CHAPTER 14
Robert stood marvelling at the interior of the art gallery co-owned by his ex-wife. The aesthetics—versatile and minimalist was undeniably Cora's. He made his way to the main gallery which houses its first exhibits. He was almost done re-reading Cora's curatorial notes when he heard the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind him. He turned around to find himself looking straight into his love's sparkling blue eyes.
"Robert!" Her voice was high and quivering slightly with excitement and disbelief. "You are finally here to see the paintings!"
"I'm not here for the paintings, Cora. I'm here to see you." He read her letter.
She was speechless and before she could say something, he continued.
"Congratulations, Cora." Robert was quite overcome with emotions. "No one else was destined to write that curatorial notes but you—profound, lucid, and lyrical."
Cora looked down at her feet—she was not used to being appreciated this way, it takes a lot of getting used to —then she looked up at Robert's face, a smile begun to spread across her face painting an expression of happiness that could only come from the deepest recess of the human heart.
She did not say anything. She did not ask about the letter. Instead she reached out for his left hand and led him to the first painting in the series.
They stopped to study the last painting—shards of ceramic pot lying desolate in the summer heat rendered in what looked like pained brushstrokes. Evocative. Robert stared too long at the image. He could feel himself identifying with the ceramic pot: broken, abandoned, vulnerable, withering. It was as if he found the medium that speaks powerfully of his predicament just hours ago, of his long-standing misery, stranded between loving and despising himself for it.
After what seemed like forever, Cora asked. "You liked it?"
"Yes. I loved the metaphor." This would have been the kind of painting he would display in his office wall to remind him of the purpose that broken ceramic pieces serve—an objet d'art, an evocation of the human struggle.
"Someone else already had it under reserve." Cora mentioned regretfully.
"What a pity."
Cora changed the subject. "So, where are you headed from here?"
"Dinner somewhere, I think."
"Am I invited to this dinner?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. But haven't you got work to do first? I could wait at the entrance."
Cora brushed his idea off. "No such thing. Come to my office. I'll just get my things. I'm famished"
While waiting for their order to arrive, Robert excused himself to the closet room. As he was passing the bar, a familiar female voice called at him. "Robert!" He turned to find an old friend from Oxford, Margaret. She came with her bunch of glamorous female friends and she introduced each of them to him. An exchange of warm pleasantries ensued for a few minutes.
When at last he was able to extricate himself from the group, he walked back to their table. Their food had already arrived. Cora followed his movements with narrowed eyes.
Robert knew very well the meaning of that look. So, he smiled sheepishly at Cora.
She still did not say anything nor relax her narrowed expression. Instead she started to eat her food rather rapidly.
"Cora, slow down. You'll get indigestion at the rate you're eating." He wanted to humour her but she shot him a sharp look that put him cold in his tracks.
Clearing his throat he asked, serious now, "What's the matter?"
"You took too long..." She stabbed a chunk of carrot with her fork.
"I was talking to Margaret."
"The Margaret from Oxford days?" Her pitch was higher.
"Yes, the Margaret I dated before we met, got married, and had children. Now, can we enjoy our food?"
Cora did not say anything but slowed down.
Robert was rather seething inside over the unfair fate he had been dealt with. A week ago, it seemed to him that Cora is entitled to date Mr. Bricker and he was expected to be okay with it; now, Mr. Bricker has indeed gone but Robert is not entitled to converse with women and Cora has every right to be mad. Definitely, Cora wanted to have her whole cake and eat it too. But from a distant filing shelf of his consciousness and guilt, a memory of Jane floated in and Robert suddenly cursed himself for being harsh at Cora.
Midway through dinner, Cora reached out to pick a morsel of food from his chin.
Robert could only thank the high heavens that the threatening storm had dissipated. He took her left hand in his and was surprised to find her wearing her rings there.
He looked down and studied them, his breath caught in his throat.
"I always have them inside my purse wherever I went..." Cora explained. "...just in case we bump into each other and you'd ask me to wear them again." She is smiling now, a hint of mischief—her trademark—started to dance in her sparkling blue eyes.
Robert chuckled and put her hands to his lips.
