The plane had been in the air less than an hour when I took Arthur\u2019s photograph from my bag again.<\/p>\n
Robert stood beside him outside the old hotel, both of them painfully young, their shirts wrinkled and their expressions careless in the way only young people can manage. Arthur had written his message on the back in neat blue ink. I read it once more, then slid the photograph inside Robert\u2019s letter for safekeeping.<\/p>\n
I should have felt settled. I had confronted my children. I had stood beside the lake Robert had painted. I had discovered that the husband I thought I understood had preserved an entire chapter of himself in Australia. Most importantly, I had made a decision that belonged only to me: I would continue traveling.<\/p>\n
Yet one detail refused to stay behind.<\/p>\n
The woman\u2019s name.<\/p>\n
I had copied it into the little notebook I carried everywhere, directly beneath the address of the old hotel. I had done it almost without thinking. Now, somewhere over the ocean, I opened the notebook and stared at those letters again.<\/p>\n
Eleanor Vale.<\/p>\n
Arthur had remembered her as an artist who had once tried to buy Robert\u2019s painting. That explanation was perfectly reasonable. She might have been nothing more than a passing acquaintance.<\/p>\n
But Robert had written her name on a piece of paper hidden behind a painting twenty-five years later.<\/p>\n
People did not usually preserve meaningless names for decades.<\/p>\n
I closed the notebook.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
The woman beside me glanced over.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d I said. \u201cTalking to myself.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled politely and returned to her movie.<\/p>\n
I put the notebook away.<\/p>\n
Robert had been dead twelve years. Whatever Eleanor Vale had meant to him could not change our marriage. It could not erase our children, our arguments, the mornings we drank coffee together, or the night I held his hand while his breathing became quieter and quieter.<\/p>\n
Still, uncertainty has a way of occupying exactly the space you refuse to give it.<\/p>\n
My next destination was New Zealand.<\/p>\n
I had booked five nights in Auckland, followed by a train journey and several days farther south. Before Australia, I would have treated the itinerary like an obligation. If the ticket said Tuesday, I traveled Tuesday. If the hotel was paid through Friday, I stayed through Friday.<\/p>\n
Robert\u2019s letter had changed that.<\/p>\n
On my second morning, I canceled two reservations and booked a small coastal guesthouse because another traveler told me the view was beautiful.<\/p>\n
It was.<\/p>\n
I spent an afternoon sitting beside a window watching rain move across the harbor. Nobody needed me. Nobody knew where I was except my children and Arthur.<\/p>\n
The silence no longer frightened me.<\/p>\n
Arthur and I exchanged messages almost every day.<\/p>\n
His were rarely sentimental.<\/p>\n
Saw a woman arguing with a parking meter. You would have supported the meter.<\/p>\n
Another arrived the following morning.<\/p>\n
Your detective novel has been reshelved. I consider this an act of betrayal.<\/p>\n
I replied:<\/p>\n
Maybe the book finally found someone who reads the boring parts.<\/p>\n
His answer came almost immediately.<\/p>\n
Unlikely.<\/p>\n
I laughed aloud in the guesthouse dining room.<\/p>\n
A younger couple looked at me.<\/p>\n
For once, I didn't care.<\/p>\n
Karen called two days later.<\/p>\n
Her voice sounded different from our previous conversations. Less defensive. More cautious.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNew Zealand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that. Where in New Zealand?\u201d<\/p>\n
I told her.<\/p>\n
She paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you alone?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt this exact moment?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, I'm alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou're trying very hard not to tell me to come home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another pause.<\/p>\n
Then she asked, \u201cWho is Arthur?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nearly dropped my coffee.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mentioned him in the family call.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree times.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't remember that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked through the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was a friend of your father's.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow he's my friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
Karen made a small sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKaren.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn't say anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou made a sound.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am allowed to breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat wasn't breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
It was the first easy laugh we had shared since I announced I was selling the house.<\/p>\n
Then her tone softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom, if you meet someone, that's okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the harbor.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn't asking permission.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
The answer surprised me.<\/p>\n
Karen continued. \u201cI think maybe I'm finally understanding that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something in my chest loosened.<\/p>\n
We spoke for another twenty minutes, mostly about ordinary things. Her younger son had forgotten a school project. Her washing machine was making a terrible noise. She had burned dinner the night before.<\/p>\n
She didn't ask me to solve any of it.<\/p>\n
When we hung up, I sat still for a while.<\/p>\n
Maybe distance was changing all of us.<\/p>\n
That evening, I walked through a small weekend market near the waterfront.<\/p>\n
There were handmade scarves, pottery, paintings, old postcards, and boxes of second-hand books. I stopped at a stall selling vintage prints.<\/p>\n
A watercolor caught my attention.<\/p>\n
It wasn't particularly good.<\/p>\n
A small lake. A wooden pier. Two leaning trees.<\/p>\n
My stomach tightened.<\/p>\n
It resembled Robert's painting enough to pull me closer, although the style was entirely different.<\/p>\n
The seller was an elderly woman with bright red glasses.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou like landscapes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy husband painted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProfessional?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe would have liked people to think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
I turned the watercolor over.<\/p>\n
A faded gallery stamp appeared on the back.<\/p>\n
Vale Studio.<\/p>\n
My fingers stopped.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did this come from?\u201d<\/p>\n
The seller adjusted her glasses.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat one? Estate lot, I think.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know the artist?\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at the signature.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot personally.\u201d<\/p>\n
I showed her the stamp.<\/p>\n
\u201cVale Studio.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know where that was?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cAustralia, perhaps.\u201d<\/p>\n
My pulse quickened.<\/p>\n
\u201cMelbourne?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCould be.\u201d<\/p>\n
I bought the watercolor.<\/p>\n
It was ridiculous.<\/p>\n
There could have been hundreds of artists named Vale. The studio might have had no connection to Eleanor.<\/p>\n
Still, back at the guesthouse, I photographed the stamp and sent it to Arthur.<\/p>\n
He called less than five minutes later.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you find that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt a market.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou bought it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou've developed a dangerous relationship with mysterious paintings.\u201d<\/p>\n
I ignored him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you recognize the stamp?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n
My grip tightened around the phone.<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom Eleanor?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't know. But the name is familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you barely remembered her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI barely did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cArthur.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbigail, it was nearly fifty years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat on the edge of the bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cTry.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was silent for several seconds.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cThere was a small gallery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNear Fitzroy, I think. Or Carlton. It changed locations.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Robert go there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
That was new.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn't tell me that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn't remember until now.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Eleanor own it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHer family may have.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMay have?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was twenty-four. I was more interested in beer than art galleries.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite myself, I smiled.<\/p>\n
Arthur continued. \u201cRobert sold a few paintings through someone. It might have been them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSold?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe never told me he sold his work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe probably sold three paintings for enough money to buy dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the watercolor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy would he hide Eleanor's name?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou keep saying that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause inventing an answer would be worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was right.<\/p>\n
I hated that he was right.<\/p>\n
Arthur promised to look through the remaining letters.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon't tear the house apart.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo promises.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Arthur?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you find something, tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven if you think it will hurt me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The silence on the line lasted just long enough to matter.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
I slept badly.<\/p>\n
The following morning, there was no message from Arthur.<\/p>\n
By noon, still nothing.<\/p>\n
At three, I called.<\/p>\n
He didn't answer.<\/p>\n
At five, I tried again.<\/p>\n
Nothing.<\/p>\n
I told myself he was busy.<\/p>\n
At seven, my phone rang.<\/p>\n
Arthur.<\/p>\n
I answered immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou found something.\u201d<\/p>\n
He didn't bother denying it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI found a letter Robert wrote in 1998.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt mentions Eleanor.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
Arthur's voice became quieter.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe asked whether I had heard from her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat could mean anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat else?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe asked whether she still had something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA painting.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood and walked toward the window.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich painting?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe doesn't say.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRead me the sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur hesitated.<\/p>\n
Then he paraphrased rather than reading directly.<\/p>\n
Robert had asked whether Eleanor still possessed the painting he had left with her and whether she had ever done what she promised.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did she promise?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't know.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there more?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur paused again.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said that if anything happened to him before he could return to Australia, you should eventually be told.\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees weakened.<\/p>\n
I sat back down.<\/p>\n
\u201cTold what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe letter doesn't say.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the wall.<\/p>\n
That was worse than an answer.<\/p>\n
Arthur continued. \u201cThere's another name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA man named Thomas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThomas what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVale.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the watercolor beside me.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor's husband?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrother?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSon?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur said nothing.<\/p>\n
The possibility landed between us.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow old would he be?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood again.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is absurd.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI agree.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRobert didn't have another family.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn't say he did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wouldn't.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur's voice sharpened slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Abigail. I knew him too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
That was the first time he had pushed back.<\/p>\n
He continued more gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don't believe Robert was hiding another family. But something happened here before you met him, and whatever it was, he apparently wanted you to know someday.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat in silence.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur answered immediately.<\/p>\n
\u201cContinue your trip.\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just told me my dead husband left instructions involving a woman and a man named Thomas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you expect me to go sightseeing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI expect you not to let another mystery take possession of your life.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words stung because they were true.<\/p>\n
I had sold my house to stop living according to everyone else's demands.<\/p>\n
Now I was in danger of allowing Robert's past to dictate my movements instead.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook for the gallery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Eleanor?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I can.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon't contact anyone yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the watercolor.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause if Robert wanted me told, I want to understand what he was trying to tell me before someone else interprets it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur was quiet.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n
That night, I placed the strange watercolor inside my suitcase.<\/p>\n
I considered throwing it away.<\/p>\n
Instead, I kept it.<\/p>\n
Three days later, I flew south.<\/p>\n
I walked through unfamiliar streets, ate lunch alone without feeling conspicuous, and spent an afternoon on a ferry because I liked the sound of the destination.<\/p>\n
For several days, nothing happened.<\/p>\n
Then Arthur sent me a photograph.<\/p>\n
It showed a yellowed exhibition program.<\/p>\n
VALE STUDIO \u2014 WINTER COLLECTION.<\/p>\n
Beneath the heading was a list of artists.<\/p>\n
Near the bottom appeared a name I knew.<\/p>\n
Robert Morgan.<\/p>\n
And beside it was the title of one painting.<\/p>\n
The Waiting Shore.<\/p>\n
I enlarged the photograph.<\/p>\n
Below Robert's name, in smaller print, was another line.<\/p>\n
Private collection: T. Vale.<\/p>\n
My hands went cold.<\/p>\n
Arthur called before I could respond.<\/p>\n
\u201cI found the gallery records.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is T. Vale?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I've found him too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur took a breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cThomas Vale is alive.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood beside the hotel window, watching strangers move along the street below.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMelbourne.\u201d<\/p>\n
My heart began pounding.<\/p>\n
Arthur continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Abigail, there's something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe's been looking for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
The plane had been in the air less than an hour when I took Arthur\u2019s photograph from my bag again. Robert stood beside him outside the old hotel, both of … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6426,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6431","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-sharestory"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6431","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6431"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6431\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6443,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6431\/revisions\/6443"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/6426"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6431"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6431"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/onesharedstory.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6431"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}