Hold Me Close Read online

  “Not here,” he says. And later, when she’s on top of him in his bed with the plain white sheets and lumpy pillows, “Call me Bill. My name’s Bill.”

  chapter thirty

  The trip to Philadelphia was, on a good day, a two-hour drive. That is if you could avoid traffic on the Schuylkill, and honestly, that was an impossible dream. Still, Effie had made it in just under three hours and didn’t have to be home at any certain time because she’d made arrangements for Heath to be there when Polly got off the bus. It had been an olive branch from her to him, and he’d taken it, but she wasn’t sure it had made much of a difference, overall.

  She didn’t want to think about that now.

  “Effie! Hi.” Elisabeth had worked with Naveen as long as Effie had been selling her art to him, though it had been only in the past few years that she’d taken over acquiring pieces on her own. “Can I get you something? Coffee, tea, soda? I have a bottle of wine somewhere around here, if you want a glass of that.”

  “It’s a little early, even for an artist.” Effie laughed and hung her coat on Elisabeth’s rack, then took a seat on the plush red couch. “Your office looks amazing. Wow.”

  “I told Naveen that if we wanted to get to the next level with clients, we had to show ourselves off as being worth the time. He was happy with bare-bones spaces, but I had to convince him that, sure, they like to go look at the pieces hung in the gallery, where they look spectacular, but they’re only going to buy what they can imagine will look fantastic hanging in their homes.” Elisabeth poured herself a mug of coffee from the maker on the small stand next to her desk and held up the carafe with a raised brow.

  “Yeah, thanks. Black is fine.” Effie took the mug the other woman offered and sipped the strong, hot coffee hesitantly at first. It was fine, of course. She took another drink.

  “So,” Elisabeth continued, “I redid my office here to have this little area that’s set up like a living room. Even if the clients don’t have the same decor, at the very least, they can picture the piece in a living room or foyer, not simply hanging in perfect lighting with neutral backgrounds. It’s been working out really well. I move so many more pieces since I did it. But, hey, tell me what’s up with you. I saw the piece you sent to the New York gallery. My God, Effie, it was amazing.”

  Warmed by the praise, Effie sat back against the cushions. “Thanks. Sometimes it comes out right, you know?”

  “I couldn’t make art if you put a gun to my head.” Elisabeth took a seat in the retro-styled chair across from Effie. “So I don’t really know, but I understand. Does that make sense?”

  Effie laughed. “I think so.”

  “Anyway, let’s go over the ideas I had for the show. We can start by looking at the calendar and going from there.”

  Together, they worked up a date and time for the show, how long it would run, how many pieces Effie would need that were similar to the one she’d sent in. Elisabeth assured her they’d fill in with the other work. It was going to be great, she said. Effie wasn’t so sure.

  “I’ve never had my own show. I’m not sure I can carry it.” The coffee gone, Effie had nothing to do with her hands but link her fingers in her lap.

  Elisabeth shook her head. “You’re going to be great. Really. And honestly, it’s as much about marketing and publicity, these days, getting people into the gallery. And if we can get them in, I can guarantee you’ll sell. You want to see the new gallery space? Check out what we have room for? I don’t know if it will help you figure out what you want to paint or not. I work with some people who insist on being guided by the muse no matter what form it takes, and others who are really more interested in making a living.”

  “I’m totally interested in making a living,” Effie said absently as she got up to check out the piece hanging on Elisabeth’s wall, not in the client section but to the side of her desk next to the window. “I make art like it’s my job so I don’t have to get another one.”

  It was a photograph. An 11 x 20 print, scattered stones on a bed of velvet with one heart-shaped rock set off from the others. It was more than just a photo. Someone had added lines and color to it, little hints here and there, using ink and pen to transform an already-beautiful shot into something unique. Special.

  “This is good,” Effie said, turning to look at Elisabeth, who’d stopped, still and silent, to also stare at the photo.

  “It was a gift,” Elisabeth said.

  Effie had bitten her own tongue for silence enough times to see the struggle in someone else. Wisely, she changed the subject as she followed Elisabeth out of the office and into the gallery space. It was bright, airy, welcoming. Various paintings, photographs and sculptures occupied well-designed spaces. Effie spotted a couple of her hidden clocks along a back wall but didn’t go closer to see them. She knew what they looked like.

  “Can you envision your work here? Oh, hold on. Excuse me.” Elisabeth pulled her buzzing phone from her pocket to look at the screen. Her brow furrowed. She slipped the phone back in her pocket and gave Effie a pained smile.

  “You need to take that?”

  Elisabeth shook her head. “No. It’s...”

  The phone buzzed again. Elisabeth put her hand over her pocket. Effie gave her a sympathetic look, woman to woman. That had to be from a guy.

  “Excuse me just a minute. Take a walk around, make yourself at home.” Elisabeth walked away to look at her phone, shoulders hunched, furiously texting.

  Effie watched her for a moment and took the chance to tug her own phone from her pocket. Messages from her mother, of course. One from Heath saying he’d be taking Polly bowling tonight if she got her homework finished in time, so if they weren’t home when Effie got there, not to worry. One from Mitchell, a simple smiley emoticon and one word.

  Hey.

  Hey, Effie typed.

  Immediately, the three small dots that indicated Mitchell was typing showed up on her screen. With an eye on Elisabeth, who was now pacing and typing, Effie waited for his reply. He typed. Then stopped. He typed, then stopped.

  Finally, Hey.

  She laughed, gave another look to Elisabeth, who was still occupied with her phone, and responded. That was a lot of typing for a single word.

  I was going to try for clever, but I didn’t know how the joke would go over, so I just went with the safe route. How r u?

  Fine, Effie began, meaning to write more but at that moment Elisabeth returned.

  “Sorry.” The other woman looked as if she’d been trying not to cry.

  “Everything okay?”

  “No, not really,” Elisabeth said with a tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But it’s also nothing new. So, let’s take a look at the spaces I was thinking of using for you, okay?”

  This time, Effie’s phone was the interrupting buzz. The first time it hummed from her pocket, she ignored it. The second time, she assumed it was because she hadn’t checked the first message—her phone could be impatient with alerts. The third and fourth times it buzzed, she figured she’d better peek to be sure it wasn’t Heath with an emergency with Polly. She caught Elisabeth’s curious look.

  “This is something kind of new,” she explained, then after a second thought, she showed her phone to Elisabeth. “Boys being pouty? I don’t know how to deal with it.”

  I wanted to follow up about next week, First Friday?

  Hey, r u there?

  Guess you’re too busy to chat.

  Give me a ping when you have some time for me.

  “Ugh,” Elisabeth said, but she laughed. “Maybe he didn’t mean it to come off as pouty?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to say,” Effie admitted. “I’ve only just started dating him. But if that’s how he’s going to be, I’ll have to tell you, I’m not gonna have it.”

  Elis