The Drowning Kind by Jennifer McMahon

Author:Jennifer McMahon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery/Scout Press
Published: 2021-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I didn’t have to look hard for Marcy. I found her in the front hall, right in front of the cross-stitch I’d rehung—To err is human, to forgive, divine—holding something wrapped in a white sheet.

“Hello,” I said. “Thank you so much for coming.” I touched her arm gently as she turned to face me. “We’ve got food in the kitchen, drinks in the dining room.”

“I have the painting,” she said, offering what she was holding to me. “I want you to have it. I think it belongs with you.”

“I can’t,” I protested. “Though I would love to take a peek—”

“I insist you keep it,” she said. “It’s what Lexie would have wanted.”

“This means so much to me,” I said. Carefully, I peeled back the folds of the sheet. It was like lifting the edges of a ghost costume, wondering who or what might be hiding underneath.

My sister looked back at me. I was so startled I nearly dropped the gift.

It was a self-portrait of Lexie’s own reflection in the water, about twelve by sixteen inches. Not just any water, but the pool. She had captured herself perfectly: her blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the smattering of freckles over her nose, her eyes. I had no idea my sister could paint like this. She doodled elaborately when we were kids. In college she’d taken a painting class, but I’d never seen any of her work.

“I thought on my way here, perhaps this image might be… too much so soon?” Marcy said anxiously. “But this was my favorite. And they were all similar, part of a series. Of the pool. Sometimes with her reflection in it, sometimes someone else’s.”

“No, it’s not too much. I love it. What other reflections did she paint?”

“Women and girls. One of them was your grandmother. Another, your mother.”

Now that I would like to see.

“Sometimes people I didn’t recognize.”

“And where are those paintings now?”

“She gave them away. Or sold most of them. I know for a fact that each one in the craft fair sold. It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it?” she said, looking down at the watercolor in my hands.

“Do you know any of the buyers? I’d love to see more of her work.”

“Not offhand. But I’ll ask around and let you know what I find out.”

Aunt Diane joined us. “Have you seen your father—oh my God,” she said, looking down at the picture. “I’ve never seen this one. It’s incredible!”

We looked at the painting together in silence, Lexie holding both of us in her gaze. I covered the painting back up and said to Marcy, “Thank you again for this. It means so much to me.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear. And I’ll be sure to let you know if I find out what happened to any of her other paintings.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

I carried the painting upstairs to my room and laid it down on the bed for safekeeping. My eyes were fixed on Lexie’s, so many questions filling my head. What was

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