Chapter 18 - Too Late

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The next morning, I dropped Michael off at the daycare. There were so many things I needed to do, and this time, I didn't want anything to stop me, not even the fear of what would happen once David would learn of what I was about to do.

First, I called the attorney. He wasn't at his office, so I left him a message asking him call me back. I needed to know what to do to get Michael to follow the child visitation agreement to the letter. Though calling the attorney was just another bill to add to the monthly expenses, I needed him to document that I wanted to have everything between David and I in writing. Two hours later, the attorney called me back and we got to discuss what I needed to get done. Then I headed to Laguna Beach to visit my favorite framer, and pick up Olivia's portrait that I'd dropped off to him a week earlier.

Reggie Bond, of Bond's Edge & Frame Studio, had been so happy to learn that I'd started painting again that he gave me a 30% off the cost of the frame. He was originally from Yugoslavia — back when the country was known as Yugoslavia — although now, he called it Bosnia. He moved to California over thirty years earlier, and had been back home only twice since then. I'd known him long before I met David and used his services for the framing of all my work. I even tucked his business card at the back of all my paintings, in case buyers needed to have my work framed professionally.

He handed me Olivia's portrait presented in a dark wood frame with gold leafing along its edges. The gold brought out the sunlight caught in her red hair. He recommended the frame himself and I was glad I followed his advice. I always did, whenever it came to framing art. That's why I was a painter, and Reggie was a framer.

"She's a beautiful woman," he said. "Client?"

"Friend," I said. "Well, sister of a client. Friend."

"It made Sara cry just looking at it," he said. "I like the softness of the colors you painted her with. Reminds me of the Madonna and child. Different from the way you used to paint though - the hyperrealism is not exactly there like in your previous paintings. You've softened it for her this time."

I nodded. "It is Madonna and child, just in Italian. Madre i figlia."

"Perfect," Reggie said. "And your style has changed from what I remember, Sam. This is a bit more, shall I say, more mature. There's a hint of darkness behind her yet she's looking at the light as seen on her daughter's face. Sara called it loss and renewal."

Sara was Reggie's wife of twenty years, who helped him with the business.

"Sara always knew how to title paintings," I said. "I only name them for the place or the person, and this one just screamed mother and child to me."

For the next few minutes, Reggie studied the painting, commenting on its composition, the light, the angles, and the mood. He was a popular framer among many artists who participated in the annual Sawdust Festival, and though Reggie had always hoped I'd apply to have my works included, I'd yet to submit anything to them.

"I'm really glad you're back doing what you're good at. How's that hand of yours?" He asked.

"It's fine," I said, looking up at him, surprised. "How'd you know about my hand?"

"Everyone knows about your hand, Sam," he whispered. "Just like they know about what David did to your paintings over at that art gallery in the BH. He tried to revive his business down here as if that thing never happened, but no one would have him. Not after what he did to you."

"He seems to want to start again in Las Vegas, I think," I said, trying to lighten the subject. I didn't really want to talk about David after my encounter with him yesterday. "He was trying to win an account over there."

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