An Invincible Summer (Wyndham Beach #1)(11)

“This painting’s the last thing she did before,” Liddy was saying.

Maggie didn’t need to ask Before what? “It’s a remarkable piece,” she said simply.

“Emma asked if I had any of her work I’d be willing to have on display. Ironically, this last piece of hers is my favorite. You’d think I’d hate it, but . . .” Liddy shrugged. “I think it reflects her state of mind better than anything she may have said at the time.” She pointed to the name of the painting. Last Stand. “That’s what I think this was. I think it’s very emotional, don’t you? I sense an overwhelming frustration when I look at it.”

To Maggie, the painting seemed to scream, to rage against something nameless. But to Liddy, she said, “It’s very moving. Eloquent. Jess was very talented.”

“She was that.” The sadness emanating from Liddy was palpable.

“She absolutely was.” Emma had come up behind them quietly. “I’ve had several inquiries from interested buyers.”

“It’s not for sale,” Liddy snapped. “I haven’t decided if any of her work will ever be for sale.”

“I cautioned the prospective buyers that it might not be.” In contrast to Liddy’s harsh response, Emma’s voice was soothing. “I would never sell anything without your express permission, Lid.”

“I do know that. Sorry for . . .”

“It’s already forgotten,” Emma assured her friend. “But if you agree, I’d like to showcase Jessie’s work in a special exhibit over the winter. Perhaps January or February.”

“That would be lovely, Em. I appreciate it.”

“I’d like to include those white-on-white works in the December exhibit. They’re so quiet and contemplative.”

Liddy nodded. “Just let me know when you want them.”

Emma patted Liddy on the shoulder before retreating to her office to take a phone call. Maggie took her friend’s hand and together they finished their tour of the exhibit. Before leaving, they poked their heads into Emma’s office to let her know they were going.

“I love this place,” Maggie told her truthfully. “I want to come back before I leave.”

“Come back anytime.” Emma beamed. “Now, are you planning on going early to tonight’s reception, or can we expect you to be fashionably late?”

“If I can get dinner on the table by six, we should be able to be on time. You’re welcome to join us for dinner, Em,” Liddy offered.

“Thanks, Lid, but I’ll be here until six and will barely have time to get home and change.”

“We’ll look for you there.” Liddy and Maggie made their way to the exit, then walked to the end of the boardwalk that led toward the bay.

“One of the best views ever, right here.” Maggie paused at the head of the dune, where beach grass bent in the face of a breeze blowing in from the water. Rugosa roses, a few still stubbornly blooming, and beach plums, still bearing pink fruit, grew among the grasses.

Liddy checked the time on her phone. “Come on. We need to keep moving if we’re going to get to that reception on time.” She put an arm over Maggie’s shoulder as they walked to the car. “Never know who we might run into.”

“Oh?” Maggie raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Liddy to be coy.

“Some of those yes responses were interesting.” Liddy dropped her arm at the passenger’s side and continued around the front of the car.

“Do tell,” Maggie said as she opened the door and got in.

“Mark Renfield is coming. As is Rick Gallup.” Liddy slid behind the wheel. “Both divorced. Rick’s the head surgeon at a hospital in Chicago now, by the way.”

“So . . . what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ve been sleeping alone since Jim left and the last time I saw Rick, he looked pretty damned good. One might even say hot.” She put the car in drive. “And if I don’t put a move on him, LeeAnn will.”

“Are you sure you want a houseguest for the whole weekend? I wouldn’t want to cramp your style,” Maggie said. “Maybe I should consider a room at CeCe’s inn after all.”

“Don’t be silly. For all I know, Rick’s already on to wife number two. I’m just keeping my options open.” She glanced across the console at Maggie. “You should, too.”

Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “Not interested in putting the moves on anyone, thank you.”

“Oh, come on. With all due respect to Art, he’s been gone for two years. Are you telling me that you haven’t thought about hooking up with someone tall, dark, and handsome since then?”

“‘Hooking up’?” Maggie laughed out loud. “What are we, sixteen?”

“Call it whatever you want. You’re widowed, I’m divorced, and neither of us are even close to being old or dried up. You want to spend the rest of your life sleeping alone?” Not waiting for an answer, Liddy added, “I for one do not.”

Maggie looked out the window. She’d been so numb since Art’s death she’d barely thought about what, if anything, came next as far as her love life was concerned. To do so felt disrespectful of her late husband. If she turned to someone else for whatever reason—friendship, companionship, sex—would he somehow know and think she’d forgotten him? Several times before he passed away, he’d made her promise to live a full life after he was gone, but still . . .