provide, but she couldn’t concentrate on it, her mind flashing to the paint mixing on the floor of her studio and the scent of blood. The crowd seemed to press in on her and the thudding in her head grew stronger.
“So what do you think?” Jerry Virgoli was looking at her, demanding an answer.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I’ve got to go.”
She stumbled across the lawn, shying away from people who stepped in her path and hating herself for doing it. She thought she might cry and how stupid was that? This was all so stupid. It was over, a thing of the past, just a few minutes of a life, so why did she have to keep thinking about it?
She felt again the slam against the table, could hear the repeated thud of his body slamming against hers and smell the blood, feel the blood between her legs. She didn’t want to think about that anymore. She pressed a hand against her temple, pushing, as if she could push all those thoughts away.
Where in the hell was Ian? At that moment the crowd blocking her view suddenly shifted and she caught sight of her husband. He was at the opposite corner of the lawn talking to a willowy-looking woman with bobbed blond hair, and she could see the woman nodding enthusiastically at whatever Ian said.
As she got closer, she heard him say, “The support you’ve generated for the center is truly amazing.”
“Oh, it’s a collaborative effort and of course it means so much to us in Drama.”
Kate was close enough to see that the other woman was lightly tanned, her skin carrying the creamy glow of youth and vibrant health. She moved her arms when she spoke, an intricately woven silver bracelet riding up one thin wrist as she gestured, disappearing into the folds of a lacy white blouse. Long, tanned legs shifted beneath a slim blue cotton skirt.
Ian was smiling, and then suddenly he saw Kate. “Oh, hi!”
“Hi.” Kate lowered the hand pushing against her temple and moved to Ian’s side. She waited for his arm to slide around her waist or his hand to reach for hers, but it didn’t happen.
“This is Kate Corbin. Kate, this is Bethany Forrester. She’s a professor in the drama department.”
Bethany Forrester smiled. She had blue eyes that matched her skirt. “It’s such an honor to meet you,” she said, extending a hand that Kate numbly shook. “I just love your work. You were one of the first artists whose work really inspired me.”
Kate felt suddenly old. Old and fat. And too pale next to this woman. “Thank you,” she said. Yeah, thanks for making me feel my age.
“Ian speaks so highly of your work.”
“Does he?”
“Oh, yes, and you know that painting he’s got in his office? The landscape of the field? It’s just beautiful. Ian’s always telling people it’s your work.”
“We’re each other’s biggest fans,” Kate said with a slight smile. She felt Ian’s eyes on her, but didn’t look at him. It was an old joke between them. Something they’d heard a couple say once on TV, a smarmy thing that they’d adopted years ago because it was so absurd.
“That’s so great,” Bethany Forrester said, not picking up on the irony. “I think that sort of creative, collaborative relationship is very rare.”
“You’re not married?” Kate asked, hand creeping up to press at her temple.
Bethany laughed. “No. Not attached at all.” She lifted a thin-stemmed wineglass to her mouth and the silver bracelet vanished up her arm again. A demure swallow and she lowered the glass, patting her full lips with a cocktail napkin. “I’m not averse to it, just haven’t found the right person.”
“Someone to collaborate with?”
The younger woman nodded. “Exactly. I mean, it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of people out there—”
“Of course.” Kate imagined that Bethany Forrester had probably had her pick of plenty of men. A string of broken hearts from here to Poughkeepsie.
“—but finding the right person just takes so much work.”
Kate
“So what do you think?” Jerry Virgoli was looking at her, demanding an answer.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I’ve got to go.”
She stumbled across the lawn, shying away from people who stepped in her path and hating herself for doing it. She thought she might cry and how stupid was that? This was all so stupid. It was over, a thing of the past, just a few minutes of a life, so why did she have to keep thinking about it?
She felt again the slam against the table, could hear the repeated thud of his body slamming against hers and smell the blood, feel the blood between her legs. She didn’t want to think about that anymore. She pressed a hand against her temple, pushing, as if she could push all those thoughts away.
Where in the hell was Ian? At that moment the crowd blocking her view suddenly shifted and she caught sight of her husband. He was at the opposite corner of the lawn talking to a willowy-looking woman with bobbed blond hair, and she could see the woman nodding enthusiastically at whatever Ian said.
As she got closer, she heard him say, “The support you’ve generated for the center is truly amazing.”
“Oh, it’s a collaborative effort and of course it means so much to us in Drama.”
Kate was close enough to see that the other woman was lightly tanned, her skin carrying the creamy glow of youth and vibrant health. She moved her arms when she spoke, an intricately woven silver bracelet riding up one thin wrist as she gestured, disappearing into the folds of a lacy white blouse. Long, tanned legs shifted beneath a slim blue cotton skirt.
Ian was smiling, and then suddenly he saw Kate. “Oh, hi!”
“Hi.” Kate lowered the hand pushing against her temple and moved to Ian’s side. She waited for his arm to slide around her waist or his hand to reach for hers, but it didn’t happen.
“This is Kate Corbin. Kate, this is Bethany Forrester. She’s a professor in the drama department.”
Bethany Forrester smiled. She had blue eyes that matched her skirt. “It’s such an honor to meet you,” she said, extending a hand that Kate numbly shook. “I just love your work. You were one of the first artists whose work really inspired me.”
Kate felt suddenly old. Old and fat. And too pale next to this woman. “Thank you,” she said. Yeah, thanks for making me feel my age.
“Ian speaks so highly of your work.”
“Does he?”
“Oh, yes, and you know that painting he’s got in his office? The landscape of the field? It’s just beautiful. Ian’s always telling people it’s your work.”
“We’re each other’s biggest fans,” Kate said with a slight smile. She felt Ian’s eyes on her, but didn’t look at him. It was an old joke between them. Something they’d heard a couple say once on TV, a smarmy thing that they’d adopted years ago because it was so absurd.
“That’s so great,” Bethany Forrester said, not picking up on the irony. “I think that sort of creative, collaborative relationship is very rare.”
“You’re not married?” Kate asked, hand creeping up to press at her temple.
Bethany laughed. “No. Not attached at all.” She lifted a thin-stemmed wineglass to her mouth and the silver bracelet vanished up her arm again. A demure swallow and she lowered the glass, patting her full lips with a cocktail napkin. “I’m not averse to it, just haven’t found the right person.”
“Someone to collaborate with?”
The younger woman nodded. “Exactly. I mean, it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of people out there—”
“Of course.” Kate imagined that Bethany Forrester had probably had her pick of plenty of men. A string of broken hearts from here to Poughkeepsie.
“—but finding the right person just takes so much work.”
Kate
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