Trusting Again Read online

  She loved not only the old trees that shaded the park but the public art on each block: Teddy Roosevelt on his horse looking his Rough Rider best. A modern installation of granite pillars called “Peace Chant.” A fountain donated by a Polish immigrant early in the twentieth century in gratitude for the success he’d found in the city.

  Old churches flanked the green space as well as the Art Museum, Portland State University, the Historical Society, and the Performing Arts complex. For Cynthia, it was the real heart of the city, the place where she found a sense of peace and purpose.

  By the time they finally went into the museum, she was calm and happy, eager to see the old friends Amanda assured her would be there. The “old friends” included not only artists and collectors they knew but also familiar glass art pieces. On display were some works they’d seen before, some they’d read about in books, and some they recognized by knowing the style of the artists who’d created them.

  Loaned by a number of Portland studio art glass collectors, the pieces in the exhibit demonstrated the amazing range of modern glass art. The centerpiece of the exhibit was an installation by Dale Chihuly — a chandelier of spring green glass hung above a glass garden of bright reds and darker greens. The display was bracketed by a number of his seaforms, Persians, and baskets.

  But that was just the beginning. Two pieces by Amanda’s mentor, Jessica Loughlin, were there. So was an elegant pitcher and goblet set by Dante Marioni. Next to them were Silvia Levenson’s iconic pink glass hand grenade and barbed-wire-decorated high heels. Pieces by Klaus Moje, Narcissus Quaqliata, William Morris, Catharine Newell, and others were there, too, including — Amanda had failed to mention beforehand — two pieces of her work.

  For Cynthia and Amanda, it was like being turned loose in a candy store. They weren’t sure where to go first. For at least an hour and a half, they went through the exhibit, seeing pieces they knew well, discovering a few they’d never seen in person, discussing their favorites and how those artists had influenced their own work. Cynthia felt relaxed for the first time in thirty-six hours, grateful her friend had suggested she socialize. The evening out was just what she needed.

  As they were beginning a second round of the exhibit, Liz Fairchild and Collins joined them. Amanda’s work on display had been sold through Liz’s gallery and she was thrilled to see the pieces there, as well as the husband and wife who had purchased them. Collins, who was thinking about incorporating glass in a large sculptural piece he was creating, got Amanda excited about the idea. They had decided to continue the discussion over dessert someplace when Liz glanced across the room and spluttered, “God damn. Son of a bitch.”

  “What’s going on?” Amanda asked, looking to see what had prompted Liz to swear.

  Liz pushed her partner toward the other room. “Nothing. I think I missed some of the exhibit next door, that’s all. Let’s go back there and leave that way.”

  “No, we saw everything in there,” Cynthia said, turning towards where Liz was looking. “This door is closer to … ” Seeing what Liz was trying to keep from her ended her sentence.

  Marius was there. With a woman.

  At first, Cynthia thought she was imagining him because it reminded her of her fantasy of his social life. He was standing across the room, looking like he owned the place, holding a glass of champagne. Unlike her fantasy, though, he wasn’t in a tux; he was in one of his dark business suits.

  But the other piece of her fantasy was there — a beautiful brunette holding a glass in one hand and Marius with the other, her voluptuous body as close to his as she could get it. She wasn’t dressed in the ball gown Cynthia had imagined his date would wear; rather she was in a black mini-dress with a very low neckline and not much on her shoulders. Her black heels were even higher than Cynthia’s new ones.

  She was also wearing a Cleopatra collar with clear and opalescent white beads.

  Until that moment, Cynthia had never understood what people meant when they said they’d felt their stomachs drop. But watching him with another woman, realizing this was no fantasy but her worst nightmare, she felt it. Most of her insides took a nosedive, seeming to drag her balance with them. She felt dizzy, like there was no blood in her brain, sure she must be ghost-pale under her make-up. The irrelevant thought that she was grateful Amanda had insisted she wear make-up flitted across her mind before it was squashed by the thought that Marius was there with another woman.

  Liz grabbed her arm. “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge before he sees us.”

  But it was too late. Before they could leave, Marius saw them. For a few seconds he looked like he didn’t believe his eyes; seemed to react as Cynthia had originally, as if what he was seeing wasn’t real. Then his expression changed. He looked puzzled. Or maybe he was just stunned that he’d been caught. A smile began but didn’t take hold of much of his face.

  Cynthia didn’t know if she was more angry or humiliated. He’d lied. About where he would be. About her — about that woman. And if he’d lied about those two things, he’d lied about everything. That was what made her angry. But how humiliating that he thought it would be okay to show up at an exhibit he must have known her friends would attend, flaunting his friend, his girlfriend.

  The woman with him was talking, seeming not to realize he wasn’t paying attention. Then she appeared to ask him a question. When he didn’t respond, she looked in the direction he was staring and saw four people glaring back at her.

  “That son of a bitch,” Liz repeated. “I thought he was a gentleman, that he was … ”

  Amanda waved off the rest of the sentence, put her arm around Cynthia and said, “Come on, Cyn, let’s leave. He doesn’t deserve the time of day from any of us. We’ll just walk out.”

  “No,” Cynthia said. “I’m fine.” She pulled herself up to her full height, stuck out her chin and tried to look like she believed she really was okay. “I won’t let him make me run away.”

  “I doubt that you’re fine, but we’ll do whatever you want,” Amanda said. “Maybe he’ll have the sense to leave.”

  Instead, he walked toward them.

  “Oh, shit, he’s coming over here,” Liz said. She took a position on the other side of Cynthia, leaving Collins to stand alone, looking puzzled at what appeared to be a wall of women facing the man coming towards them, trailed by the woman in the black dress trying to keep up with his long strides.

  Marius stopped in front of Cynthia, took her hand and tried to draw her to him. “Querida, I couldn’t believe my eyes. You didn’t tell me you would be here. Is that why you haven’t been answering … ?”

  She shook off his hand and stepped back. “Yes, I’m here. How was your trip to Central America?”

  The puzzled look was back. “You know how it was. I told you.”

  “Oh, well, you also told me you were going to San Francisco, yet here you are in Portland, so I wasn’t sure I actually knew how your trip was either. Assuming you actually took the trip.” Before he had a chance to respond, she said, “Collins, this is Marius Hernandez. Marius, this is Collins. You know the rest of the group.”

  The woman in the black dress and the Cleopatra collar had caught up with Marius and had linked her arm through his. Cynthia looked at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know your name or I’d introduce you, too. I’m Cynthia Blaine.”

  Marius said, “This is Isabella Rodriguez, Cynthia. Bella, Cynthia is the artist who created your collar.” He untangled his arm from hers. But Bella was determined. When she returned her hand to the crook of his elbow, he didn’t try to remove it a second time. He had the grace to look uncomfortable about it, however.

  Cynthia didn’t know brown eyes could be cold, but Bella’s were. At least, when she looked at Cynthia they were. “Oh, yes, didn’t I read something about you in the Seattle paper awhile ago? Nice to meet you. You must be enjoying seeing the work of such well-known artists. I imagine it inspires you to get better.”

  Amanda’s arm tighten
ed around Cynthia. Her friend’s voice was as cold as Bella’s eyes when she said, “Cynthia Blaine is one of the best at what she does. It seems she wasted a piece of her better work on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

  Marius looked both uncomfortable and angry. “Don’t be rude, Bella. Cynthia’s work is much sought after. I told you that when I gave you my family’s gift.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend,” Bella said in a tone that was anything but repentant.

  Marius continued. “These are friends of Cynthia’s.” One at a time, he indicated the other three people. “This is Amanda St. Claire — I pointed out two of her pieces a few minutes ago. Collins — I’m sure you’ve seen his work in the sculpture garden in Seattle. And Liz Fairchild.”

  “Are you an artist, too, Lynn?” she said to Liz.

  “It’s Liz, and I own a gallery where spoiled women like you come in and complain about the price of work they don’t understand.” She turned to Collins. “I think it’s time we all left, don’t you?”

  Collins, who looked like he was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on, quickly agreed. Amanda kept her arm around Cynthia as they walked away without saying anything more.

  They’d almost made their escape when Cynthia felt a hand on her shoulder and smelled a familiar spicy scent.

  “Wait, Cynthia. You can’t just walk out like this.”

  “Yes, I can,” she said. “It’s exactly what I’m doing.” It made her sadly pleased to see the pleading look in his eyes.

  “Let’s go someplace where we can talk without distractions. Please.”

  “I think you’ve said all that needs to be said this evening without uttering a word. And your ‘distraction’ is waiting for you.” She waved towards Bella Rodriguez who was standing in the middle of the room glaring, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked like she would start tapping her foot at any moment.

  Amanda looked back and forth between her friend and the man who was holding on to her, as if trying to decide whether to hit Marius or drag Cynthia away. Finally, Cynthia nodded to her that she could leave. Amanda walked away, out of earshot, to where Liz and Collins were waiting. And watching.

  Cynthia turned back to Marius and shook off his hand. She was happy to see he looked worried, as well he should be. He’d been caught. She could see a muscle in his jaw working and frown lines around his mouth and in his forehead.

  “You’re reacting to something you got all wrong.” He put out his hand, tried to touch her again but she stepped back, out of his reach.

  “I don’t think so. I think I’ve finally got it absolutely right. Go back to your date. I need to leave with my ride.” She gestured toward where Amanda was waiting for her.

  “She’s not my date. You’re not being fair,” he said, anger now tingeing his voice, too. “I called to tell you … ”

  “Tell me what, Marius? Another lie? Tell me you’re in San Francisco on business when you were here in Portland on a date? Oh, wait. You already told me that lie. Tell me that the woman you gave the Cleopatra collar to is ‘just a friend’? No, you’ve already told me that one, too. That you … ” She stopped, hearing how her voice was rising in volume with every sentence, seeing people turn around to look. Not only was she on the verge of creating an uncomfortable scene but she knew if she kept talking she’d cry. And he was not going to get the satisfaction of seeing he could make her cry.

  She had to get out of there.

  But just as she was about to leave, Bella joined them. “Marius, it’s time for the ceremony. I have to go over there. Please. I don’t want to do this alone.” She put her hand on his arm. He looked pained, glancing back and forth between the two women.

  “I’ll be there in a minute, Bella, as soon as I finish this conversation. You go ahead and I’ll join you.”

  “I’m counting on you. You promised.” Bella left, glancing over her shoulder several times as she made her way to the microphone now set up in front of the Chihuly centerpiece.

  “Cynthia … ” His voice sounded defeated, exhausted.

  “Go, your date needs you. And she doesn’t strike me as the type who has much patience with waiting.” Without letting him say anything more, she walked rapidly to where Amanda, Liz, and Collins were waiting. Amanda put her arm around her as soon as she reached them.

  “Are you okay?” her friend asked.

  “No. I need to get out of here. Now.”

  She kept from crying until they got to Amanda’s house. But as soon as she got into bed, she started and couldn’t stop. Amanda must have heard her because after what seemed like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes, her friend appeared with chamomile tea.

  In silence, she drank the tea and Amanda rubbed her back. The tears subsided eventually.

  “I feel so helpless. Is there anything I can do?” Amanda asked, pulling her friend’s head onto her shoulder.

  “Can you get Sam to arrest him and put him in jail for a long time?” Cynthia asked. She knew Amanda’s police detective husband would do just about anything for his wife. “If he had to live without his expensive car and his custom tailored suits for a year or five it might make me feel better.”

  “If he could, he would. You know Sam loves you.” Amanda removed the hair band from Cynthia’s braid and began to unravel it. “What are you going to do about telling him? Marius, I mean. About the baby.”

  “Nothing. I’m not going to do anything. I may never tell him. He made up my mind for me tonight. I’ll do this on my own. It’s clear from what I saw that I can’t trust him. Not with my feelings and certainly not with a baby.” She sat up and put her arms around her friend. “Thank you for taking me there tonight.”

  “Really? If I hadn’t made you go, you wouldn’t have seen him.”

  “I wouldn’t have known the truth. And I needed to know it. So, yes, thank you.” She yawned.

  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. In the morning I’m going home and picking up my life where I left off before Marius Hernandez got in the way. But sleep is a good idea. I am suddenly very, very tired.”

  Chapter 15

  For Marius, the evening at the Art Museum had been a disaster on every level. Cynthia’s reaction, he supposed, was understandable given that she thought he was in San Francisco. But she wouldn’t let him explain why he wasn’t. Nor would she explain why she hadn’t returned the dozen or so messages and texts he’d left on her phones telling her about the change of plans. He couldn’t even get her away from everyone to find out why she was so quick to think the worst. Of course, even if she’d been willing, he doubted that her band of friends would have let her go out in the Park Blocks with him alone, which was what he wanted.

  And then there was Bella. She pouted like the spoiled brat she was, behaved badly in front of Cynthia and her friends, and almost made a scene when he didn’t immediately follow her for the opening ceremony. This was one of those times when family obligation was the bane of his existence.

  As soon as the formalities opening the exhibit were concluded, he’d dragged Bella out of the museum and taken her to her father’s house. She’d screamed at him most of the way there about humiliating her in front of all of Portland by chasing after another woman when he was at the event with her. She’d raked him over the coals about being a bad friend when he’d been there to support her in her “hour of need,” as she kept insisting it had been. He’d responded that she was behaving like a selfish child and he was sorry he’d ever agreed to go with her.

  He didn’t even walk her to the door when he got her home, just watched from his rental car to make sure she got inside safely before heading for his hotel. They parted on such bad terms, he was sure Bella would call his father and report his behavior like he was some sort of errant schoolboy.

  He was tired from his trip, wrung out by what had gone on at the museum and unsure how to go about making
it right with Cynthia. Trying to figure how to get her to listen to him without interference from her friends kept him awake half the night.

  The one thing he had figured out was, if the evening at the Art Museum had been bad, the next day held the potential of being even worse.

  It lived up to his expectations.

  Knowing Cynthia stayed with Amanda St. Claire when she was in Portland, as soon as he got out of bed, after a very short and not very restful night, he started looking for where Amanda lived. He tried 411 and drew a blank. When he searched online, he found her website and an email address, her exhibition schedule, dozens of images of her work and the websites of every gallery where she exhibited but no address or phone number. Not surprising, probably, but frustrating nonetheless. He knew Amanda was married, but didn’t know if she shared a last name with her husband, although he assumed she didn’t as there were no St. Claires, male or female, listed in Portland.

  After he exhausted all the on-line alternatives, he was left with one option — and it wasn’t one he looked forward to. The only way he could think to find Amanda’s address was to convince Liz Fairchild to give it to him. So he headed for Northwest Portland to The Fairchild Gallery, steeling himself for whatever price Liz might extract for giving him what he wanted. He was willing to take whatever she dished out as long as he ended up with a way to reach Cynthia.

  He arrived ten minutes before the gallery was due to open. Through the glass door he could see Liz at the rear of the gallery, talking on the telephone. He didn’t knock, knowing she’d eventually come to open the door and he didn’t want to interrupt her phone conversation and make her any more angry at him than she already was.

  However, it was neither a knock nor the need to open the gallery that drew her attention to him. Whirling around, making what looked like a dramatic point in the conversation, she saw him at the door. She looked shocked, then angry, immediately turned her back to him and let him cool his heels at the door until she was ready to end her conversation and let him in.