Chapter 26
Every single event in Hope Ellis-Caffrey's life fell into one of two categories: before the accident or after the accident.
Everything that had occurred prior to her twentieth birthday had been pretty well picture perfect: a wonderful, carefree childhood with devoted parents, a loving brother, success at school, caring friends, recognition as an up and coming artist and of course, her very own prince charming.
But the events of March 28th almost four years earlier had knocked her whole world off its axis and had left her broken and damaged, shaking her near perfect existence and leaving her life in shambles. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with the events of that night but with a little perspective, Hope now realized she still had devoted parents, a loving brother, caring friends and most importantly her very own prince charming - but now everything was happening through the lens of physical pain and suffering and the knowledge that her wonderful life could change in the blink of an eye.
The main casualty that night had been her budding career as an artist, something she looked back on as if it had happened to someone else - as one tended to perceive things after a major trauma. Her dad had nurtured her blossoming talent for years, watching her come into her own and envying the innocence that her fresh outlook on life brought to her art. But that innocence had vanished abruptly and irrevocably on that fateful night and had been replaced with anguish and suffering, leaving her to struggle to find joy and wonderment again.
Oh, Hope still painted. And after she'd recovered physically, she'd returned to perfecting her technique but much of the joy apparent in her 'pre-accident' work was MIA and had been replaced by a darker, more subdued style. Some might even say it was more mature, more erudite but the artist herself missed the carefree and lighthearted style of years past and longed to recapture the innocence of her earlier efforts.
On bad days, she still brooded about the missed opportunity of getting her degree from Carnegie Mellon University. Sadly, the year she'd spent at CMU had been much too brief and with hindsight, she realized she'd not fully appreciated her good fortune back then. Now, she'd give just about anything to go back and have the chance to perfect her skills surrounded by likewise minded colleagues and knowledgeable mentors. Of course, she still had the best mentor of all: her dad. He'd shepherded her through her long, painful recovery, encouraging her awkward first attempts to paint again, trying to give her honest yet supportive feedback and urging her not to give up. No one could deny that she still had success at the gallery. Her stuff was selling just as well as it always had but the themes of her paintings had changed from hopeful and optimistic to dark and morose and although he'd never admitted it to her, Neal feared his daughter might never regain the joie de vivre she'd left behind that night.
She sat back in her seat on the train, looking out the window and recalling the last time she'd ridden on Amtrak. It was on a trip home from university during that one and only year she'd lived in Pittsburgh. She recalled the excitement she'd felt coming home for study week, back to her family, back to Cameron Armstrong and to all her friends. She'd been practically pulsating with excitement as she'd looked out at the barren fields, covered in snow. It had been just days before her birthday and she'd been excited about the prospect of spending a week at home. Little had she known at the time that her short stint as a student of the fine arts program at CMU was about to come to an abrupt and irrevocable end.
'They didn't have any Mars bars so I got you a Three Musketeers' Cameron's voice called out, pulling her away from her brooding thoughts.
'Great, thanks' she said, pasting on a smile.
He settled back into his seat next to her and took her hand, perceiving a change in her mood.
'You all right, sweetie?' he asked.
'I was just remembering the last time I took the train' she admitted sadly.
He brought her hand up to his lips and deposited a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He had the good sense to just sit there quietly. He'd learned over the years that trying to 'cheer her up' just wasn't what Hope needed whenever she got a little morose.
'Do you think I'll ever go back and finish my degree?' she asked wistfully.
'You can if you want to' he said reassuringly. 'We can live anywhere we want after we're married.'
She looked up into his eyes, those kind, warm eyes that were a window into this wonderful man's soul. 'You'd do that for me? Leave New York?'
'I'm in New York because you're in New York, babe' he said with a loving smile. 'Home is wherever you are.'
She felt emotion rising in her chest and she swallowed back the tears welling up in her eyes. 'I feel the same way about you, Cam.'
He lifted his phone and showed her the latest text from Bonnie Armstrong. 'Well, you get to put your money where your mouth is - at least for the next few days. Mom wants to know if you prefer apple or cherry pie.'
Hope smiled, this time with sincerity. They were about to be coddled to death - if that was possible.
'It's going to be like this the whole time we're there, isn't it?' she asked.
Cam chuckled. 'You have no idea!'
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Neal had been staring at the glass of amber liquid for close to five minutes when Sonia reappeared.
'Is she coming back?' she asked as she looked down at the two untouched plates of food.
Neal snapped back to reality, looking up at the waitress and giving her one of his phoney Caffrey smiles.
'Naw, she had to leave' he lied. 'You can take it away, I've decided I'm not hungry after all.'
Sonia shrugged and removed the two plates of food, leaving Neal to stare at the glass of scotch which sat there, taunting him. There had been very few instances over the past four years when he'd been tempted to have a drink. As a matter of fact, he'd recently felt strong enough to wean himself off his weekly support group meetings and he hadn't met with his counsellor in almost eighteen months. Of course, Sara's unyielding support had been a huge part of his recovery; she'd been loving and supportive yet she'd never once badgered him about any urges he might be having. In exchange, he'd been forthcoming about his feelings, confiding in her whenever he felt the pressure was beginning to get to him. He'd been feeling practically invincible as of late and yet, here he was facing off with a double shot of whiskey - and feeling like he was on the losing end of the battle.
Neal picked up the glass and watched the liquid swirl as he moved it in his hands. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply before setting it back down again. He thought of the promise he'd made to Sara - to talk to her before he caved in and had a drink. Would it be so terrible to have just one? She would never need to know and it might help take the edge off those feelings of guilt and shame he'd been having since Caitlin had blown up at him.
Back in his conman days, he never gave a second thought to who he might be hurting or who might be suffering collateral damage from one of his little schemes. As long as he got what he was after, none of it mattered. He'd convinced himself that people wanted to believe him and that he wasn't really hurting anyone. But deep down, he knew better. Nowadays, the thought of hurting someone he loved was practically unbearable and he knew Caitlin had been crushed by what she perceived to be hypocrisy on his part. But mostly, he knew she was hurt to think he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her about his life all those years ago.
Most days he carried on with his busy life, having made peace with his past. His life nowadays was full of joy and love and the knowledge that he was making a difference in the lives of kids just like Caitlin. Sara's unfailing support, the love and respect of his kids, his friendship with Peter, his relationships with everyone at the school and at the gallery… all were confirmation that he was an honest, respectable man, motivated by selflessness and a genuine caring for others. With therapy and the support of his loved ones, he'd let go of any lingering self-loathing and he'd learned that he'd always been that honourable man; he'd just been too damaged to see it.
Why then did this recent incident have him reeling and putting all that into question? To be honest, there was a whole lot more happening than this latest little skirmish with Caitlin. He'd been on edge for weeks about his mom's health, his own inability to bring his blood pressure under control, his constant worries about the kids and Sara's seeming infatuation with her old ex-boyfriend. Add to that his concern for Caitlin's future and the sudden appearance of Jesse Davis and you had a volatile mix of anxiety and apprehension. The cherry on top was his inability to make love to his wife - something that usually served to keep him grounded and content.
He picked up the glass once more and stared at it as his countless discussions with Marion Birch and Jim McDougall came flooding back. His descent into alcohol abuse had stemmed from his inability to deal with feelings of guilt over Hope's accident and he'd learned through years of therapy to control those feelings of despair. The temporary release he might feel from taking a sip would come at a very high price - the potential to lose all those he held so dear.
It was a price he was unwilling to pay.
He grabbed for his phone with one hand and pushed the glass away with the back of the other.
'Peter' he said, his voice shaking. 'Can you meet me at the coffee shop in forty-five minutes?'
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Fred Armstrong stood in the middle of the train station in Watertown, New York dressed in a gingham shirt and denim coveralls. He looked around at what he liked to call 'the city folk' around him and felt somewhat out of place. Truth was, he came to town to purchase supplies, run errands and have the odd meeting with vendors but he was much more at home on the old homestead than he was roaming the city streets. He had spent every single one of his sixty-three years on the Armstrong family farm. It had been passed down from his grandfather Ernest Armstrong to his own dad and upon his father's passing, thirty one years earlier, to him.
It had been the same year he'd married Bonnie Gentry, mere months after his dad passed away following a short but brutal battle with liver cancer. Fred had been working on the farm his whole life and of the three Armstrong siblings, he'd been the only one to shown any interest in farming. His sister Jo Beth had studied social work in Ithaca and had settled there with her husband and brood of three boys and two dogs. And his brother Bernie, the intellectual one of the trio, had settled on a career as a chartered accountant and had recently retired out in Wyoming with his wife Jolene.
The early years at the head of the Armstrong clan were a blur for both Fred and Bonnie as the kids arrived one after the other: Cameron, followed by Becky, Owen, Rhonda, Lucy and finally the runt of the litter, Joseph - an oops baby who was fifteen years Cam's junior. All the kids had helped out with the farming chores over the years but it had been clear from the start that Cameron was a creative type who enjoyed poetry, was skilled in the arts and didn't have a speck of interest in working on the farm. When he'd shown an interest and some talent for drawing and painting, Bonnie and Fred had worked hard to make his dream of studying at NYU a reality.
Fred had made peace with the fact Cam wouldn't be inheriting the farm and had turned his attention to the girls, particularly Becky who at the age of twenty-three was showing a great deal of interest and affinity for the business side of farming. It had taken some realignment of his long-held beliefs, considering he tended towards more traditional values, but Fred had begun to accept that a woman could run a busy, successful farm business just as well as any lad.
Truth was, he missed having his eldest son around. He'd never been the sentimental type but every Sunday when Bonnie called New York to check on Cam, Fred would pipe up and find some excuse to say something to his son from across the miles: someone he'd run into had been asking about him, did he catch the Giants game against the Patriots or simply, 'we got ten inches of snow this week, how much did you get in the big city?' His wife always teased him about his eagerness to get on the phone, considering he'd always had a severe allergy to the damn thing, never in their married life having picked up a ringing phone. But when it came to hearing his son's voice, Fred Armstrong seemed to set aside his long-standing aversion.
Fred's eyes swept the station, not that he recognized a single soul. Only one train was scheduled to arrive within the next hour: the daily from New York City. Cam was bringing along his sweetheart, well his fiancée actually, a young woman Fred had only met once - very briefly. She seemed sweet and kind and it was obvious from the look in his eldest son's eyes that Cameron worshipped the ground she walked on. He'd spent but a few hours in her presence the previous summer when she and Cam had spent one night at the farm on their way to Montreal but his impression of her had been favourable - plus Cameron had always had good taste in all things.
Through the station's window, he saw the lights on the track start to flash, followed by a train whistle and the faint sound of the engine growing louder. He spotted the young couple immediately as they stepped off the platform, eyes searching for their ride.
'Cam! Over here!' the man called out.
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Sara spotted Caitlin through the glass wall of her office even before her assistant could announce her arrival. In all the years the young woman had been in their lives, Sara couldn't remember a single time her foster daughter had come down to Sterling Bosch. She stood and made her way to the door, opening it wide and standing there.
'Caitlin!' she said. 'What are you doing here? What's wrong?'
Something obviously was. The young woman's face was blotchy and red, her eyes puffy - obvious signs that she'd been crying. Either she'd had a confrontation with her visiting brother or she and Neal had finally had their little heart to heart.
Wanda looked from her boss to the young woman and shrugged, unsure what was going on.
'Come in, come in' Sara said, walking over and putting an arm around Caitlin.
The gentle touch seemed to bring on a fresh outpouring of tears and Caitlin threw her arms around Sara, sobbing loudly.
'What is it honey? What happened?'
'I just… Mr. C… and… I…' Caitlin stuttered before the sobs took over, making it impossible for her to continue.
Sara led her into the office and over to the small table in the corner, settling her in a chair before returning to pull the blinds down to ensure a little privacy. Within seconds, she returned, taking the spot next to Caitlin and returning her arm around the young woman's shoulder.
'What's the matter, sweetie?' she attempted once again. 'Tell me what happened.'
Whereas an hour before she'd been angry, Caitlin was now just plain upset, sad at the realization that the man she idolized wasn't who she thought he was.
'He lied to me.'
'You mean Jesse?' Sara said.
'No' she sobbed. 'Mr. C.'
Sara began to put two and two together. Obviously, Neal's earlier apprehension about sharing his past had been founded; Caitlin appeared more upset about Neal's deception than the warning he'd tried to give her about Jesse.
'What exactly did Neal tell you?'
Caitlin's face hardened, her eyes growing dark. 'He's a criminal.'
Sara gasped. 'No. No, of course not. He's not a criminal.'
'He told me everything' Caitlin cried. 'And he tried to turn me against Jesse.'
'Caitlin, Neal just wants to protect you. To keep you from getting hurt.'
'Protect me?' she said, wiping her eyes. 'By turning me against my own brother?'
Sara looked around. The office setting wasn't particularly conducive to this kind of meltdown. For the time being at least, this latest family crisis took precedence over everything else and she made a split second decision to set work aside.
She got to her feet and reached out her hand. 'Come on, there's a quiet little café up the street where we can sit and talk.'
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For the first time since he'd begun camping out on the Caffrey's sofa, Jesse Davis found himself alone in their home. He'd been waiting for just such an opportunity to snoop around and see if there was anything he could pick up and pawn for some quick cash. The fence he'd met at the bar had told him he dealt in pretty much anything - art, jewelry, expensive knick-knacks, you name it, he pawned it. He'd take pretty well anything of value off his hands and give him some quick cash.
Ever since he first set foot in the Raphael, Jesse had been plotting his eventual return after hours. He'd taken plenty of photographs while he was there and he'd shared them with Frankie Catalano who had assured him he could get him about fifty cents on the dollar for any original art he could bring to him. The first step was to talk Caitlin into going back after closing time - allegedly to get a better look at all her stuff. That way, he could get a glimpse at the surveillance system, ferret out the security code and get a better look at what was available for the taking. Then, he'd wait until he was ready to leave town and slip into the gallery to grab a few of the more valuable canvasses.
He'd noticed on his first visit that most of the paintings on the first floor sold for between $1,200 to $2,000. per piece. He could probably get about half of that on the black market. If he timed it right, he'd be halfway to Texas, his next stop, by the time the theft was discovered.
Jesse stepped over Raffie by the front door and climbed the stairs up to the master bedroom where he began to poke around. He started with the obvious: Sara's jewelry box which lay in plain view on her dresser. Sara loved her accessories but it didn't take long for Jesse to conclude that most of this stuff was merely high end costume jewelry. After a while, you developed an eye for the good stuff and within seconds, Jesse had zeroed in on a couple of pairs of gold hoops, some sterling silver earrings and a pair of expensive looking pearls. A ring caught his eye - a vintage cameo that was probably worth a few bucks. Further snooping yielded another ring, an emerald set in fourteen carat gold and a couple of pandora bracelets. He stuffed the items in a small bag and moved to the other dresser where he found a tray of tie clips and cufflinks. Most of them were discarded upon inspection but a couple of pairs of cufflinks seemed higher end, including one pair in particular by Cartier, easily worth $3,000 retail. Maybe it had been a special gift; whatever the reason, they certainly stood out against the more modest pairs that graced the tray.
He had a quick look in the closet, noting Sara's propensity for expensive shoes - too bad he couldn't fence those. There had to be several thousand dollars worth of Louboutins and even a pair of open toed Jimmy Choos. He spotted a Vuitton handbag and examined it; it looked like the real thing. He threw it in along with the rest of the stuff and proceeded to walk through both Caitlin and Liam's rooms before climbing up to the third floor. He got a subtle whiff of Hope's perfume as he walked into her room and he began to look around, noticing a photograph of her and Cameron which sat on her dresser. He examined the picture and sneered; she had a hot little body, too bad she hadn't given him the time of day. He glanced into her closet, checking out her clothes and shoes - the young woman's taste in clothing wasn't nearly as extravagant as her mom's.
The jewelry box on the night stand held nothing much but costume jewelry but there were a couple of finished canvasses stacked up against the wall and he picked up the first one and examined it. The subject was a sunset on a lake, pretty but nothing special. The second one was a portrait of an old woman with piercing blue eyes. He'd noticed that Hope's paintings at the gallery were selling for anywhere between $600 and $1000 depending on the size of the canvas. With Hope away, no one would notice they were missing. He decided to forgo the old woman in favour of the sunset in the hopes of getting a few hundred bucks. Every little bit counted.
It wouldn't take long for the owners to notice the missing items, a day or two at the most. That meant he needed to get back inside the gallery ASAP; prolonging his visit more than necessary would just leave him further exposed. Plus, his host was already suspicious of him so he needed to act fast. He could tell by Neal's reaction the previous day that he'd hit a nerve when he'd made his off-the-cuff remark about forging the greats. Jesse figured he probably had a day or two before all hell broke loose. If need be, he'd be more than happy to break the news to his baby sister about her knight in shining armour; that should help get her on side.
He ran downstairs and looked around the place for any other obvious loot. A sterling silver frame with a wedding photograph caught his eye and he examined it closely. It was worth a fair bit but its disappearance would probably be noticed quickly. Maybe he could grab it at the last minute and fence it when he got to his new destination. He replaced it on the end table and, with his bag of loot firmly in his hand, he grabbed for his coat and stepped out into the cold winter day.
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Peter didn't need to ask for specifics: the coffee shop Neal was referring to was the same one they always went to: the one that stood a few doors down from the Raphael. It was the spot where they got together to discuss business, share a meal, order takeout or simply take a quick break when things got really busy at the gallery. As far as the reason for the impromptu meeting, he'd known better than to ask for details; the sound of Neal's voice had been enough to convey the seriousness of whatever was on his ex-CI's mind.
Peter called out to the two part-timers who were manning the gallery, letting them know he was going out for an hour or so and he grabbed his coat on his way out to meet his best friend. Elizabeth was still on his case about telling Neal about his retirement plans but, thus far, he'd held off - considering the ongoing turmoil currently unfolding in the Caffrey household. He noticed Neal's car parked up the street and entered the coffee shop, bracing himself for more drama; it was a given, it seemed, when it came to Neal's family life.
He spotted his best friend sitting at their regular table, nursing what looked to be a latte - his drink of choice. He'd ordered something for Peter and as he got closer, Peter noticed the espresso he favoured waiting for him.
'Hey buddy. What's up?' he asked, taking off his coat and throwing in on the back of his chair.
Neal's face was ashen, all colour drained, as if he'd just seen a ghost. 'Thanks for coming' he said breathlessly. 'Is everything okay at the gallery?'
'Yeah, yeah, Mauro and Mike are there. No worries. You all right?'
Neal let out a long, tortured breath. 'I told Caitlin about my suspicions.'
'About Jesse?'
Neal nodded. 'Yeah. She didn't take it well. She wanted us to confront him right away.'
'Did you tell her about… you?'
'Yeah… It didn't go as well as I'd hoped.'
Peter took a sip of his coffee and leaned in to listen. In the past, he'd always remained on the fence whenever Neal asked his opinion on whether he should tell his foster daughter about his sordid past. He'd always thought Neal put way too much stock in that period of his life but he was all for it if Neal felt the need to come clean.
'She didn't take it well?'
'Let's just say my timing wasn't the greatest. I started by telling her about Jesse. She was defensive at first and she didn't want to believe me. Then she started to come around and she wanted us to go confront him.'
Neal took a long sip of coffee before continuing. 'I knew Jesse wouldn't hesitate to rat me out so I couldn't let her run off without telling her… about me.'
He paused for a moment. 'Peter, she called me a hypocrite.'
Peter sighed. 'You're not a hypocrite, Neal.'
Neal nodded but remained sullen. 'She said I was a fraud and that I had no business accusing Jesse when I'd done much worse things myself.'
There was silence for a moment while Peter took it in.
'She kept asking me who knew' Neal continued. 'I think that's what upset her the most, finding out that everyone in the family knew but her. It was almost like some betrayal, like she'd been the only one I hadn't trusted enough to share my past with.'
'Did you try to explain why you hadn't told her?'
'Yeah… I told her I wasn't proud of what I'd done and I didn't want her to think it gave her permission to act out… like I had.'
Peter waited. 'I didn't… well, I didn't tell her I was afraid of losing the moral high ground… but I guess that ship has sailed now. I'm afraid she's going to do something stupid.'
'Damn it' Peter said. 'She's so… impulsive.'
Neal scoffed; Peter had accused him of the same thing most of his adult life.
'She'll come around' Peter mumbled. 'You'll see. Just give her a little time to let things settle.'
Neal just sat there, looking despondent. 'I don't want to screw up all the work we've done with her over the past five years.'
'You won't. She'll think it through and she'll calm down' Peter said with confidence.
Neal's phone vibrated and he pulled it out of his shirt pocket. He glanced at the text message and returned his gaze to Peter.
'Sara says she showed up at her office' Neal said, sounding relieved.
'Well, that's good. At least she didn't go running to her brother.'
'I suppose…'
'Sara will help her figure it out, you'll see.'
'Yeah… yeah' Neal said with a tentative nod.
'I'm sorry you have to go through this all over again' Peter said with genuine empathy.
'Sometimes I wonder if I should just take out a full page ad in the New York Times and put it out there once and for all for the whole world to see. Sometimes I wonder what the mailman would think if he knew, or the kid who packs our groceries at Sobey's. Hell, what about the Masons… we've known them for over twenty-five years and Lydia and Sam… they're good friends but they don't have a clue. How would they react if they knew?'
'It wouldn't change a thing, Neal. It happened a long time ago. No one would give a damn.'
'You don't know that for sure' Neal brooded. His mind continued down the dark path. 'And what about Bibi… and Chloe. Hell, I haven't even told Cam yet… how's he going to react?'
Peter stared back at his best friend as if to say 'Come on, Neal, get real!'
'It never made an ounce of difference to Sara and the kids' he reminded Neal. 'They're the only ones who really matter.'
'That's not the same.'
'Of course it is. Anybody who knows you can see past something that happened thirty years ago.'
Neal cocked an eyebrow. 'Tell that to Caitlin.'
'She's just in shock. She's probably angry at her brother and she let it out on you. It's an awful lot for her to digest.'
Neal remained quiet. 'She'll come around' Peter added. 'Sara will talk her down.'
He could see there was something else bothering Neal. As upsetting as this whole situation with Caitlin was, his reaction seemed somewhat over the top.
Neal looked him straight in the eye, preparing to confess. 'I ordered a drink.'
Peter's mouth dropped open; he hadn't been expecting that.
'Once Caitlin left, I turned around and ordered a double scotch.'
Peter waited with bated breath; was Neal about to announce he'd fallen off the wagon. And if so, what would be the consequences?
'I stared at it for a long, long time' Neal said, his voice quiet. 'I thought about how great it would feel to let loose, forget all my troubles for a little while, relax.'
'And then, I thought about Sara, about how close I came to losing her and the kids and… well, that's when I called you.'
Peter's hand reached out and gave Neal an affectionate pat on the arm. 'You did good, Neal.'
Neal shook his head. 'You don't understand. I came this close to doing it' he said holding up his index and thumb and gesturing.
'But you didn't' Peter reminded him.
'Still… it made me realize I could fall off the wagon at any time. And it scared the shit out of me.'
TBC