Cheater's Gallery Ep. 02: Denise

Denise's funeral was well-attended. She had made a lot of friends at the hospital, and most of them were there, along with her parents, who were stunned to hear that she had died in a tornado. I accepted the condolences that were offered, but strangely enough, I felt no need to mourn. I was also able to get through the day without telling anyone of her infidelity. When the funeral was over, I drove to the gallery, but was shocked to see the building was gone.

I parked the car and looked at the lot, now covered with weeds. I verified the address, and looked around but didn't see anyone else out and about. Was it all a dream, I asked myself. No, I heard Adrestia's voice say in my head. It was real, she said in my mind. I nodded my head and went back home.

Epilogue:

For some strange reason, I decided to keep the house. There was something calming about being out in the country, and to be honest, I liked the night sky. I spent some time exorcising Denise's presence from the place, giving her stuff away to members of her family. They were good people and we still got along well, strangely enough.

About six months later, I was in the front room when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to see an attractive brunette wearing a t-shirt and a pair of short shorts.

"Yes?" I asked. "May I help you?"

"Mr. Jacobs?" she asked. I nodded my head.

"Yes, that's me," I said.

"I'm Kirsten Smith," she said. "Formerly Kirsten Branstead."

"Please come in," I said. "What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to thank you," she said.

"For what?" I asked her.

"Well, it was my husband who died in that car with your wife," she said.

"I had nothing to do with that tornado," I said. "I don't know why you're thanking me."

"I know you didn't have anything to do with the tornado. I wanted to meet you ever since you reviewed my piece at that exhibit in Los Angeles," she said. "The one with the country house." Suddenly, I remembered. She lifted a box and handed it to me. I took it and invited her inside.

"Please have a seat," I told her. "Would you like something to drink? A Coke, perhaps?"

"Coke would be fine," she said. I grabbed her a cold coke and opened the box. Inside was the picture I reviewed the day I met Denise.

"Does it look familiar?" she asked.

"Yes, it's the picture I reviewed all those years ago," I said.

"Look closer," she said. I did, and suddenly it hit me. It looked very much like my house.

"Is this," I began. She smiled.

"I used this house as the model," she said. "And I want you to have it."

"That's very nice," I said. "But why?"

"Well, it's strange," she said. "Everybody put me down for wanting to be an artist. Even George. They all said I'd never get anywhere as an artist. Then you wrote that really nice review. You were the only one who ever said I have any talent. I framed that review and hung it up on the wall next to the picture. After George died, I was going through everything and I heard this little voice in my head tell me to give it to you. I thought I was just hearing things, but the voice kept coming back. I even heard it in my dreams. So I finally decided to pack it up and bring it."

"Well, that's very nice of you to do," I said. "I'll definitely hang it up. What are you doing now, by the way?"

"Not much of anything," she said. "I really don't need to work anymore, now that I've got George's money, and I was thinking I might start painting again." I nodded my head.

"Do you have someplace to work?" I asked her.

"Not yet," she said.

"Well, there's a lot of space in the building out back," I said. "It's got electricity and I can set it up so you can work there if you want."

"You'd do that?" she asked, shocked.

"What the hell?" I asked. "I'm not doing anything with it, so it might as well get put to good use." She wrapped her arms around me and thanked me several times. I took her out and showed her the space.

"This would be perfect," she said.

"I'll need to put in some heat and air conditioning," I said. "It gets awful hot out here in the summertime and cold as hell in the winter. But I think it would work well for you."

"I'll pay you rent for it," she said. I shook my head.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "If you don't mind keeping an eye on the place while I'm gone, that would be payment enough."

Kirsten practically lived in the workspace I set up for her, and it felt good to know someone would be around when I was gone. We got to know each other quite well, and I gave her the run of the place. One thing led to another and after a few months, she was essentially living in the house, and yes, in my bed.

A few months after that, we got married. On our wedding night, I thought back to the last thing Adrestia said to me: "You'll find someone much better. Trust me."