Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

"And she's coming? That's wonderful. I can't wait to see her again."

"I'm not saying she's coming. She still has to check her chart first and be sure it's safe," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

We watched May rush out to show Prometheus to Cary and then Kenneth looked at me in the strangest way. I tilted my head because of the way he was staring and the way a fleeting shaft of sorrow crossed his face.

"What's wrong, Kenneth?"

"Just for a second, with that soft smile on your face, your eyes caught in the sunlight, you reminded me of Haille when she was not much older than you. It was as if . . . as if time had gone backwards, as if nothing terrible had happened yet.

"Hold on to these moments, Melody. Hold on to them desperately for as long as you can.

"Too soon," he said, his eyes darkening, "too soon the winds of jealousy come barreling down and sweep it all out to sea.

"I hope," he concluded gazing at Cary and May, "fate isn't teasing you as she did me."

He turned and went back inside, leaving me shivering with anxiety. Kenneth had made it an awesomely fearsome thing to even think beyond tomorrow. I was filled with so many emotions, I thought I would simply explode and fly off in that wind he warned me might come.

Like a reader terrified of turning the page, I stepped away from the house and walked toward Cary to tell him the news.

I5

The Unveiling

.

As the date of Kenneth's opening for Neptune's

Daughter drew closer, the excitement in Provincetown built. National art magazines sent writers and photographers. Reporters from newspapers in New York City, Boston and even as far away as

Washington, D.C., and Chicago arrived to do interviews and get pictures. An invitation to the gala affair following the display at the Mariner's Gallery was highly prized. Kenneth told me that since I was now an expert in etiquette and formalities, I would have to help him with the design and wording for the invitations. The gallery owner provided us with a select list of people to invite, claiming these were the people who had invested in art or who carried influence in the community.

Two days before the opening and party, Kenneth called and asked me to accompany him to the judge's house, where we would meet with the caterers.

"I'm not good at these things," he claimed. "I need the feminine viewpoint."

I knew he was just nervous about going to his father's home. From what I understood, he hadn't been there for years. The Judge was nervous about it, too. That was something Grandma Olivia revealed.

"This has the makings of a wonderful event," she told me, "but we have to be sure there will be no unpleasantness and certainly nothing that would feed the insatiable appetites of the gossipmongers. I know you've spent an inordinate amount of time at Kenneth's house and although I haven't seen it yet, I know and everyone else will know that you were the model for the work.

"I'm depending on you to play a role in mitigating any difficult feelings. In other words," she said with a sharp smirk, "make sure Kenneth behaves himself. See if you can get him to dress properly and do something with that moss on his face he calls a beard and that mop he calls his hair."

"Artists aren't exactly businesspeople, Grandma Olivia. The public understands Kenneth."

"Not this public," she assured me. "Actually," she revealed in a rather rare soft moment, "I'm more worried about the Judge. He hasn't slept a night since he volunteered to host the gala celeb

ration. I told him it was a foolish gesture, but he insisted."

"Everything will work out just fine," I said.

She nodded, studying me.

"You have grown and matured quite a bit since you've been living here. I will tell you that I have heard only good things about you from the school officials, and people admire the way you look after my handicapped granddaughter. I feel validated for my faith in you and your potential. Don't do anything to diminish that faith," she added in her usual threatening tone.

"Thank you, I think," I replied and she almost smiled.

"You have been to visit my sister and have seen Samuel this week?" she asked.

"Yes." I wondered if she also knew Cary had driven me there. If she did, she didn't mention it. "They're both about the same. No improvement. Grandpa Samuel simply sits and stares most of the time, barely acknowledging I'm there."