Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,15
a Yankee, or any of the other complaints they might have against her. She would give this little town nothing to complain about.
Chapter 5
MORGAN
June 13, 2018
I hadn’t really noticed the town when we drove through it earlier, but now, on the drive with Lisa to the gallery, I took it in. In front of a sunny, clean, touristy-looking waterfront, Lisa made a right turn onto Broad Street and drove past one shop after another in a small, picturesque downtown. The buildings looked old, some of them beautiful and unique, and all well maintained. This was not a dying downtown, like so many others, I thought. There was even an old-timey-looking movie theater with its name, “Taylor,” in a playful script above the roof, but no movie titles were on the marquee.
“Is that building still a theater?” I asked, pointing toward it.
“Under renovation,” Lisa said. “It’s supposed to reopen in a few weeks.”
I continued observing the stores as we drove past. “Is there a computer store here?” I asked doubtfully. This wasn’t big-box territory. “And a phone store?”
Lisa took her eyes from the road to glance at the shops we passed. “You can get a phone here, but you’ll have to order your computer online,” she said.
“Okay.” I hadn’t felt a cell phone in my hand in over a year. It would be so good to reconnect to the world, although to be honest, I wasn’t sure who I’d connect with. I’d have nothing in common with my old friends now. And I sure wasn’t going to call Trey. He’d be done with his first year of law school at Georgetown. Anger bubbled up inside me and I shook my head as if I could tamp it down that way. It was probably just as well I wouldn’t be living near anyone from my old life.
“I know you’re not allowed to have a driver’s license while you’re on parole,” Lisa said, “so you’ll either have to walk to the gallery—it’s less than a mile—or ride with me when I go in.” She made a couple of turns, then pulled into a small unpaved parking lot next to an unpainted, unshingled contemporary structure, totally out of place to my eyes after riding through blocks of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century houses and churches.
“This is the gallery?” I asked.
“It is indeed.” Lisa turned off the ignition. “My father had to fight to build it here, even though it’s outside the historic district where there are rules about what you can and can’t build. You can see it doesn’t fit in.” She chuckled, the first time I’d heard any true levity in her voice. “Or rather,” Lisa added, “you can see it stands out, which I’m sure was his intent. You can also see it needs a hell of a lot of work before August fifth.”
We got out of the car and walked to the huge glass front door, which stood wide open, a fact that apparently annoyed Lisa.
“We just got the place air-conditioned,” she said. “The guys aren’t used to shutting this door yet.”
We stepped into a large, bare, high-ceilinged room. One wall was almost entirely made of glass, and the building smelled of wood and paint. The other walls were white, and a silvery-gray tiled floor was in place, but the spacious room was otherwise empty.
“This will be the foyer, obviously,” Lisa said. “I had my guys hang the drywall and paint in here first thing because this is where you’ll be working and I don’t want them disturbing you once you start.” She motioned to the area in front of us. “There’ll be a counter here with information about the gallery, and volunteers will take turns manning it. And this”—she swept her arm through the air to take in the wall above the nonexistent counter—“this is where my father wants the mural.”
“Wow, that’s a big space,” I said. “How big is the mural?”
“Twelve feet by six, I believe.” Lisa looked toward the corner of the room behind us, and for the first time I noticed an enormous roll of canvas standing upright, the only thing in the otherwise empty room. “That’s it,” Lisa said, walking toward it. “I had the guys pull it out of the studio closet and haul it over here last week, but I didn’t want them to unroll it before you were here.”
I followed her across the tiled floor until we stood next to the broad, towering roll. “I’m five seven,” Lisa said, “so what do you think?”