and pulled an envelope from the leather portfolio she carried. Though Rachel had enjoyed touring the facility, she’d come this morning specifically to see if someone else would recognize the magic in Zeke’s image. If Gallinardi didn’t, Rachel had promised herself she would pull his photo from the series—or at the very least, go back to his place and come clean with him about it.
Handling the proof by its edges, she passed it to Gallinardi and waited, heart in throat, for what seemed like an eternity. Terri edged closer, attempting to look indifferent while she peered over the taller woman’s shoulder.
“Oh. Oh, my.” Antoinette’s perfectly polished nailstrembled against her neck. While she gaped, her little dog slipped like a wraith between her slender ankles.
Terri pointedly looked away, arms crossed over her overflowing bosom.
“This is—it’s amazing, Rachel, astonishing.” Gallinardi went on, “We knew, of course, that you’re an extraordinary talent. But this…Why, even Annie Leibowitz would be proud to claim this. And I have to admit, I’m not only incredibly impressed, I’m relieved. A few of the foundation’s board members have had…some reservations about honoring your invitation. It’s been pointed out our reputation could be damaged if people start whispering that we’re capitalizing on a tragedy. Especially considering our plans to offer a program at the school.”
Terri’s venomous glance left Rachel with no doubt whatsoever as to who was working to undermine her with the board. So there was no way, no way in the world, she could refuse Gallinardi’s breathless excitement. Enchanted by the shot, she looked through the other proofs, gushing over some beautiful images of a local glassblower plying his craft in a restored adobe workshop, an old weaver creating intricate designs from carefully sorted, colored grasses while a cataract of gray hair spilled over one thin arm, and the profane, acid-tongued sculptor conducting light and metal in a symphony that both astonished and appallewant to end upd.
“You were good before,” Gallinardi told her, pulling the shot of Zeke from the stack to look at it again, “but this work proves you’ve truly come into your own—and I promise you, I mean to use every contact at my disposal to see your genius is recognized. And rewarded as it should be.”
“Thank you, Antoinette. I can’t tell you what this means to me. I…” Rachel hesitated, on the verge of admitting there was a problem with the permission form Zeke Pike had signed. But at the thought of the lawsuit and all the money she owed her father, she hesitated until Gallinardi mentioned an appointment.
Rachel nodded guiltily and let the moment pass.
Thursday, February 28
Hampered by his healing foot, Zeke was forced to take things slowly over the next two weeks. He tended his animals and worked on crafting smaller pieces he could manage while seated, and after driving to The Roost for lunches, he lingered longer than usual.
He was resting, that was all. Resting and healing, not hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel, or maybe share a meal with her if she wandered in while he was eating. But it seemed that since he’d seen her last, she’d ripped a page out of his playbook. Most times when he spotted her, it was at a distance, usually while she was working as ground crew for the gliders. On those few occasions he did manage eye contact—as he had several minutes ago, when she had run inside the café to snag a bottled water—she barely gave a tight nod and a “How’s the foot?” before saying “Gotta run.”
What the hell had happened to the smiles, the friendly banter, her offer to take him flying? Over at his place on that chilly morning with the horses, he’d felt something—some connection. Hadn’t he?
It occurred to him, as he dutifully polished off his weekly salad, that maybe he’d misread the signals, or worse yet, whipped some pathetic fantasy out of
Handling the proof by its edges, she passed it to Gallinardi and waited, heart in throat, for what seemed like an eternity. Terri edged closer, attempting to look indifferent while she peered over the taller woman’s shoulder.
“Oh. Oh, my.” Antoinette’s perfectly polished nailstrembled against her neck. While she gaped, her little dog slipped like a wraith between her slender ankles.
Terri pointedly looked away, arms crossed over her overflowing bosom.
“This is—it’s amazing, Rachel, astonishing.” Gallinardi went on, “We knew, of course, that you’re an extraordinary talent. But this…Why, even Annie Leibowitz would be proud to claim this. And I have to admit, I’m not only incredibly impressed, I’m relieved. A few of the foundation’s board members have had…some reservations about honoring your invitation. It’s been pointed out our reputation could be damaged if people start whispering that we’re capitalizing on a tragedy. Especially considering our plans to offer a program at the school.”
Terri’s venomous glance left Rachel with no doubt whatsoever as to who was working to undermine her with the board. So there was no way, no way in the world, she could refuse Gallinardi’s breathless excitement. Enchanted by the shot, she looked through the other proofs, gushing over some beautiful images of a local glassblower plying his craft in a restored adobe workshop, an old weaver creating intricate designs from carefully sorted, colored grasses while a cataract of gray hair spilled over one thin arm, and the profane, acid-tongued sculptor conducting light and metal in a symphony that both astonished and appallewant to end upd.
“You were good before,” Gallinardi told her, pulling the shot of Zeke from the stack to look at it again, “but this work proves you’ve truly come into your own—and I promise you, I mean to use every contact at my disposal to see your genius is recognized. And rewarded as it should be.”
“Thank you, Antoinette. I can’t tell you what this means to me. I…” Rachel hesitated, on the verge of admitting there was a problem with the permission form Zeke Pike had signed. But at the thought of the lawsuit and all the money she owed her father, she hesitated until Gallinardi mentioned an appointment.
Rachel nodded guiltily and let the moment pass.
Thursday, February 28
Hampered by his healing foot, Zeke was forced to take things slowly over the next two weeks. He tended his animals and worked on crafting smaller pieces he could manage while seated, and after driving to The Roost for lunches, he lingered longer than usual.
He was resting, that was all. Resting and healing, not hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel, or maybe share a meal with her if she wandered in while he was eating. But it seemed that since he’d seen her last, she’d ripped a page out of his playbook. Most times when he spotted her, it was at a distance, usually while she was working as ground crew for the gliders. On those few occasions he did manage eye contact—as he had several minutes ago, when she had run inside the café to snag a bottled water—she barely gave a tight nod and a “How’s the foot?” before saying “Gotta run.”
What the hell had happened to the smiles, the friendly banter, her offer to take him flying? Over at his place on that chilly morning with the horses, he’d felt something—some connection. Hadn’t he?
It occurred to him, as he dutifully polished off his weekly salad, that maybe he’d misread the signals, or worse yet, whipped some pathetic fantasy out of
Similar Books
