Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,135

be that New York artist, discovered after teaching Catholic school for years and years and making paintings that matched upholstery. It was a great story!

I needed to get to work. Mom had Dad at Gaylord today, so my schedule was clear.

I took a few deep breaths and, hands shaking, wrote back to Hasan Sadik, saying I’d love to meet with him and was a great admirer of his gallery. Kept it short and sweet, and nearly fainted when he wrote back immediately, offering to send a car to pick me up, and perhaps we could also have lunch? And did I have an agent he should be including in these e-mails?

I’ll be in touch in the next day or two, I wrote, too overwhelmed at the moment, and afraid I’d say something stupid. Thank you so much for your interest.

Thank God I’d taken down my website years ago so he couldn’t see all my previous attempts to be artistic and unique (or read my idiotic bio where I mentioned Robert Frost). I pulled up some images of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work and printed out a couple for inspiration. Somewhere in one of my unpacked boxes was a juicy coffee table book on her flower paintings. Which box was it, dang it?

Listen. All work was derivative. It wasn’t like I was doing anything that hadn’t been done a million times before. I found the book, flipped through it and settled on a white rose, the oriental poppies and an iris.

A chance like this did not come around very often. I’d be an idiot to turn it aside. “Mommy’s going to be a famous artist,” I told Pepper, who nuzzled my hand encouragingly. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” I set aside my sunset painting from yesterday, got a couple of canvases out of the closet, and started working, ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that was telling me to slow down.

I painted all day. Noah texted, asking me if I wanted to come to his house that evening, and I told him yes, I had some really exciting news and couldn’t wait to see him, but had to have dinner at my mom’s first to talk about Dad’s progress.

I’ve been thinking about you all day, he wrote, and my heart melted.

Same here, I texted. Debated saying, I love you, even though he knew already, and kept on painting, with a little more depth, deeper color.

Noah was good for my art. He always had been. I hoped I was good for him. I made him laugh. I knew him in a way that started in the very center of my heart. I had always believed in him, his goodness, his kindness, his talent at what he did. Also, I gave him the chance to save me from a collapsing house and the opportunity to save a dolphin.

I loved him. I loved him. I loved him so much. Small wonder that I was singing as I painted.

* * *

— —

“So, girls,” Mom said. “Sit down.”

Jules and I had been cleaning up after dinner. We’d eaten Caro’s delicious chicken and salsa verde casserole, and Dad had been settled in front of the TV with Pepper.

We sat, exchanging glances. Juliet looked spiffy as always in her chic, tailored clothes. I had paint on the back of my hand and wore stained leggings and a T-shirt with Bill Murray’s face on it. The fact that Oliver and the girls weren’t here struck me as ominous all of a sudden. So did the fact that Caro had stayed.

Shit.

“The news isn’t good,” Mom said. “I’m sorry.”

“What news? Dad’s news?” I asked. “How could it not be good? He’s been doing great!”

“Could you let her talk?” Juliet snapped.

“Yes! Fine! I’m just . . . Go ahead, Mom.”

She glanced at Caro, who gave her a little smile. “Well, girls, your dad’s not progressing, I’m sorry to say,” Mom said. “He’s had two more smaller strokes, and he’s likely to have more.”

I jerked back. “Okay, first of all, when were these other strokes?” I asked. “I think we’d notice. And secondly, he’s talking now! How can they say he’s not progressing?”

Caro covered my hand. “This is hard news, I know, honey.”

“No, it’s not! It’s just wrong news.”

“Calm down, Sadie,” Juliet muttered, and I wanted to bite her.

“He can say a few words, but there’s more weakness on his left side,” Mom went on. Juliet scootched her chair closer and put her arm around her. “So he’ll keep needing