Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb
Chapter Twenty-Three
Beth
She stifles a yawn on the back of her hand, and hopes none of the artists saw. It isn’t boredom. On the contrary, their work is beautiful, and it takes constant affirmation to remember that these are her peers. Her work is displayed alongside theirs.
But the excitement and the drama of the past two days have drained her, and though she’s exactly where she wants to be at that moment, some part of her is already bundled up in her bed. The image of Finn onstage, his indecipherable expression, flickers through her mind, pouncing whenever her attention wanes.
She fights to concentrate on an intricate oil painting of the local farmer’s market. A “sold” sign covers the price tag.
So many versions of last night’s events clamor in her mind; a version where she confronted him, a version where he climbed down from the stage and swept her into his arms. That one replays most often. In that fantasy, there’s no need for an explanation, no need to apologize, just swelling music, convenient wind machines, heaving bosoms…
“You okay?” Sadie asks, the toned, cool skin of her upper arm brushing against Beth’s burning shoulder.
Beth takes a sip of her champagne and smiles, hoping it’s convincing enough to avoid trying to explain the knotted emotions constricting her thoughts. “Mm-hm.”
“Ms. Barlow?”
She flinches at the sound of her name.
The curator smiles and offers her his hand to shake. “I’m pleased to inform you your painting has sold. Congratulations, and thank you for helping our cause.”
The room spins a little as Sadie grabs her arm. “That’s amazing. Beth!”
“I…” Beth’s throat closes as her vision pulses. It’s been on display for less than ten minutes. It’s a good painting, but surely not that good.
The curator chuckles. “The buyer actually paid double our asking price. It’ll help us tremendously. And they’ve volunteered to teach music lessons once a week when the new center opens.”
Double. Music lessons. She can barely hear the curator over the thrum of her heart. Could it have been Finn? It seems too much to hope for. She forces herself to pause, to consider every avenue. Perhaps it isn’t him at all. But who else…?
“Who was it?” Sadie asks, helpfully sorting Beth’s tumbling thought process into words. Her fingers dig into the flesh of Beth’s forearm.
The curator chuckles. “I’d be happy to introduce you, if you’d like?” He smiles, tilting his head slightly as he waits for Beth’s response.