The morning of my art opening dawned beautiful and sunny. A complete contrast to my mood. I was worried about the evening ahead of me and weighed down by the thought of how I’d left things with Jack.

He’d left me standing on the dock. I’d watched him walk away and climb into the closed Jeep and done nothing to stop him.

Over breakfast, Joey and I scoured the Internet to see if there was any story out there, but there was nothing. I felt like my head was on a guillotine.

“I checked, too,” Jazz said when she arrived to pick me up for our trip into Savannah. “There was nothing.”

We were spending the day at the spa where Colt’s friend Karina had set up my appointments. I had begged and pleaded over the phone to bring Jazz, and they’d finally said she could come and they’d try to fit her in for either hair or makeup. I was reluctant to go at all, but Jazz speared me with a sharp look. I could see she wanted to say something like I might be photographed, so I needed to look my best. But in the end she settled with, “It would be a shame to ruin Mrs. Weaton’s fabulous dress with mediocre waitress hair.”

I thumped her on the arm, and Joey laughed at us as we made plans to meet back at the house. The Westin was sending one of their vans to pick us up. Colt and his date, Karina were going to meet us there.

The day passed in a blur. I was primped and prepped. My hands, my feet, my hair, my makeup. I did agree with Jazz, after hearing about my dress they did an awesome job with my hair. It was waved and swept down over one ear then tied in a beautiful swirl, low on the side of my head. They used a tiny silver band that peaked out across my forehead before it hid back in the smooth, silky do. I felt like an old-timey Hollywood starlet, and I actually felt good. I didn’t enjoy the amount of spray they had to use to keep it from coming loose, however. The make-up was flawlessly done. With deep kohl swept eyes, I hardly recognized myself.

“Wow,” said Jazz when my chair was turned around.

“Wow, yourself,” I said. They’d curled large cascading waves into Jazz’s long blonde hair and tied half of it up with a loose and elegant braid. She would be wearing a red floaty dress that was sure to hit my brother like a blow to the head.

My heart thudded in a melancholic stupor when I thought of not sharing all this with Jack. I gritted my teeth and swallowed down the sadness.

We drove home, with the windows up, barely moving for fear of the painted illusion sliding off of us. We turned the radio on full blast, and listening to Blondfire, tapped our fingers and toes in muted enthusiasm.

At five, the three of us stood in our kitchen drinking celebratory Prosecco out of Nana’s old wide necked champagne glasses that I’d managed to find and dust off.

“Here’s to the first of many evenings celebrating my talented sister’s artistic endeavors.” Joey, dressed in a rented tuxedo, raised his glass and we drank. I’d told him he didn’t have to wear black-tie, but he was adamant.

“Yoo hoo!” Mrs. Weaton called, entering the kitchen dressed in an elegant violet dress. “Don’t start without me!”

“Mrs. Weaton, I thought you were going to call me so I could escort you across the yard,” Joey admonished and leaned down to kiss her papery cheek.

“Oh, honey, the dress is fabulous on you,” she crowed toward me. “Look at you stunning girls.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. The dress really had turned out perfectly. I was about as comfortable as I could imagine being, considering I was about to step out in public and embark on having a public persona. It occurred to me then, if I was going to be successful, I would have my own critics to deal with. Sure, it would be on a smaller scale than Jack’s. But people’s opinions, good or bad, factual or misguided, of me and my art were going to be a reality, regardless of Jack being in my life.

“Are the rest of them here yet?” Mrs. Weaton asked.

“Liz had a babysitting problem. Cooper, Vern, and Jasper are meeting us there. So is Colt. So I guess it’s just us four.” I shrugged. “Let’s sit on the porch and wait for the van.”

As we stepped outside, the black mini bus from the Westin pulled into the driveway, the low hanging Spanish moss brushing over it. And another car showed up behind it and out climbed Paulie, Brenda, and Hector.

“What?” I stuttered. “Who’s running the Grill?”

“That’s the first thing you think of?” said Paulie stiffly. He was dressed in a tan, wrinkled suit, and his grey hair was combed neatly into a low queue. “You seriously think we’d let our very own Keri Ann go and take on the world without our support?” He puffed. “Stuck a sign in the window.”

My eyes welled.

“Nope, no.” Jazz flapped her hands madly in front of my face. “No you don’t!”

“Sorry.” I sniffed, then laughed through my tears, and gingerly hugged everyone.

“Faith’s coming, too,” said Jazz. “We’re all going to be here to support you, okay? But for God’s sake don’t ruin that makeup. Let’s blot.”

It was surreal to stand in the crowded and cordoned off area of the foyer at the hotel and be surrounded by things I’d created with my own bare hands. Some I’d formed idly, some carried memories and impressions of all my pent up emotion.

After being greeted by Allison, the events coordinator and then Mira, the curator from Picture This who had offered to handle any transactions for the evening, I was introduced to the arts and culture editor for a local newspaper. Then a few minutes after that, a very nice lady handed me a thick business card and told me she was from Moss & Magnolia Magazine in Charleston and would love to do a feature on me. I was buzzing, knowing what a high-end magazine it was, showcasing the best of the luxury southern style living. I think I nodded mutely at her.

“Did I totally fluff that?” I asked Jazz as we moved on.

Jazz assured me I’d been sweet and charming. After a few more introductions and tense smiles at cameras, I pulled Jazz over to the middle of the room, to the calm area in the eye of the storm, to breathe. The music from the string quartet in the corner was barely noticeable under the hive of conversation bouncing off the polished floors.

My wave sculpture, a monument to the lowest point in my relationship with Jack, sat under a spotlight that made the single piece of red sea glass glow. I felt connected to it about as strongly as I felt it was completely foreign to me. Something I didn’t recognize but knew intimately. Very disconcerting.

“Wow,” Jazz said. “It was always beautiful, but seeing it here on display, under the spotlight, makes it just … wow. And why won’t you sell it again?” She snatched two toothpicks with something delicious smelling on the end from a passing waiter and handed one to me.

“It’s all about Jack. It’d feel weird to have it owned by someone else.”

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find Tom Price had slunk up behind us. “Hello again,” he purred, pushing his glasses up between his eyes.

A shudder ran through me, and I stared, speechless.

Really?

“Jessica Fraser,” Jazz stuck out her hand. I quickly slapped it down without thinking. Tom Price raised his eyebrows, and I could imagine Jazz was doing the same.

“Tom Price,” he said to her.