The Cure by Glenn Cooper

Author:Glenn Cooper [Cooper, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800242210
Publisher: Head of Zeus
Published: 2020-08-19T16:00:00+00:00

31

Mandy didn’t want to do it, but she really could not say no. Besides, it was not as if it was interfering with a busy schedule. So, she obliged Rosenberg by posing for him on a stool he placed by his chosen window, the one he thought was glowing best in the soft, afternoon sunlight.

He had traveled light—for an artist that meant foregoing his cumbersome set of oils and brushes, palette knives and solvents, canvases and boards, for a simple set of watercolors and paper.

“When I start with a subject, I always ask them this question,” he said. “How do you see yourself?”

She made a what-the-hell expression. “I thought that was the artist’s job.”

“Well it is, and I will paint you as I see you, but I don’t want to ignore your own perceptions.”

She gave it some thought. “Okay, I’m a serious person. I think you understand that. I wish I were more frivolous, but I’m not. First and foremost, I’m a scientist. I suppose you can put some lab equipment in the painting to show that.” Her quivering lower lip previewed what she was about to say next. “I was a wife. Not the best wife in history, but I was a wife. I guess that’s it. That’s me.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

“We helped bury each other’s spouses, Stanley. I think we can be honest.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” he said. “You are so much more than that. I see a passionate young woman who’s got an amazing understanding of the mysteries of life. I see a friend. And believe me, I’m decades too old to be hitting on you, but I see a sensuous woman, a lover, who is a wonderfully perplexing mixture of strength and frailty.”

She laughed lightly. “Did you forget your glasses at home?”

“I see just fine, missy. Now sit still while I sketch.”

“I’m wearing a gray sweatshirt. I’d hate to be remembered in this thing.”

“I’ve got enough imagination to paint a different top.”

She got fidgety after an hour and he released her from her perch. She’d been thinking about Jamie and how far he might have gotten on the road. She wondered how they would find one another now that Derek was gone. She would not rush into his arms. She was in mourning. Derek’s memory had to be respected. She imagined that Jamie would feel the same. She let it rest after a while. They would work it out. People always did.

“Would you like a coffee?” she said.

“Would I ever,” Rosenberg said, setting his brush down.

It was a guilty pleasure using the microwave to heat water. She wasn’t sure how much power a microwave pulled, but a minute here, a minute there would simply not make a meaningful dent in the generator diesel supply. As the coffee dripped through the filter paper into a lab beaker, she asked Rosenberg if she could sneak a look at the painting.

“I’m not one of these artists who gets all uptight about letting someone see a work-in-progress, but there’s not a lot to see yet.

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