Marsh to find the killer. “Would you like to come over to the gallery tomorrow and take a look at that seascape that came in? It’s pretty special.”
“Lunchtime? I’ve got an appointment out your way.”
“Sure.”
“It’s a date then. Any more thoughts on what the lawyer sent over?”
“Tracey already has her will signed and notarized. I’ll read the final copy on mine tomorrow. Shifting everything to Amy is a simple step, but if Amy and Tracey have both passed away-I’m not sure who should get asked to absorb this stress. Being wealthy is nice when it comes to living easier, but the rest of it-”
“Leave it to be paid out over time to your church; it’s got to go somewhere since you won’t be taking it with you.”
“Very true. Why do you talk so easily about heaven for others, Daniel, and yet not believe in God?”
“Do I have to answer that?”
“I already know your uncle was not exactly a good role model for what being a Christian is like. But the chief-he lives the same way he believes.”
“I know. Luke and I have talked a lot about God over the years; he can be persuasive when he needs to be.”
“But you still don’t believe.”
“I think God lets people in power do too much damage, that He cares about the big picture and bringing down nations and raising up others; but get down to a finer level where intervention would matter in justice between people and He doesn’t do enough. The Bible talks a lot about taking care of the poor and the widows, and God doesn’t seem to be that interested in changing the fact the poor just get poorer and the powerful more abusive in societies. God should be the cop walking the block, not a supreme court justice where it takes a decade for a legitimate grievance to get heard.”
“Maybe Christians are supposed to be doing the work to lift up the poor and oppressed.”
“Then God inspires very little loyalty to His cause. When was the last time you gave a gift to someone who was poor?”
The question caught her off guard. “The church missions group gives a lot and part of that would be my gifts, but that dodges your question. I don’t know anyone who is really poor; that’s sad, isn’t it? I’m in a downtown that used to be the run-down part of town, and now it’s too wealthy for those who used to live here.”
“We’re too comfortable in our own little worlds to actually connect with those who might need some help.”
“So that’s God’s fault?”
“I’d like to think someone was taking responsibility for the problem, and He says He sees it and feels their hurt.”
She thought about it and painted some more. “You feel guilty being rich.”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah, some.” She sighed. “Not enough to go back to not having money. Identifying with the poor by being one of them may make it easier to connect and empathize, but it’s a lousy way to help.”
“So we’ll give away a few checks to try and feel better about ourselves and share some of the money around. I don’t want a religion that hopes for heaven because it’s the wealthy, prosperous place to be in the future. I want heaven to mean something more than a place; I want it to be a relationship. And so far the God I see and hear about-let’s just say He and I haven’t squared away what kind of relationship He’s talking about.”
“A love one, Daniel. Jesus looks at you and sees you and loves you. For all your money and things you worry and care about.”
“Henry sure didn’t see Christianity as that; he viewed it as a tithe to the penny and an appearance of the right actions, and the rest of life’s decisions-that was just business.”
“I’m sad for him now and the coldness of that and for you. It doesn’t have to be that.”
“So I’ll think about it some more in my own fashion, but not enough to believe like you do yet. It’s not a taboo topic, Marie, just one I see differently than you.”
“Okay.” Marie bit her paintbrush handle and studied the scene before her. Too dark again. “Remember God is looking for a love relationship next time you ponder it: trust, loyalty, discipline, closeness-all that a love relationship implies. I don’t model that all that well, but I know it’s what He wants.” She set aside the canvas to start another one. “Change of subject-I was thinking more about the wedding gift for Tracey and Marsh.”
“Any ideas?”
“Maybe.” She flipped through the notebook on the table. “They are planning to add on to the house to give them more space, and Tracey is a better decorator than I am. But they aren’t going to be around the house all their lives, and while I can’t plan trips for them, I could find out some things they would enjoy getting out to do together. Marsh loves to ski, and Connor mentioned Marsh is also a pretty avid fisherman. If the family had access to a boat and launch slip at the lake, it’s something Mandy could even join us to do, spending a day out on the water, that kind of thing.”
“It’s got possibilities.”
“Marsh would never accept it outright as a wedding gift, I don’t think, but as a gift that is part of a larger something else? Maybe.”
“You want me to find you a house to buy on the lake? It shouldn’t be that hard.”
“I was thinking more about you,” she admitted.
He laughed. “You really didn’t like my apartment, did you?”
“It’s nice enough and all, but you live inside the office all day and go home to live inside an apartment at night. There’s no outdoors in your life beyond your spectacular rose-filled walkway. You need a real house in the city, not some place outside of town you go to stay once every couple months. You ought to think about it, Daniel. You’ve got family now to help you mess up more space. And the thought of your moving into your uncle’s place-it gives me the shudders. It’s beautiful if you like a museum feel, but it’s not somewhere for you.”
“I’ll admit I’d enjoy having a boat.”
“See? The idea is already growing on you.”
“Have they set a date for the wedding yet?”
Marie picked up the phone and walked out of the studio and into the kitchen to get herself something to drink. “They’re talking about April, I think. Tracey likes the thought of having her anniversaries in the decades to come during that month.” She eyed the closed garbage sack that reminded her it was garbage pickup in the morning, and she didn’t plan to have the flopped tuna salad she’d thrown away stinking up the house for another day. “Let’s talk more about a boat tomorrow. I think you should do that with me.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
“I’m going to go do chores and think about Connor maybe calling me later. You should stop working now.”
“I’ll admit to feeling stiff enough it’s time to take a break from sitting at this table. I’ll finish this box and call it a night. It was good talking with you while I worked; the time passed quickly.”
“I think so too. Good night, Daniel.”
“Night, Marie.”
She closed the phone and thought not for the first time that he was a really nice man. Not so easy to get to know, but nice. She picked up the trash bag and slid her keys into her pocket.
The security cameras showed all was quiet out on the street, and the rain had thankfully eased off. Marie walked outside and put the trash into the Dumpster behind the building and went back into the gallery, turning on the low-track lighting and walking through to her office. Bryce was around-he was always around-but she was beginning to find that presence a background comfort rather than an intrusion.
Her office was neat but the trash overflowed, and she gathered it together along with the trash from the front checkout desk. The new display of paintings looked sharp together, she thought with pleasure, doing a walk around to see what else could be dealt with tonight. The front window needed to be wiped down inside again; it collected dust from the overhead heating more than most of the other windows, and she liked it to sparkle. Another month and this gallery would have new heating and lighting and a brand-new drop ceiling. Peter had promised a showcase, and he had ideas to make the architecture of the place itself become a beautiful thing.
She unlocked the door and took the last trash out. Maybe while Peter was working in the gallery she’d see if it was possible to refurbish the interior brick on the building and make it a rich, rough background for some of the
