Love Hurts Read online

  Chapter 5

  Jilly cleaned up the glass and tried to read a book, but she couldn’t relax. She decided to visit her favorite place, the art gallery, once Gregg was home to watch Matthew. No one but the evening clerk knew she went there. If anyone found out, she’d tell them it was for inspiration for her students. Jilly hadn’t told anyone, not even Anna, but not painting wasn’t a choice. She couldn’t paint.

  She went to the gallery often, hoping to get her inspiration back. The paintings always soothed her spirit. She waited until after dinner and asked Gregg if he would watch Matthew. He said he didn’t mind, but the loneliness on his face made her hesitate. Should she stay home and focus on him, on them? The thought of taking on someone else’s pain was too much, so she fled the house.

  The rain came in a deluge, so there was a good chance she’d be able to avoid the usual few tourists checking out the gallery while they stretched their legs. She didn’t know if she could handle seeing Mamma’s painting again, but thought she might need to see it.

  When she entered the gallery, she pulled off her wet coat, shook it and hung it on the rack near the door. She smoothed back her damp hair and nodded at Mary, the gallery clerk seated behind the counter. Mary smiled back at her over the top of her novel. Jilly moved past her quickly, not wanting to give her a chance to strike up a conversation. She didn’t feel like speaking to anyone. She wanted to be alone with the paintings.

  The painting sat in the middle of the main room, and Jilly averted her gaze, not yet ready to look at it again. Instead, she moved toward the side room, where she always went.

  When Jilly stepped through the doorway, she took a deep, calming breath. Just being in the room made her feel better, like all her favorite people surrounded her and not one of them judged. She stood in front of the first painting and let the colors seep in. Her eyes swam with tears as they did each time she stood in front of it. She didn’t know why. It was created by an anonymous painter, a scene of a field full of daisies with a dark, stormy sky overhead. It always filled her with deep emotion. Each time was different depending on her mood. Today, sadness overwhelmed her as she gazed at the daisies, struggling to stay upright as the wind blew and the storm gathered strength. To Jilly, it seemed that the flowers huddled together, trying to find warmth and protection from the forces around them. They looked delicate and insecure.

  She stepped back, her arms wrapped around her body. She had often felt alone and unprotected as the storms of life raged, threatening to rend her limb from limb. She shuddered and moved on to the next painting.

  This one had bright, almost garish, colors and today it seemed to Jilly to have a somewhat frantic quality about it, as though the painter tried to cover up something ugly with beautiful colors. The ugly thing seeped through at the cracks. The painter could paint layer upon layer of warm, comforting colors, but the foundation tainted the loveliness of the paint.

  The futility of it all struck at her heart. She wondered why people tried so hard to make ugly things appear beautiful. Why did families try to cover up the past and tell lies about it, when the lies were as apparent as a familial nose or brow?

  Jilly sank cross-legged to the floor and opened her oversized purse. She pulled out a pristine sketch pad and a new charcoal pencil. This she clutched in her hand as images formed in her mind. The images today were stark, straight lines and right angles. They were open mouths, screaming. But none of the figures had ears, so the screaming went on and on with nowhere for the sound to go. Her hand cramped as she squeezed the pencil tighter, the emotion building in her hand, desperately wanting to break free. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t. She forced her hand open and the pencil fell. The point broke off and skittered across the floor. Her vision blurred. A single tear dropped onto the paper, marring its perfect surface. Unable to stand the sight, Jilly put the paper and pencil away, their perfection gone.

  She felt small and insignificant on the floor. She, the daughter of the great Catarina di Rossi, also had talent, or had at one time. Yet she couldn’t create. She hadn’t painted a stroke since Matthew’s birth other than the spider web in his bedroom. The longer she didn’t paint, the more she realized she couldn’t. The door to her creativity, what used to be her passion, was padlocked. She’d forgotten where she put the key.

  Jilly climbed to her feet, stiff and unwieldy, her legs like marble. She wished they would sink deep down into the floor so she could never leave this place. She didn’t paint, but she loved being surrounded by paintings. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she moved back into the empty main room, hushed like a cathedral. Mamma’s painting had the place of honor, like the Madonna in the front of a shrine. This gallery had never housed such a celebrity.

  Jilly circled the room three times, the painting metal to her internal magnet, yet she resisted. She still didn’t feel ready when she finally stepped in front of it. She could see Mary watching her out of the corner of her eye, but she blocked out everything but the canvas.

  The pain came again, quick and sharp, just like the night before. This time she was prepared, and yet she still rocked back a bit from the onslaught. The painting was of herself and Anna when they were children—two little girls hand in hand, walking down a country road. They looked happy and carefree, expressions Jilly didn’t think either of them had ever owned. Or maybe they had. Has the pain wiped out even the good memories? There had to be some. Maybe it was Mamma’s hope that put those expressions there. She had obviously reached out to them by sending her painting here. She never released her work to any gallery but the one in Toronto. She ascribed to the recluse’s creed. Hide it away and they will come from far and wide. Mamma had always been very good at playing hard to get.

  The little Anna pointed at something. Jilly followed the finger with her gaze, but saw nothing. And yet her heart stuttered. It can’t be here in this painting, can it? The only one Mamma had ever painted of her us.

  Jilly stepped back and then she saw it. The rage and jealousy boiled up at once, a confusing miasma. She clenched her fists and stared at the face. Of course it was there. It had to mar even this one painting she’d done as a tribute to her children. The tiny face in every one of Catarina di Rossi’s paintings. The one that Jilly instinctively knew had stolen Mamma’s ability to love her children as a mother should. She didn’t know anything about the child, and Mamma had never talked about it, one of the great mysteries of the art world.

  Jilly whirled away from the painting, snatched her coat off the rack and stepped into the wet, dark evening. The weather kept perfect time with her emotions.

  Chapter 6

  The morning cooled Anna’s skin as she walked to work. Early summer weather was still cool in the mountains, but the sun would warm everything up soon enough. It had always been Anna’s favorite time of year, but never more than after she’d moved near the beautiful Cascade Mountains.

  Despite the gorgeous scenery, Anna couldn’t stop thinking about the scene at Jilly’s house the day before. Tears came to her eyes at the thought that their relationship could be threatened. Anna didn’t know what she’d do without her sister. Jilly was her only family other than Rob and certainly more of a support system than her own husband. The only time she’d been this at odds with her sister was when Jilly had been at her worst cutting phase and ended up in the hospital. Jilly’d only been fourteen. Being cut off from Jilly didn’t just hurt; Anna feared the inability to watch over her volatile sister. She’d been Jilly’s guardian in so many ways. Mamma sometimes spent days maniacally painting and forgot she even had children. That’s when Anna would have to stop whatever plans she had to make sure her little sister would be adequately cared for. She sometimes wished she could be a normal teenager, but then felt guilty for her thoughts. She loved her little sister with all her heart. So when Jilly went through a deep depression and seemed constantly angry with her sister, Anna wondered why Jilly hadn’t been more
grateful.

  She still remembered the day she had to call 911. It imprinted on her memory like a prison tattoo. She wished she could ignore it, but it was too prominent, almost like it had been inked on the end of her nose.

  Anna had grabbed the door knob just as Jillian pushed the door from the other side. “Stop, Jilly, wait!” she yelled in desperation. “I’m sorry!”

  Jilly sobbed and pushed at the door, nearly closing it on Anna’s hand. “Go away and leave me alone. I hate you!”

  Anna leaned against the door and spoke into the tiny crack. “What did I say? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Yes, you do.” Jilly’s voice wavered. “It’s always the same thing.”

  “What is?” Anna shoved harder against the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “You always think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t. You’re not my mother.”

  “That’s what this is about? I wanted you to change your clothes?” Hard as she tried, Anna couldn’t keep the disgust out of her tone and Jilly shrieked and tore the door open.

  “Don’t talk to me that way. I’m not a baby!” Jilly stood in the doorway, her hands clenched and her face screwed up in fury.

  Anna tried to stay calm, but she could feel the blood rising in her face. “You say you’re not a baby, but look at you. You’re totally overreacting.”

  “No, no, no! I’m not. You’re overreacting. You’re always trying to make me do what you want and I’m sick of it. Get out of my life. I hate you!”

  Anna rocked back as though Jilly’s words were physical blows. “How can you say that to me? I’ve given up my life to take care of you!”

  Jilly stopped dead, her blue eyes wide in shock, and within seconds they filled up with tears again. “You can have your life back.” She slammed the door, and the vibrations in the foundation reverberated through Anna’s body.

  Anna reached for the knob, but found it locked. The other side of the door held nothing but silence. Already regretting her careless words, Anna slid down the wall opposite the door and stared at it as though she could see through to her sister on the other side. Mamma had gone out after spending most of the day in her studio. Anna’s shoulders drooped. Jilly’s emotional outbursts seemed to come like a flash flood lately. No warning, no explanation. Their house was like a supercharged force field with Anna the only conduit.

  They were late for school, but Anna didn’t care. Life had lately become too much of an effort. She would be happy to graduate that year so she could get out of the House of Horrors, but she felt constant guilt at the thought of leaving her sister alone with Mamma. She could take Jilly with her, but Mamma would never agree to that, although Anna didn’t know why. Without kids in the house, she could really give herself over to her painting. She would protest that she loved her kids, but Anna knew better. Anna feared Jilly’s outbursts were because she was angry about Anna graduating, which meant she would soon be leaving. As much as Anna loved Jilly, she admitted to herself that going away would be a relief. Emotion exhausted her.

  “Anna?” Jilly called, but she sounded strange and far away.

  “Oh, God!” Anna jumped up in a shot and flew through the locked door as if it were paper, the doorjamb breaking and the lock forced open. Anna stopped in shock at Jilly sprawled across her bed, blood flowing freely down her thin, white arms and soaking into the pink bed cover. “Jilly, what did you do?” Anna moaned as she gathered her sister close and pressed the blanket against her sliced wrists. “Oh, Jilly.”

  Anna grabbed the phone from Jilly’s night table and dialed 911 while trying with her other hand to stanch the blood flow. She told them to hurry while she rocked her sister back and forth.

  “Why did you do this to yourself? A fight isn’t worth hurting yourself over.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

  “No!” Anna gripped Jilly tighter in her arms. “No, you’re not stupid.”

  “I just wanted it to stop,” Jilly mumbled into Anna’s chest. “It’s too much sometimes. Don’t you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, honey, I do know, but this is no way to make it stop.”

  “I know. I just wanted it all to stop.”

  She knew Jilly cut herself sometimes. They were working on that, but she never thought Jilly would actually try to kill herself.

  A siren came up the block and Anna quickly looked at Jilly’s arms. The blood seemed to be clotting a little, but it still flowed. Anna tucked Jilly’s arms closer to her, with the blanket wrapped around them, kissed Jilly’s forehead and went to meet the paramedics.

  “She’s up here.” Anna led them up the stairs, doing everything to keep herself from falling to pieces. “She cut her wrists.” As soon as she said that, she felt their stares fall on her like ten-pound weights.

  Chapter 7

  The café was crowded, noisy with the transient flow of tourists making their way to Vancouver. Hope was the obvious stop for lunch and filling up the gas tank. It swelled several hundred daily in the summertime in a town that had been built for only a few thousand. Anna figured most of the people who lived in Hope, in the shadow of the Cascade Mountains, were either nature lovers or hiding from something. Many teens grew up and left as soon as they were emancipated.

  Rob had been one of them, although he came back as soon as he realized he’d never be as big a fish in Vancouver as he could be in Hope. His parents practically ran the town. Rob’s father was the mayor, but everyone knew who really ran things. The mayor’s wife. Rob was the most successful real estate agent in town due to his mother paving the way for her only son. Few people liked the Gallos, but everyone pretended they did.

  Anna sat at her favorite table in the back corner. From that vantage point, she could observe the room unnoticed. Mamma had often called her a ghost, saying she liked to hover around and watch everyone without being seen. It wasn’t until university that she realized people-watching was a common trait among writers. She could learn about people, psychology, in order to accurately portray them in fiction. Except Anna had done much research, but hadn’t yet put pen to paper outside of her work.

  Mel had agreed to meet her for coffee, but Anna wondered if she’d show up. She and Jilly had effectively ruined Mel’s highly anticipated event. Anna hoped her friend would be able to forgive them. She hadn’t called Mel until a few days had passed, hoping she would be less upset.

  Mel opened the door of the Blue Moose Café and looked around. She found Anna and gave her a quick smile. It faded as soon as it appeared. Normally, not even the worst situation could cause Mel to lose her positive attitude. The social embarrassment of Jilly breaking down in front of the painting had been enough to cause even Mel to lose her smile for a while.

  Anna stood as Mel approached. They hugged and then settled at the table, both avoiding the other’s gaze.

  “I got you a cappuccino.”

  “Thanks.” Mel pulled the cup toward her and wrapped her long fingers around it. She breathed in the aroma and smiled, this time more sincere. “How you doing?”

  Anna had never met anyone who could cut through her defenses with just a look. No one besides her ex-boyfriend, Chris. For some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about him today. Anna forced the memories away. “I’m okay, I guess. Hanging on.”

  “I hate to say it, hate to pry, but what the hell happened?”

  “It was the painting,” Anna said, hard pressed to even say the words aloud.

  “I know that. But why did Jilly lose it like that? Ms. di Rossi’s painting is beautiful.” Mel’s voice took on a hush when she spoke Mamma’s name.

  Anna gripped her coffee cup so hard her knuckles whitened. She stared into the caramel depths as though searching for the words she couldn’t find in her mind. “Catarina di Rossi is our mother.” The words were out before she could take them back.

  Mel gasped and reared back, speechless for a few seconds. She recovered her senses and asked, “Why did
n’t you tell me this before? I’ve mentioned her plenty of times.” She looked hurt.

  “I’ve never told you because Jilly and I made a pact never to mention her name again once we left Toronto. I’ve never spoken of her until today.”

  Mel stared at her, waiting.

  Anna paused and sipped her now lukewarm coffee. She was reminded of how Mamma loved her coffee. She still drank an espresso first thing in the morning like a shot, as they did in Italy. Anna always wondered how she could do that and not scald her throat. She used to think Italians had to have an esophagus of leather.

  “She’s not the woman you think she is.”

  “Who ever is?” Mel responded, recovering her senses. “Thanks for telling me. Seeing Jilly’s reaction to the painting tells most of the story without me having to ask. She obviously hurt you both deeply. I’m sorry.”