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It was the first night of fun the Grayson Estate had seen in many, many years.
Rose knew it was the beginning of something incredible.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rose woke up at five thirty the following morning to seven missed calls from Sean. She shot up and stared at the phone to read:
PLEASE CALL ME BACK ASAP. I don’t care what time.
Did he mean that? It was difficult to tell. But Rose’s phone was already against her ear, and she was listening to Sean’s brrring. She imagined it vibrating next to his pillow, wherever he slept.
Suddenly, she imagined herself in bed beside him, listening to the sound of his breath.
Stop. There’s so much else to think about.
It was chilly outside and black and sorrowful. It was hard to believe that she and the Salt Sisters had had a barbecue at the Grayson Estate just last night.
She needed to start calling it the Carlson Estate in her mind. She’d taken her maiden name back immediately after her divorce. It suited her—even if her family back in Mississippi didn’t. It certainly suited her far more than Grayson had.Rose Graysonnow sounded so foreign toher, like a language she’d once been able to speak that had filtered out of her memory.
Sean answered the phone on the third ring. He didn’t sound groggy. “Rose,” he said without saying hello. “I can’t believe it. We found your sculpture.”
Rose’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Before she knew it, she was out of bed, her free hand in a fist. “You what? How? Where?”
Sean sputtered. “That’s the strangest part of all. We used artificial intelligence technology to scan through thousands upon thousands of art auctions and online art fairs. It flagged an upcoming auction in Manhattan. I checked the photograph. It’s yours. It has to be. But it’s credited to another artist. Here, I’ll send you a link.”
Rose’s blood boiled. She opened the link Sean sent to see a photograph of her gorgeous sculpture, the piece she’d spent so much of the year immersed in. On the auction website, it read:
You’re invited to the party of the year. August 30th, 2024. Twenty-five iconic pieces of art will be sold at auction. Tickets are five grand to enter.
Rose’s eyes widened with shock. “Five grand to enter?”
“It’s for the Manhattan elite,” Sean said.
“What do the Manhattan elite want with my sculpture?” she demanded. “I mean, don’t they already have enough art? Enough Manhattan-based artists? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sean seemed stunned with silence.
Suddenly, all Rose wanted was to tell him to come over, hold her hand, and tell her what to do.
But she didn’t want a man to “save her.” Not anymore.
Rose pulled the phone away from her ear and clicked through the website a bit more. Who were these people? How had they gotten her sculpture?
That was when she spotted who was throwing the event in the first place.
“Sean,” she breathed into the phone. Tears filled her eyes. “Sean, I don’t know what to make of this.”
Sean sputtered. “What? What’s going on?”
“Sean, it’s the Waldens.”
Sean was silent for a moment. “Remind me who they are again?’
“Mr. and Mrs. Walden,” Rose said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “They hired me to babysit their children thirty-one years ago. They’re throwing the party. They’re auctioning off my sculpture!”
Sean was speechless. Rose walked to the window and opened it wider to inhale salty sea air. The world was spinning too fast. She thought she might faint.
Why do the Waldens have my sculpture? Are they trying to punish me for something? Is Mrs. Walden finally going to get revenge for my departure?
