Page 9 of No Artful Refusal
Marlene wasn’t listening, lost in wave of grief from the prophecy.In her mind, the theft had occurred and her pain was real.“I can’t see who took it or why.”Marlene shoved her hair back from her face.“I should, given the deep tie to my mother.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to involve the police until we know more.”She swore, her fingers going white around the arms of the chair.“The anger in my heart is impossible to explain or defuse.As if my soul is furious,” Marlene said.Abruptly, she lurched forward and grabbed Devyn’s hands.“Let me show you.Once you see it all, you can find it.”
Devyn fought the instinctive urge to pull away.The rustiness in Marlene’s voice, along with the weighty desperation in her grasp, fell on her like a blow.It was as if she’d leaped into the sea to help a drowning victim only to be dragged under the surface with them.
For the first time in her life, she built a wall between herself and her mentor.Hasty and not likely to hold, it was still a sanity-saving move.“That’s not the recovery work I typically do.”
“I know you’re better with people, love, but I need you to try.For me.”
Devyn had never seen Marlene in such a state.Fragile and closing in on panic when normally she was the epitome of calm confidence.Over their years of friendship, they’d shared plenty of the normal rough days, illnesses, and sorrows.This was different.An unprecedented grief clung to Marlene’s shoulders and uncertainty clouded her gaze.Maybe the emotions, combined with her inner turmoil, had created the stickiness Devyn had seen in her peripheral vision earlier.
How could she refuse Marlene?After everything the older woman had done to save Devyn from being overwhelmed by her gifts, a little piece of her heart always felt as if she owed her mentor.
“Of course,” she committed.All in for the love of friendship.“Why don’t you show me the print you have, first?I don’t recall you ever telling me about your mother’s artistic talents.”Which was strange, considering how close they were.She thought she’d learned everything about Marlene through the years.
The hope seemed to give Marlene a boost as she got up and headed for the bedroom.Marlene went straight for her dresser.Picking up a framed print, she turned and held it out for Devyn.
Whatever Devyn had been expecting, this wasn’t it.She’d seen this before, many times.The beauty, emotion, and mastery of the brush strokes always moved her.“I thought this was the original Monet.Well, a print of it, anyway.”
“The Irises in Monet’s Garden,” Marlene confirmed.“One of my favorites, too,” she agreed.“But this is my mother’s work.The signature is barely visible.”She pointed to a corner.“Paula Simmons.Her maiden name.If you compare this print of my mother’s canvas with the original Monet, you can see where she put in enough of herself, beyond the signature, to prevent anyone from labeling it as a forgery.
“Mom studied art history and eventually specialized in restoration,” Marlene continued.“For many years it was her job to emulate the techniques of the masters to preserve their original works.She traveled the world, wherever she was needed.Her career slowed down after she married my father and I came along.”Marlene smiled as warm memories drifted through her gaze.“Wherever we traveled for vacations, museums were part of the agenda.I think she missed the energy and demand of her work.She did teach art courses at the collegiate level, but it wasn’t the same.”
More concerns washed over Devyn.Maybe the haziness of the visions indicated that this was a false prophecy built on memories and wistfulness of a time long gone.Then again, she wasn’t qualified to question Marlene’s gifts or how her visions presented.
“May I hold it?”Devyn hesitated, half-expecting to be denied.
“Of course.Do whatever you need to.”
Devyn took the framed print and opened her extra senses just enough to feel Marlene’s love for not only the beauty of the painting but what it represented.This treasured piece of her mother stayed close enough to touch and inspire her day by day.
“It’s remarkable.”Devyn marveled over the deep, lingering connection between mother and daughter as much as the painting itself.“Your mother was incredibly talented.”
“Dad often told her she should have painted more.More of her own works, I mean.Dad’s family has most of her collection at the big house in Maine.”
Devyn had searched forthingswith fair success.People were easier for her to find, apparently easier for her psychic source to connect with.Maybe her source liked gossip.The thought made her smile.
“Did you get something?”
“Not yet,” she replied.“But I’ll try,” she assured her.“I’d like to call the museum.”
“After you try.Please?”Marlene hurried to add.
Why was Marlene resisting the logical first step?
“I know it has been stolen,” Marlene insisted.“That’s on me for not taking action earlier.I just didn’t think it could be true.”She sank to the foot of the bed.“Mom’s birthday was last week and I assumed my mind had taken a dark turn for the fun of it.”
“Because you were sick.”
Marlene nodded.“It never helps,” Marlene agreed.“Illness is when darker thoughts can creep in and twist our understanding of things.”
“I remember,” Devyn said.She’d been trained to watch for those risks.Warned not to put too much of herself into any search.Losing focus, or worse, losing objectivity could lead to projecting an outcome to suit a personal desire instead of finding the truth.“Let me get my phone and make some notes.”
While Marlene preferred to make her notes by hand, Devyn appreciated having an app for that.It streamlined things when she could sync her research across all her devices.As she dashed off to retrieve her phone, her mind sifted through the best next steps.
