our love due to my lack of closure.  But the letter had the potential to give the closure I didn't want to have which scared me from not reading it.  So I waited.
  I waited until I couldn't stand the wait any longer.  Jumping up, I ran to my kitchen to grab his Jasmine candle from the cupboard, and I ran to my bathroom drawer for his jasmine massage oil, then I ran for my bed with my heart pounding.
  I grabbed my phone on the way to my bed and made a desperate call to my mom. 
  “What's wrong?” She asked immediately.
  “Nothing.  Look, it's almost 9:00 and I didn't want you to call me and interrupt.  I'm going to read his letter now, and I don't want you to call me, okay?”
  “Sure... But-”
  “I'm okay, I promise.  I just don't know what it says, so I don't want you to call me before I'm ready.  Please don't call?”
  “But how will I know if you're okay?” She asked sadly.
  “I'll be okay.  I'm much stronger now, and even if he breaks my heart again it can't feel much worse than it did before, so please don't call.  I'll call after, I promise.”
  “Okay, Sophie.  Let me know.  Call me anytime tonight.  I don't care how late.”
  “Thanks.  I have to go,” I said desperately as I hung up to her mumbling something I couldn't hear.

  Preparing for the letter, I lit his candle and rubbed a little jasmine oil on my chest and neck before washing my hands of the oil.  I could smell and feel Peter all around me, and I remembered everything between us in that moment as I sat on my bed cross-legged. 

  I breathed him in as I opened the letter to Sophie Morley, recognizing his handwriting instantly with a sad smile.

Sophie,
I love you so much I don't have any words greater than you are adored by me.  You are adored like you've always wanted to be, and I wish I could express it better than that.  You are adored and loved by me, now and forever.
I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm so sorry I left you.  I wish I could explain my actions, but I can't.  There are things you don't know and things you'll probably never know about me, but I wish I could tell you so you understood- it was never about me not loving you when I left.  You are, and will always be the greatest love I’ll ever experience for the rest of my life.  You are the only person I have ever connected with so intimately and so deeply, you often nearly shook me from my purpose.
But I can't be with you because I made promises before you.  I have things I have to do, which you would understand if I could tell you, but I can't.  All I will say is this- and I hope you keep this with you always; you were sacrificed for the greater good.  Being with you has been the greatest gift of my life, and leaving you has been the greatest sacrifice.
Please don't look for me because you can't find me.  I don't exist, and I can't be with you.  You are too important to me to ever risk your safety.  And I need to know you are safe for the rest of your life, even if that safety is without me.
I love you so much, there simply are no words.
Peter xo