Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,148

Aunt Jewel had a bookshelf in her room, and the whole time I was in labor, I could see those books. And there was one by a Judith Somebody, and the one next to it was by a Somebody Shipley. And I just took those names and threw them together, and that’s who I’ve been ever since.”

Gloria’s mouth hung open. “I’ve known you eight years and you never said a word about any of this!” she said. I couldn’t tell if she looked more shocked or hurt.

“Because it’s ancient history,” Judith said. “It’s as though it happened to someone else. I made peace with all of it long ago. You have to make peace with the past or you can never move into the future.”

“So how did you and Jesse reconnect?” Oliver gently reminded her of the original question.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “It was in the late sixties. I’d already made a bit of a name for myself, and one day a friend told me about a show in the Village by a talented black artist who’d just moved to New York from Paris. I just had a feeling it was Jesse. It was like a sixth sense. I walked in and there he was. I was forty-six … at least Judith was forty-six.” She chuckled. “Anna would have been fifty. I hadn’t seen him in nearly thirty years. Of course, Jesse didn’t recognize me right away, but you should have seen his face when he did! I made sure he met all the right people, then, and of course we became fast friends, as equals finally. There had always been a bond between us. My husband Max was an agent and he took Jesse on as a client, and we introduced him to Bernice, who became his wife. We never lost touch, even after he moved to Edenton. But in all these years, he never mentioned that he still had … this.” She motioned toward the mural.

“He was adamant you be invited today,” Oliver said. “We thought it was because your painting—Judith’s painting, Daisy Chain—would have a place of prominence in the main gallery. We had no idea it was because of the mural.”

Judith turned toward me. “What kind of shape was it in before you restored it?” she asked.

“It was a mess,” I said. “And I had such a short time to work on it because he—Jesse—insisted that it be finished by the gallery opening—today. If it wasn’t finished, his daughter Lisa—do you remember Lisa?”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I saw her many times.”

“If the restoration wasn’t completed by today, she’d lose the house.”

Judith frowned. “I’m not following you.”

Oliver and I explained about Jesse’s conditional will. “So I had less than two months to restore the mural and I had no idea what I was doing,” I said. “Oliver had to pretty much teach me everything.”

“You were a very quick learner.” He smiled at me, but Judith hadn’t seemed to hear me. She looked deep in thought.

“He insisted the opening be today?” she asked. “August fifth?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “He was firm about it.”

Judith nodded. “Well, I can think of one reason why.”

“Why?” I asked.

She smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Judith turned ninety-six on June seventh,” she said. “But Anna turns a hundred today.”

Oliver and I sat in silence as her words registered. I pressed my hand to my mouth.

“What?” Gloria sounded shocked. She leaned back to look at Judith. “You’re a hundred years old?”

“Jesse knew your real birth date?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. He’d always send me a card on that date. This date. Today. Not a birthday card, of course. Just a ‘thinking of you’ type card. I felt sad knowing I wouldn’t hear from him this year. It was … it was our shared secret, you know? My husband and daughter were the only other people who knew everything. Well, and Jesse’s Bernice, of course. But no one else.”

“Well.” Oliver smiled past the shock he had to be feeling. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you.” Judith returned his smile, and with some effort and a hand on her turquoise cane, she got to her feet. “Now”—she said, nodding toward the mural—“I’d like to get a closer look at that old thing, if I may.”

“Of course,” Oliver said. He stood up and reached for her elbow, but Gloria slipped between him and Judith to do the job herself.

All four of us stood in front of the mural, and Judith read the wall text—the wall text that was now wildly