Page 74 of Loss and Damages
My father is all I have.
“Yes,” I say, and he embraces me. “Whatever you want.”
Chapter Twenty
Jemma
It’s been over a week since I sent Leo’s paintings to Dominic. He didn’t respond, and the only indication he received them at all was the automated text message the courier sent when Dominic scrawled his name on the electronic pad the morning he accepted the crate. It hurts he didn’t text me a thank you or send me a thank you card. It hurts he never replied to my letter.
The night he told me he couldn’t be with me, he meant it.
I miss him, and I miss Leo. I’ve tried to find a routine that doesn’t include anyone in it besides Gloria who still stops by in the mornings or on the way home from her shop, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m lonely, and after a year of spending all my free time with Leo, it’s a foreign concept I’m not sure how to rectify. I don’t have time to drive into the city to visit my brother and Tara. I have friends in Hollow Lake, but I haven’t been out to coffee or lunch with anyone but Leo in over a year and I don’t know how to go about fixing the cracks I’ve made in my social circle.
I’m tired and sad and the whole thing is too overwhelming, so I do nothing instead.
My hands and knees are healing, and I rarely think about that night unless my mind goes unwelcome to the words Dominic told me when he said goodbye. I try to keep that buried. Some days it’s the only way to get through the hours.
I use my time to paint, and I accept an invitation to join an upscale art sale in Chicago. They rent a ballroom in one of the pricier hotels and advertise to the affluent residents who won’t mind the prices I’ve set on my pieces. The table fee was steep, but I’ll make it up in sales. I have three months to prepare, and it’s what keeps me going at night when Leo isn’t here and Dominic doesn’t stop by unannounced.
The news of the break-in prompted curious visitors and I’ve had a rush of customers. Ashley’s art teacher at the community college put me in touch with a local artist and I display her paintings where Leo’s used to be. She paints pretty prairie and lake scenes and her paintings have proven popular and sell the moment I hang a new one. She’s a sweet older woman and we get along well. It will be a beneficial partnership for a long time.
My security system is still in place, the one for the gallery and my cottage, not the network Gloria referred to the morning she reprimanded me for feeling sorry for myself. The only thing the sensors have picked up so far is a bat that knocked into my window, triggering the alarm. Nick and the rest of the police department have started to taper off their drive-bys, and I can’t decide if I’m nervous or relieved. I don’t think those men will come back and I’ve never been scared living in Grandma Darcie’s cottage alone, but I miss knowing someone is looking out for me even if it is only the cops doing their jobs.
Something needs to change, and I’m still struggling with the whats and hows of it all when Nick stops by one evening as I’m closing out the register and running the credit card tallies.
He’s handsome in his suit, his sculpted shoulders filling out the black dress shirt, a tie hanging loose around his neck, hisbelt snug around his trim hips, and his badge glinting. He’s no Dominic Milano, but he has fine attributes all his own.
He opens the door and steps into the gallery, the little bell jingling, and I push back the disappointment that it isn’t Dominic. He made it clear he didn’t want me, his snub after I sent the letter and crate reinforcing something I should already have believed.
Move on, Jemma, the Milanos are done with you.
“Hey,” Nick says, closing the door.
“Hi. Are you done with your shift?”
“I have to go to the station and fill out some paperwork, but yeah, you’re my last stop. Did you have a good day?”
“I did. The new artist is extremely popular. I wish I would’ve asked for a bigger commission. Maybe next year if she renews her contract. How are things with you? Easy day?”
Nick leans against the counter as the credit card machine spits out a list of the day’s sales. It will also email me, but I like having a paper back up. “It was quiet. The same tourists and the same trouble.” He pauses. “Have you heard from Milano?”
“No. Why? Did you catch him slinking around in my yard again?” I try to sound like I’m joking, but it would give me hope if he’s been loitering outside my cottage. Creepy? Romantic? There’s such a fine line between the two when you miss someone.
Nick laughs. “No. There’s word from the SCPD that they may have caught a break with the two who broke in here. Traffic cams caught the car you described driving into the city a couple hours after you chased them off, but the license plate belonged to a stolen vehicle. They have a BOLO out on the make and model, but if they ditched it, it doesn’t matter. They’re going through more footage hoping they can find a facial shot, but other cases hold more weight. Someone’s running the videos when they have time. Never know, though.”
I bite my lower lip. “Do they have any information on who shot Dominic?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t ask. That’s not my fight.”
“Oh.”
“You can’t care about him, Jemma. There’s a rumor out now he’s sniffing around the New Life homeless shelter.”
My heart sinks further than I thought it could go. “Why would he want that?”
“For the land. Why else would he want it? The homeless shelter and the church, the halfway houses—they’re all near the 1100 block. He’s buying up the poor parts of St. Charlotte, and that’s not a good thing. The city needs to be able to accommodate all income brackets or the cost of living will go sky high and he’ll turn St. Charlotte into a place where only the one percent can afford to live. It’s not right, but with the mayor in his pocket, he’s got no opposition. You should stay away from him.”
“You sound like my brother.”
