The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [111]
“I should probably leave,” Lucy said, not checking her watch, not trying to pretend that she still had any tangible reason to leave other than she knew it was time to go. “I wanted to tell you something, though I don’t know if this is the time. But I’m here and you’re here and I haven’t seen you in so long, so I want to say it. I hope it’ll make you feel excited.”
“What is it?” Annie asked, wanting good news. She needed something that had the possibility of being realized. She softened for an instant, which was enough for her muscles to stop spasming, and she focused on Lucy and whatever good things she might proffer.
“I got the green light on the film. We’ve got the money, we’re finalizing the location, and we’re starting auditions for the other roles. I’m going to make this movie, Annie. You and I are going to make this movie.”
Annie smiled, reached out for Lucy, who returned the hug. “It’s happening, Annie,” Lucy said. “Whatever else you have going on, you’ll have this movie, and you’ll have me to help you, whenever you need it.”
“Thank you,” Annie said. “I want this to be good. I want to be good in it.”
“It will be,” Lucy said, disentangled herself from Annie, and began to walk away, waving good-bye. “You will be,” she said, amending her statement.
Buster walked over to Annie and gestured to the almost-empty room. “They’re not coming,” Buster said, sucking on his teeth, as if the air was so sharp it hurt him to breathe it in.
There were ten people left in the gallery, fifteen minutes until closing, and Annie and Buster stared at the floor, unblinking, as if waiting for something to emerge from the floor beneath them. A few more people started to leave, a man and a woman, but they hesitated, watching Annie and Buster as if waiting for some sign that they should actually stay. Annie waved to them. “Bye,” she said, and the couple nodded and left, looking very disappointed, having probably expected the same thing as Annie and Buster. After that, the others trickled out the door, leaving Annie, Buster, Chip Pringle, and his mother. Even the caterers had already left, nothing to do but turn off the lights and lock up.
Chip walked over to Annie, shaking his head. “They didn’t show,” he said to her. Annie nodded, unable to speak. “I guess that was always a possibility,” Chip admitted. “If you expected it to happen,” Mrs. Pringle said, swaying, tipsy, radiant, “then Caleb and Camille Fang wouldn’t go through with it.” She seemed the only person in the room who was happy; she had loved the paintings for nothing but what they were, and she seemed content to let them do the work that the disappeared Fangs could not.
What else was there for Annie and Buster to do? They would return, would wait for their parents every single day of the exhibit’s lifespan, until something happened, until the hidden was revealed.
Buster started to cry, shaking his head, holding up his hand as if to apologize or perhaps to ask for a second so that he could compose himself. “They’re not coming,” he said. Annie placed her hands on Buster’s shoulders, facing him, breathing deeply, showing him how to breathe, how to keep the air moving in and out of his system, how to stay alive. “The door’s locked. Just finish turning off the lights when you leave,” Chip whispered, and he awkwardly escorted his mother out of their own gallery, leaving behind the kind of art that Annie and Buster were making, which was not, at all, the kind of art they desired.
Annie understood Buster’s sudden collapse, should have been waiting for it to happen. The exhibit had been his idea, everything riding on this final feint. And now, after Buster and Annie had lined up everything they believed their parents required in order to return, Caleb and Camille again refused to make themselves known. It was failure, yet another failure, and even for Buster, so used to the feeling, it was simply too much to take.
“They’re dead, Annie,” Buster finally said, his voice as clear and as calm as if he was reading