The Keeper of Happy Endings(9)

Her mother had referred to them as her arts and crafts projects, but the owner of the interior design shop had been enthusiastic enough to put several pieces in his window. By summer’s end, he’d sold the entire collection, including the one hanging in the window of Finn’s.

When the call came that North of November had sold and would hang in a public place, she was so excited that she’d burst into her mother’s study without knocking. Camilla had smiled indulgently at the news, declaring herself not a bit surprised. It was a pretty piece, and tourists loved that sort of thing. She hadn’t meant to be condescending, but the remark stung more than Rory ever let on. After that, she’d worked less and less on her art. Until Hux had rekindled her creative flame with talk of a gallery. But when he disappeared, the flame had gone out.

By the time the microwave dinged, Rory had lost interest in her soup. Instead, she headed for the spare room she had set up as a makeshift studio. She hadn’t set foot inside since Hux vanished, too frantic to work at first and then later, unable to look at anything that reminded her of him.

The room felt smaller than she remembered, cluttered and a little overwhelming, with the faint tang of fabric glue still hanging in the air. A desk strewn with art supply catalogs occupied one corner; an easel used for sketching filled another. Shelves piled with fabric swatches lined one wall, and under the window sat the secondhand Bernina she’d bought early on but rarely used after discovering she preferred hand stitching. All collecting dust now.

Her eyes slid to the unframed piece behind the desk—an enormous wave purling around the eastern wall of a stoic granite lighthouse. It was her personal favorite, inspired by a photo she’d seen once and never forgotten. She had titled it Fearless, because that’s how it felt. Stoic and indomitable.

There were four more in the closet, part of the new collection she’d been working on when Hux disappeared. Not long ago—had it really only been five months?—she’d imagined them hanging on a gallery wall—on her gallery wall. Now she couldn’t imagine anything.

Moving deeper into the room, she stood before two large needlework frames, where a pair of unfinished pieces had languished for months. She ran her fingers over one, recalling the hours of felting required to create each whirl and eddy. She wouldn’t finish them now. School would start in the fall, and there wouldn’t be time. And there really wasn’t much point.

Out of nowhere, the row house on Newbury Street sprang to mind. It had been such a peculiar moment—as if she’d felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find an old friend standing there. It was nothing like the cold, angular places she’d looked at last year, but suddenly she knew it would be perfect for the gallery, brimming with history and old Boston charm and, once filled with the kind of pieces she envisioned, the perfect marriage of old and new.

Unheard Of.

The name, like a whisper, seemed to stir to life, like a thing coming awake after a heavy sleep. Was she actually considering this? Moving forward with plans she’d laid to rest months ago? And what about Hux? Was it selfish to contemplate such a thing while his life—their lives together—still hung in the balance? But she could feel it, the plans she believed long dead, slowly coming to life.

This dream has your name all over it.

Before she could check the impulse, she opened the desk drawer, shuffling through the contents until she found a business card for Brett Gleason, the real estate agent she’d hired last year to scout properties. She stared at it, wrestling with the urge to pick up the phone. What harm could there be in checking it out? It wasn’t like it would amount to anything; there wasn’t even a sign up. It was simply a matter of satisfying her curiosity, she told herself as she picked up the phone and punched in the number.



Two days later, Brett called back with information. Rory was carrying a plate of scrambled eggs to the living room when the phone rang. She froze, as she did any time the phone rang now. Was this it? Was there news? She set down the plate, ran her eyes around the room, looking for the cordless. Her heart was pounding by the time she found it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Brett.”

The breath went out of her at the sound of his voice. “I didn’t expect to hear from you this soon. Were you able to find out anything?”

“I did, as a matter of fact. According to city records, the property is owned by one Soline Roussel. Apparently, she operated a bridal shop there until it burned a few years back. They gutted it after the fire, right down to the lath, started renovations but never finished. It’s been empty ever since. No recent MLS listings, though, which means she probably isn’t looking to unload it. It’s odd that she’d let it sit empty rather than leasing it. With a little work, the place could be a real cash cow.”

Rory sagged onto the couch, grappling with possible responses. Just how far did she want to take this?

“Rory? You still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Are you really thinking about doing this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well then, this is great news. I always thought it was a great idea. But after all the places we looked at last summer, why this one?”

“I don’t know. I saw it and I just knew. It was like it was sitting there, waiting for me.”

“One of those women’s intuition things?”