Chapter 12

A smiling mother greeted me at the door when I arrived home. I hesitated before entering the house, because this couldn’t be my mother. Some form of alien life must have claimed her.

“There’s my beautiful daughter,” she said. “How was your day at school?”

She never asked me about my day. Whatever had happened to change her to this caring person, I decided not to question. I smiled back and said, “Hi Mother. I finished my exams. Now all I have to get through is the Art show.”

Mother took my hand. “Come up stairs. I’ve got a surprise for you.” We rushed up together. On my bed was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was a very pale shade of blue that brought out the deep blue of my eyes and the bluish tint in my hair.

“Mother, it’s beautiful.” I exclaimed, “I’ve never seen anything so lovely.” I caressed the folds of it.

“Hop in the shower and wash your hair, too. With this dress, my dear, you will need to wear a sophisticated hair style. Hurry now.” She shooed me into the bathroom.

A few hours later, I stood before my mirror staring at my reflection. I looked older than my seventeen years. My hair was fashioned into a chignon of curls on the top of my head. A few had escaped on their own accord and framed my face. Mother had applied a little make-up and a light shade of pink lipstick.

“What a beautiful sight you are, Vivian Carol,” she said proudly. “Are you ready to go?”

I nodded. My mouth was too dry to speak. Mother made me very nervous with all the fuss over my appearance. As she went down the stairs ahead of me, I swore I heard her humming something softly.

On the drive over to the school house, Mother informed me that Father had a very important job he had to finish and wouldn’t be able to make it. She even patted my arm, when I voiced disappointment. As we walked to the art classroom, she said, “Vivian, I’m very proud of you.”

Tears shimmered in my eyes and I knew if she saw them she would warn me not to ruin my make-up. I hugged her spontaneously. When she stiffened a bit, I felt as if my real Mother was in her skin. Mr. Watts came up as we broke apart.

“Ah, Vivian, you’re on time. And you look so lovely. Hello Mrs. Wilde. How radiant you look tonight, as well! You should be proud of your daughter tonight. Rarely is a student so honored.” He smiled at me. “Are you ready for the show?”

I couldn’t speak. He took my arm and turned to Mother, saying, “We’ll see you in a little while, Mrs. Wilde.”

As we walked he spoke in a low voice. “Vivian, I figured a way to put the Bow-Ridge painting in the show without causing too much of a rift. No matter what I say or what happens, go along with it. And don’t look too surprised at what happens.”

My voice shook. “Okay, Mr. Watts. Now I’m nervous.”

“Being nervous can be a good thing. I’ll see you in a bit. Let me go greet some of the parents who have just arrived.”

We were scheduled to meet in the assembly hall for a small presentation and introduction of the artist who were displaying exhibits. After the short assembly, everyone was to go to the art class and view our work. The students were supposed to stay close to their exhibits and answer any questions. Then after a short time, there would be a silent auction and the money from the art sold would go to the school to support the art program. The art show featured only junior and senior students, so this was my first one.

My palms were sweaty from nervousness as I waited for assembly to start. There were only five of us this year. Two were seniors I didn’t know that well and the other three were my classmates, Eva and a guy named Josh. We stood backstage, waiting for our names to be called by Mr. Watts. Eva and I didn’t chat like we normally would have. She stood by Josh, talking his ear off. I smiled at his facial expression—it was one of disbelief. Eva usually ignored him during classes, except when she needed something from him.

Mr. Watts introduced the seniors first. Then he introduced the juniors. As we walked out on stage, we had to walk up to the microphone and say hello and thank the audience for coming. After we did this, we were directed to a row of chairs lined at an angle to the podium. This was something new. When we were all seated, we glanced at each other, trying to see if anyone knew what was going on.

A painting covered with a tarp was brought in along with an easel by two of the volunteers Mr. Watts had procured for the exhibit. My heart began to beat rapidly, as Mr. Watts began to speak.

“Thank all of you for coming tonight. The continuation of the arts being taught in school is vital to the life of education. Without the support of each of you, my students would be drawing with crayons and lined paper.” He waited for the polite laughter to die down. “I want to thank our main sponsor who contributes yearly to the Blueberry Ridge Artist Program, Mr. James Bow-Ridge, Sr.”

Everyone clapped politely. Mr. Watts waited for the noise to die out. “I can’t think of a better way to show our gratitude than with a painting done by one of our students, Miss Vivian Wilde.” He pulled the tarp off the painting matador style.

A hush went through the crowd as they stared at the painting of James Bow-Ridge, III. Nothing happened, until someone in the very back of the audience began to clap. Soon the whole assembly hall was giving a standing ovation. Mr. Watts motioned for me to stand up and give a bow. I did, feeling Eva’s eyes boring a hole through my skull.

There was a stir in the audience. It was the old Mr. Bow-Ridge, slowly walking towards the stage on the arm of his beloved grandson, James III. I wanted to faint. Mr. Watts had saved the day. He was literally my hero. Artist and guest alike waited with great patience for the elder Mr. Bow-Ridge to make it to the podium. He leaned heavily on Javelin’s arm. I couldn’t take my eyes of Javelin. He wore a white shirt and blue tie. His ripped jeans were gone and replaced with a pair of starched black slacks. His handsomeness was never so potent.

Mr. Bow-Ridge’s voice shook from age. “Thank you, Mr. Watts. I’ve always been a firm believer in beauty. My house is covered in expensive art. I wouldn’t give any of my painting away for any amount of money. It pleases me to know that my yearly contributions have given enjoyment to some many students.”

He turned to look at the painting and then at his grandson who stood quietly at his side. “When one becomes as old as I am, you realize how important the little things in life are. Things that often get looked over during the battle of every day living. My joy in my old age is my grandson, James III. And I thank you for this gift. Now, let’s go and enjoy the show.”

Everyone stood as he exited the stage. I hung back, trying to gather my wits before the massive amount of questions from all sides hit me. As I walked to the art class, Mother appeared beside me. She put her arm threw mine and whispered, “You should have told me the truth the other night, dear. I’m sorry I said all those horrible things. Mr. Bow-Ridge of all people now owns a painting of yours. I can’t wait to brag to the women at the country club!”