The Checklist, Addie Woolridge [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

all the time. That is basically what keeps me in business. Otherwise, they could get an eight-hundred-dollar divorce through some half lawyer online.”

Bernice looked like someone had just told her that she’d received a lifetime ban from REI. Dylan’s spine stiffened as her mother’s lip curled, prepping for a rant that could only end in something terrifically insulting to God, country, and at least one man sitting at the table, when Calvin appeared with their food.

“All right, who had the marionberry french toast?”

If her father hadn’t already hugged him, Dylan might have done it. Waving as her scramble came up, she was relieved to see Bernice relinquish the rant in favor of munching on a bite of pancakes. Working to change the subject, Dylan said, “Mom actually has a show coming up soon. What’s the series called, again?”

“Three Souls.” Bernice smiled, and her entire body softened. “It’s an exploration of aging, parenting, and what it means to rear souls as your role in society shifts.”

Neale, who had appeared to tune in when she sensed a Bernice diatribe, gave Dylan a helpful nod and asked, “Is it mostly canvas work, or have you decided?”

“I’m still working with the gallery, but I think mostly canvas. Maybe a few of my earlier bronzes. I’m not sure that I want to put them on the market. But your father thinks seeing the progression of my work is important for this show.”

“And you don’t have to sell them,” Henry pointed out.

“Yes, but you know how it is. Once collectors know a piece exists . . .” Bernice shook her head, taking another bite of her food.

Breaking off a piece of his muffin, Nicolas said, “It’s funny—I had no idea art like yours was so expensive.” He chuckled, then added, “I mean, the divorce piece wasn’t even a big painting.”

“Well, not everyone likes to hang Animal House posters on their walls,” Bernice quipped.

Just like that, the calm Dylan had restored vanished. All she could do was hope Nicolas would cram the rest of his muffin into his mouth so he couldn’t fit any more of his foot in there.

“Art comes in price ranges like anything else,” Neale said diplomatically. “There is a market for art, and people purchase what is meaningful to them at a price that makes sense for the market; thus the market supports itself.”

Nicolas was flustered, surprised Neale had explained a basic economic principle to him and that the principle applied to the fine art world the same as any other market. “I mean . . . it’s good Bernice can support herself with art. It’s a tough business.”

“Well, we can’t all be employed sucking the algae off of foolish men with too many wives,” Henry said, scooping the last bite of breakfast onto his fork. “But we do okay.”

Dylan racked her brain, trying to remember the last time her father had slung an insult. That was usually her mother’s domain. She opened her mouth to jump in but wasn’t fast enough.

“It is unfathomable that a little lady like me can support myself. Sometimes, I even support my family,” Bernice said, mawkishness dripping from her words.

If Nicolas had missed Neale’s tone, he certainly picked up Bernice’s and Henry’s. Unfortunately, he was not the kind of man who backed down in a fight. “I took a class on entertainment law in school. Artists are so involved in the creative process that pricing and selling their work can be difficult, because labor doesn’t always match the buyer’s price expectations. Not to mention the constant shift in consumer tastes. It’s why making enough money to support yourself is difficult.”

“You took a class in law school?” Neale snickered.

“Good thing you are familiar with our struggle.” Bernice folded her napkin.

Dylan’s head swiveled like a woman possessed as she searched for Calvin. They needed the check before someone threw food. Probably Henry, but Bernice was still holding her fork in a menacing way, so she couldn’t be sure. Catching Calvin’s eye, she waved with only the faintest hint at discretion. This was an SOS situation. She couldn’t risk a subtle gesture being missed.

“Can I get you all anything else?” Calvin said, holding the bill.

“I think we are all set.” Dylan forced a cheery grin onto her face as she sweat through her cardigan.

“I can take the check.” Nicolas held out his hand in a way that was both apathetic and demanding.

“I know we are paupers, but really, I think we can treat this one time,” Bernice said, bristling. Calvin looked confused for a moment before handing the check over to Bernice. At least Calvin knew where his bread was buttered.

“Thanks, Mom!” Dylan said. “Y’all have any plans for the rest of the day?” She half listened as Bernice made an empty attempt at salvaging the conversation. When she’d envisioned this meeting, she thought she’d worked through every possible scenario. Somehow, she’d never imagined Nicolas would bring up the business model of the art world or question her parents’ ability to provide for their family. Yes, she’d grown up without a bedtime, but did Nicolas actually think she’d been raised naked and starving in the streets?

As they trundled to the cars, Henry and Neale took over her mother’s attempt at conversation, until they reached her dad’s battered hatchback. At some point, Henry had scraped the side of a parking garage wall and never bothered to take the car in, so the exposed metal was rusting. Like most things, Dylan had long ago accepted that this was normal for her parents and stopped caring. But at this moment, she felt piercing regret over not trying to get it fixed before Nicolas arrived. If she was lucky, he’d only make fun of the car for the next few weeks. But with the way things were going, his mocking time frame was quickly expanding past a few months.

“Guess we will see you both later,” Bernice said, pulling on the still-locked door handle.

“All right, Mom, I’ll give you a call about tomorrow.” Dylan hugged Neale.

“Nice to meet you