Page 6 of A Valentine's Day Gift
Chapter Three
One year later…
Allie stared out the window of her art studio, sipping her tea, enjoying the early morning light and the quiet. Her three boys were in school full-time. Ever since her art studio had been completed and, in no small part due to Vinny’s open admiration of her artwork, she’d fully embraced being an artist. Funny how it took the guy who built the studio of all people to give her the confidence she needed to believe in herself. Once Jared started full-time at school, she’d signed up for an illustration class in the city. She’d decided to become a picture-book illustrator and now had a portfolio of work. In fact, just last month her illustrated work had been published in an Easy Reader series featuring a frog named Finkle. And next weekend she would have her very first art show. Though it was a small venue, it was still an honor for her illustrations of forest animals to be displayed at the Clover Park library.
Unfortunately, the more she’d grown as an artist and a person, the worse her marriage became. Maybe because she had more respect for herself, standing up for what she wanted. She and William used to fight about what he called her neediness—her attempts at conversation and affection—and money. He resented her spending “his” money on nonessentials like the drapes, nice frames for pictures of the kids, and knickknacks to warm up the chilly atmosphere of their home. Now that she’d given up on intimacy, their fights were just about money, more specifically, money she spent on art supplies and her illustration class. He called her illustrations her little cartoon hobby and thought what she’d been paid for the Easy Reader series was pathetic. She’d just been happy to be paid and had stashed the money in a savings account of her own for any future art-related expenses. William wanted her to either get a real job or magically become the corporate wife he needed. He alternated arguing with the intensity of the blood-sucking corporate lawyer he was and keeping a cold distance.
What it came down to was that she was not the wife he wanted anymore. This was made abundantly clear when he took an apartment in the city, saying he was tired of the commute, and only came home on weekends. She suspected he had a mistress. She’d confronted him about it more than once and got nowhere. She was tired of arguing, tired of crying, just so damn tired.
Sometimes she thought of divorce. It wouldn’t be all that much different from the way they lived now, but then she’d look at her boys and think she just needed to hang on until the kids were grown. She had to know they would be okay. Jared was only six. She didn’t want to rock the foundation of their world. Her own parents were still married, even if they didn’t seem all that happy. Divorce had been a dirty word in her household growing up, said only in whispers about other people who’d failed at marriage. Her parents had taught her and her sister that divorce was shameful. It was a hard thing to shake, that feeling of shame and failure.
She set her tea on the table and ran her finger along the beveled edge of the bookcase Vinny had made her to thank her for the dinners she’d given him. She’d cooked Vinny and his boys dinner every Friday while he’d worked here, and he’d always accepted so graciously. It was a little thing, giving him a small break on the weekend, but it was what she could do.
She bent and pulled out the thick art book on color, flipping it to the center, where she’d stashed a holiday card from Marino and Sons Construction. She opened it and ran her finger over the large confident scrawl of Vinny’s signature. They’d become friends during the six weeks he’d worked on her art studio, chatting after his call home to his son on Vinny’s lunch break. Soon they were chatting when he was done work for the day too. Mostly they talked about their kids, but he was such a good listener she’d confided her dream of becoming an illustrator. She’d even shared some of her early efforts based on classic picture books she admired. The last thing he’d said to her on his last day on the job, with clear respect and admiration in his eyes, was to “keep that fire in your belly, keep going with your art. It’s a gift.”
She’d cried when he drove off. It had touched her so deeply for someone to really see her and acknowledge her as an artist. Their goodbye had felt bigger somehow than a casual goodbye.
She thought of him often, wondering how he was doing as a single dad to three boys. She hoped his sadness had lessened, that he might have some small joys in his life. Like she did with her art and her boys. He’d only sent this holiday card because she’d sent one to him through his company. She didn’t know his home address and hadn’t wanted to get too personal. Both Vinny and Tony had signed it. She wasn’t sure why she’d kept it, but every once in a while when her thoughts drifted, she pulled it out, remembering his sadness, but also remembering his warmth and encouragement.
That was it. She would invite him to her art show, along with his boys. The illustrations were made for children, after all. She pulled out her sketch pad and drew a quick illustration of a happy-looking golden retriever. Then she added in bold letters: You’re Invited to Allie’s First Art Show. Next line: Featuring picture-book illustrations of forest creatures. She added the address, date and time she’d be there on Saturday morning, and mentioned she’d be giving out free early readers of the series she’d illustrated.
She mailed it to his work. Either he’d show up or he wouldn’t.
She didn’t even know if he was local.
He could be busy. Three boys in May were probably crazy busy with baseball games.
She wouldn’t get her hopes up.
~ ~ ~
Vinny drove like a man on a mission. He had exactly thirty minutes to catch Allie’s art show. Nico’s baseball game had just wrapped up, Angel’s was done super early this morning, and he had Vince’s game in the afternoon. His boys were in their baseball uniforms in the backseat of the minivan, quiet with their mouths full of deli subs. He’d been so happy for Allie when he got her invitation in the mail. She’d wanted to be an illustrator and she’d made it. Her own art show, her own published books that she’d illustrated. He knew she had talent and was thrilled to see how far she’d come in only a year.
He’d never forgotten her kindness, asking after his boys, cooking for them every week to give him a break. It hadn’t given him a break since Loretta wouldn’t stand for it, but he’d accepted the offer gratefully every week and given it to his bachelor cousin Tony, who was equally grateful to have a home-cooked meal. The irony was, now Vinny really was the cook in the family. His father-in-law’s health had taken a turn for the worse, and Loretta had become a full-time nurse for her husband. She’d given Vinny a crash course in Italian cooking and then followed up, having him and the boys go to her place for supervised cooking every Sunday. He now made a pretty mean sauce and had become a whiz at ravioli. That was what his boys liked best, so he made it often, secretly hiding vegetables in the cheese filling.
The note he’d written Allie burned a hole in his jeans pocket. He wasn’t sure what had come over him, putting his deepest thoughts into words, but he didn’t know when he’d ever have a chance to see her again, and he just wanted her to know how much she’d helped him during a dark time of his life. Still helped him when the darkness closed in.
A crumpled paper wrapper shot into the cup holder next to him from one of the boys. He glanced back at the big hand of his oldest, ten-year-old Vince. “Don’t put your trash up front. Stick it in the bag it came in.”
Vince complied, making a big noise about it. “How quiet do we gotta be to get ice cream after my game?”
“Library quiet,” Vinny said. “Whisper.”
“I’m a great whisperer!” six-year-old Angel shouted, his Ss lisping with his missing front teeth.
“That’s not a whisper,” Nico said, then lowered his voice. “This is a whisper. We’re gonna look at pictures an artist made and have ice cream.”
“Her name is Allie Reynolds,” he told them. Just saying her name sent a zing of anticipation through him. She’d remembered him after all this time, and that meant something. Maybe she’d enjoyed their talks as much as he had. Or maybe that had just been a matter of circumstance. He’d been depressed and she’d been a bright light of caring and comfort. He wasn’t depressed anymore, but he wasn’t exactly happy either.
Angel whispered so softly he couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Vince piped up. “Yeah, who is Allie? Is she famous?”
He cleared his throat. “She’s an artist friend. I built her an art studio last year.”
“Is she rich?” Nico asked.
“No, not rich, but not poor either.” She was married to a lawyer. Her husband had signed the check for the construction work—William Reynolds, Esquire. “Maybe one day she’ll be famous for her artwork.”
