Angels in the Snow (9 page)

Her voice actually trembled as she spoke. “Okay, the gallery is officially open.”

“I’m so excited,” said Leo. And that alone filled Claire with dread. An art critic! What had Jeannie been thinking?

Claire lurked behind them as they entered the cabin. She stood silently as they viewed the works, watching their every move, waiting for their reactions. But Jeannie and Leo said nothing—absolutely nothing. They simply moved about the crowded space, situating themselves to best view her various works.

“Perhaps if they were framed,” she finally said weakly, almost inaudibly.

The floor squeaked beneath Leo as he moved to get a better look at the night painting. His hands hung loosely at his sides. But still he said nothing.

“Oh, I should’ve known,” muttered Claire. “I never should’ve. . . .” She walked over to the sink and stared blankly out the window, wishing desperately that her company would just quietly turn and leave. Or perhaps she could leave, maybe just vanish into the air, like an angel.

Finally, Jeannie spoke, but her voice was different somehow; perhaps it was strained by all this. “What’s under this, Claire?” She was standing before the easel now.

Claire stepped up to the easel. Well, why not get it over with. She might as well let them see it all. Like a felon about to be sentenced, she pulled the sheet from the painting, then stepped back, unable to actually look at it herself. Oh, if only this cabin had another room, besides the bathroom, where she might run and hide. She felt her teeth clenching and wished that this day could be over—that Jeannie and Leo could politely excuse themselves and get in Jeannie’s BMW and just leave. But still they stood there, just looking in silence. As if they were too embarrassed to speak. And Claire felt as if she were standing before the two of them naked and ashamed, with nowhere to hide.

At last Jeannie turned around and faced her. But her expression was confusing. Was she upset? Angry? Frustrated by Claire’s lame excuse for art? Then Claire noticed there were real tears in Jeannie’s eyes.

Jeannie pulled out a handkerchief and daubed at her eyes. “These are beautiful, Claire.”

“Really?” Claire grabbed Jeannie by the arms. “Tell me the truth, Jeannie. Are you just saying that? Are you afraid I’ve totally lost it, gone off the deep end, and you don’t want to tell me for fear I’ll completely crack up, and you’ll have to get the men in the white coats and—”

“No!” Jeannie leaned forward and looked directly into Claire’s eyes. “I
mean
it. I’m perfectly serious. These are the best things you’ve ever done.”

Now Claire felt tears filling her own eyes. “What about you, Leo?” she asked in a shaky voice. “What do you think?”

He turned around to face her. His expression was still impossible to read, but if anything he looked slightly frightened.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “You really want my opinion, Claire? Despite what you said earlier about critics?”

She considered this, then nodded. “Yes. Tell me the truth.”

“These are brilliant.” He rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “I can’t even think of the right words to describe them—and I’m a writer—inspired, holy, powerful, inspirational, amazing . . . that’s just for starters.”

She felt her knees growing weak and eased herself down into the easy chair, placing her head in her hands as she sobbed in pure relief. She felt both of them near her, their hands resting on her shoulders as they waited for this moment to pass. Finally, she looked up at them and asked, “Are you guys telling me the truth?
For real?
”

They both nodded.

“I have to take these with me, Claire. Henri must see them at once. If it’s at all possible, we have to get a show scheduled before Christmas, even if that means moving some things around. Do you think you’ll have any more done by then?”

“I–I don’t know. It’s like they come to me—like Leo said—in inspiration. Like God is actually guiding my hand.”

“I believe that,” said Leo.

Jeannie nodded. “Well, whatever it takes, if you can do more, it’ll help the show.”

“Are you sure, Jeannie? I mean, like Leo said, angels aren’t really in vogue right now. And what if Henri doesn’t—”

“You let me figure this out.”

“But you really think anyone would want to buy them?”

Jeannie pressed her lips together. “Well, you can just never tell about these things. I’ve seen work that I thought was amazing and brilliant before, but the public just didn’t seem to get it. I suppose that could happen.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve seen it too. I’ve given artists the best reviews and then watched them sink into oblivion.”

Claire looked down at her lap. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“But we’ve got to give it a try,” said Jeannie. She glanced at her watch. “And we should probably be on our way now, Claire.”

Claire stood and took Jeannie’s hand. “Thanks so much for everything.”

“I’ll load up the pictures,” said Leo. “Do you have any spare blankets to wrap them in?”

“There are some in that closet by the bathroom,” instructed Jeannie.

“The one on the easel . . .” Claire began with hesitation.

“Yes?” Jeannie nodded.

“I don’t really want to sell that one.”

“I didn’t think you would.” Jeannie put her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “But can you let it be in the show?”

Claire glanced over at the painting, knowing she would miss it but also knowing it might be better to have it away from her, for now. “Yes. You can take it.”

“Good.”

After the paintings were loaded, Jeannie turned to Claire. “About those footprints in the woods?”

“Yes?”

“Well, maybe they are something more. I mean, you never know.”

Claire smiled. “Or maybe you’re just saying that because you like the inspiration they provided.”

Jeannie grinned. “Maybe.”

“So you like representing a mad artist, now, do you?”

Jeannie shook her head. “No. I like representing
you
. I definitely do
not
want you to go mad. And if necessary, I recommend you search out those footprints if only to prove to yourself they belong to a couple of perfectly normal human beings just out enjoying nature the same as you.”

“Yes, I may do that.”

“I just want you to stay healthy, kiddo.” Then Jeannie leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You take care of yourself now. And don’t you quit believing in angels!”

“That’s right,” called Leo. “I can’t wait to tell my mom about you!”

For the next two weeks, Claire divided her time between painting and walking and daily chores, all this with Michael by her side. Painting came more easily to her now; it almost seemed that something new had been unleashed or maybe broken when Claire heard the approval of two art professionals. And it wasn’t that her art was dependent on the opinions of others, but under the circumstances, she appreciated it.

She had suspected she wouldn’t be able to keep up the frenzied, somewhat crazed pace of her original angel pieces. But she’d known even then that it was slightly fanatical, almost over the edge. Now she was thankful to simply continue. Plus she noticed that a quiet peace seemed to accompany her as she worked. And to Jeannie’s great pleasure, Claire managed to create four more
paintings for the show. She could hardly contain herself as she told Jeannie the good news on the phone.

“I can’t wait to see them,” exclaimed Jeannie. “I’ll send a courier to pick them up. If I get right on it, he could be there by late this afternoon.”

“They’re a lot like the earliest ones,” explained Claire as she studied her latest painting. “Mostly shades of white on white and snow-covered trees with angels here and there. Sometimes I worry that the angels are too subtle; I’m afraid the viewer could almost miss them.”

“Yeah, but once they see them, they’d wonder how they ever missed them in the first place.”

“I hope you’re right.” Claire said, washing out a dirty brush.

“Of course, I’m right. Everything’s all set too. The show will begin this weekend. Did I tell you that Henri actually postponed an
Andrew Banks
show until
after
the New Year—can you believe it? Just so he could squeeze your show in
before
Christmas. He’s such a doll. And he plans to run it for three weeks—it’s his best-selling season of the year, you know. Can you believe our luck with this timing?”

Claire bit into her lip. “I just hope he’s not disappointed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it could be a total flop.”

“Well, you let us worry about that, kiddo. You just keep on chasing those amazing angels.”

Claire sighed. “That’s got me worried.”

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“Well, I’ve been having those old dreams again. And I can’t quit thinking about those—those footprints in the snow. I know it sounds crazy, Jeannie, and I don’t really believe it right now, but sometimes in the middle of the night, I feel just certain that they belong to Scott and Jeremy.”

“Claire, you know it can’t really be—”

“Oh, I know, I know—at least my head knows, most of the time anyway. But it’s this whole angel thing that’s got me going. And strange things have happened to other people. Lucy at the store was telling me just yesterday that a friend of hers is certain he saw Big Foot a few years ago. So how can I be so certain that it isn’t them? What if it is?”

Jeannie exhaled loudly. “Well, as your rep, I shouldn’t even say this—it’s like shooting myself in the foot—or telling you to kill off your muse . . . but as your friend I know I have to speak up.” She cleared her throat. “Claire, it’s like I said before, I think it’s time you followed those footprints—to their final conclusion, I mean. Then, and only then, you will see that they belong to a pair of perfectly ordinary human beings—flesh and blood . . . not feathers and angel dust. Come to think of it, it could be the old couple that has a place down the road a ways. They used to walk pretty regularly as I recall. I think their name was Henson or Henderson. And she was a real tiny lady; I’ll bet she could have child-sized feet.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Claire considered an older couple walking through the snowy woods. Yes, it could happen. “I’ve tried to follow the footprints before, but for one reason or another, I always turned back.
Lately I’ve been thinking about following them again, but. . . .” She paused, uncertain.

“The illusion would be over.”

Claire swallowed. “Yeah. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to end this thing—to really move on, you know? I realize that life dealt you a really low blow in losing Scott and Jeremy. But you’ve got a bright future, kiddo. And there are all kinds of good things in store for you, but you need to be ready for them. And even if this means it’s the end of your—uh—angel era, I’m sure you’ll still be inspired to paint something else equally wonderful, in time. Talent like yours doesn’t come along every day.”

Claire was ready for this conversation to end. “I hope you’re right, Jeannie; I want to believe you.”

“Trust me, sweetie, it’s not healthy for you to live in a fantasy world.” She paused, then laughed. “And as greedy as I am to have you producing more of those lovely angel paintings, I’m not willing to see you sacrifice your emotional well-being for them.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your honesty.”

“And, don’t forget, I want you here for the opening of the show.”

“What day is that again?”

“This Friday night. Come at seven for the preview showing. I have some people I want you to meet. Shall I send someone for you?”

“No. I can drive. I’m just not sure what to do about Michael.”

“Michael?”

“My dog.”

“Oh, yeah. Why not bring him along?”

“I would, except the landlord doesn’t allow pets in my apartment.”

“Oh.” She could hear Jeannie tapping her pencil on the phone now, her sign that it was time to hang up. “Well, you know I’m not crazy about dogs, but I suppose he could stay at my place.”

“Thanks, Jeannie. I might have to take you up on that.”

“See you on Friday then.

After another restless night, haunted by the same old dream, Claire decided that Jeannie was right. It was time to follow those footprints and just get it over with. And, after all, why shouldn’t she become acquainted with her neighbors, the Hendersons, or whoever they were. If they were real neighbors, that is.

“Ready for a nice long walk?” she asked Michael after putting away the last of the breakfast dishes.

He wagged his tail in response and waited by the door as she slowly bundled up. Several inches of fresh snow had fallen the night before, and the temperature had dropped since yesterday. She took a few minutes to stack more firewood on the porch, then the two of them set out. As she walked, she wondered if she shouldn’t just pack things up this week. Hadn’t she accomplished what she’d set out to do? To break the bond that had kept her from painting? What other reason was there to stay? She looked at Michael happily running ahead of her. That “no dog” policy at her loft apartment did present a bit of
a problem, but perhaps she could sublet it and find a new place. But where?