Page 24 of Just Beachy

“Yes, it should,” Grand agrees.

As we finish our coffees, I turn the conversation to Phillip Drake once again, eager not to dwell on the break-in and more than a little curious about their relationship. I google “The Missing Madonna” and enlarge the painting as far as I can on my phone. I’ve seen pictures of my grandmother in her twenties, and while this is not a portrait in the truest sense, there’s something about it that reminds me of her.

“Did you pose for this painting?” I ask tentatively.

“No. He used to call mehisMadonna. He also called me his muse. Hislove.” Grand closes her eyes; shakes her head. “And I believed him. I was flattered and awed by him and his talent. I practically worshipped him. But I was a little girl playing at being a woman. I was ridiculously naïve.” She sighs. “Stupid, really.”

“And what did he think of your work?” I ask quietly.

Grand takes a sip of her coffee. “He called my work ‘pretty,’ which was not a compliment. Sometimes he’d tell me that my shading was ‘nicely done.’ Or that my use of color showed promise. But even when he was ostensibly complimenting or encouraging me, he made me feel mediocre.”

She hesitates as if trying to decide whether to go on. “Once he told me that I had talent, but not quite enough to stand out. And I was grateful to him for being honest. As if it was a great honor that he cared about me enough to tell me the truth. Even though it was hurtful.”

Grand draws a deep breath, lets it out. “I didn’t paint for years after I ran back to Atlanta. I let his opinion ruin what I loved most for far too long. And then…”

“What?”

“Your grandfather reminded me that I needed to paint like I needed air.”

• • •

“Brian’s picking meup in a few minutes for dinner,” Grand says late that afternoon. “Would you like to join us?”

“But it’s”—I glance down at my watch—“it’s only four forty-five.”

“I know. I’m still trying to get used to the whole Early Bird thing.”

“I’m guessing there are no worms on the menu,” I tease.

“Haven’t seen any so far.Thatwould be a deal-breaker. But I’ve figured out that if you skip lunch, it’s possible to be hungry by five.”

“Good to know.” I shoot her a wink. “And I appreciate the invitation, but I’m going to Bella Flora.”

“Have fun.” Grand gives me a hug. “If you get back first, don’t wait up.”

“Okay.” I try out the look my parents used to give me before I left for a date. “But if you’re not coming home, please call or text and let me know. So I don’t sit up waiting and worrying.”

Grand laughs. “Aye aye, Captain.” She gives me a mock salute then makes her exit.

• • •

After she leaves,I grab a jacket (even a Florida beach can get chilly in February!) and head due south to Pass-a-Grille, where I pull up to Bella Flora about fifteen minutes before sunset. As I walk through the lush front garden, past the dolphin fountain, and up the front steps, I take in the wedding cake of a building with its pink stucco walls, white icing trim, and the run of arched floor-to-ceiling windows and wrought iron balconies.

Kyra opens the front door before I can even ring the bell. “I’m so glad you could make it,” she says, giving me a hug.

“Come on. Everyone’s out back. I’m afraid we’ve had a head start on the margaritas.” We walk through the foyer, past the graceful run of stairs, the dining and living rooms with their coffered cypress ceilings, and the Casbah Lounge with its Moroccan-styled interior, leaded glass, and red leather banquettes.

Avery, Maddie, Nikki, and Bitsy are already seated around a table that overlooks the pool, the narrow pass that connects the Bay and the Gulf, the jetty with its fishing pier, and the sand dunes that lead out onto the white sand beach.

There are hugs all around and I drop into the empty chair beside Kyra, who’s already lifting the pitcher of margaritas and filling my glass.

“To Bella Flora!”

“And having the gang all here!”

We clink rims and take healthy swallows. I sigh in ecstasy when I taste my drink and realize it actually has tequila in it.

The breeze is cool but gentle. Gulls caw and swoop lazily in the sky, wings spread, eyes sharp for anything worth diving for as the sun begins its descent.

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