“Absolutely,” Grand replies.
The curator hands out safety goggles, waits while we all put them on, then turns off the lights. When the room is dark, she lifts a handheld ultraviolet lamp and shines it overThe Madonna, ultimately focusing on the lower-right edge of the painting. “There,” she says. “Do you see that dark blotch that’s showing up? And the paint glowing underneath it?”
We press closer. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one holding my breath.
“Oh my gosh. Look.” I grab Grand’s hand and squeeze it. “There it is! There’s your signature!”
Grand sniffs and I realize she’s crying. Then I realize my own eyes are also wet with tears.
“Indeed it is,” Barbara says. “And I think it’s time to let the world know that your claim has been validated. ThatThe Madonnais your work and not Phillip Drake’s.”
• • •
On Tuesday morningwe’re back in the headlines. Our faces stare out at us from the TV screen.
An internet search ofThe Madonnapulls up pictures of Phillip Drake and Grand from her time studying art in New York while pictures of me highlight my career as Cassie Everheart, the demise of that career, and the shot of Luke and me helping Grand to the car after I, and I quote, “rescued her grandmother from kidnappers and totally kicked the bad guys’ butts just like Cassie Everheart would have.”
Marc Drake calls me a thief and denies any responsibility for what happened to Grand.
Marc’s mother stays out of the fray, but she hires an attorney to defend him then lets his fancy lawyer do all the talking.
When I walk into the living room, Grand is staring down at the newspaper, crying.
“What’s wrong?” I rush to her side, but when I get there, I notice that, despite the tears, she’s smiling.
Grand brushes the tears away. “I…after all these years…I can’t quite believe the art world finally knows my name and recognizes that I have talent. They’re totally on my side.”
Her phone rings. Tentatively she answers it. Her eyes get big. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. But, um, thanks for asking.”
“Who was it?” I ask, but her phone is already ringing again.
She holds up one finger for me to hold on, then answers. She smiles even as she shakes her head then says, “No. Thank you for asking but…absolutely, um, no.”
My phone rings before Grand has hung hers up. When I answer, a woman speaks hurriedly. “Please. Don’t hang up.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Lara. I’m a booker for60 Minutesand…”
I put a hand over my phone. “It’s60 Minutes. Don’t you want to at least hear what they have to say?”
Once again, Grand shakes her head.
There’s another call. Grand mouths the word “no” before I can pick up.
It rings again and I’m about to drop the call without answering when the name of the caller shows up. “Oh myGod, Grand. It’s from Harpo Productions!” I hiss before I pick up.
“Hello?” I say tentatively.
“Hello, is this Sydney?” The voice is unmistakable, but she introduces herself anyway. “This is Oprah.”
“Yes, this is me. I mean yes, I’m Sydney.”
“I was blown away by the revelation that your grandmother paintedThe Madonnaand how you managed to save her after she’d been abducted. I’d love to interview both of you and share her story with the world.”
Grand is shaking her head. I cover the mouthpiece. “It’s Oprah! She wants to do a special interview of us together and broadcast it on her network.”
Grand stops shaking her head. “Oprah?” she asks in the same way one might question a phone call from the tooth fairy. “I don’t believe it.”
