InSight

seen—vibrant and full of energy. Even the quiet landscapes drew her in. She stood in front of a marsh scene and felt as if her feet were wet from wading in the water, felt the gentle breeze moving through the grasses. No wonder critics touted him as the next major American artist.
    “There he is,” Lainie whispered, pulling Abby back to solid ground.
    “Where?” Abby searched but didn’t see anyone who looked like a successful artist. In fact, everyone appeared grungier than she did.
    “The one with the turtle neck sweater and scruffy jeans. You know he’s from one of the richest families in the South. They practically own Charleston .”
    “How would I know that?”
    “Well, if you paid attention to the eligible men in the area, you’d probably have more dates. You won’t meet them holed up in your room studying.”
    “Gee, Lainie , I don’t know how to tell you this, but my scholarship doesn’t pay for everything. I didn’t take out loans that will tie me up for years so I could come here to party.”
    “ Shhh , here he comes, and is he ever fixed on you.”
    Abby inspected the reed of a man heading in her direction, but her scrutiny couldn’t compare with the vibes emanating from him as he approached. He undressed her with his piercing blue eyes, and his smile curled the corners of his mouth as if he knew her darkest secret. For some inexplicable reason, the thumping in her chest shot skyward, through the roof, and into the stratosphere.
    “Hi, I’m Stewart Gentry. Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her along.
    “Huh? Wait a minute,” Abby objected as he deposited her in front of a large window where the afternoon sun poured through in dusty rays.
    “Don’t move.” He backed off, framing Abby’s face in the squared-off fingers of his raised hands. Long hair obscured his right eye, and he kept pushing it aside as soon as it fell back into position. “You’re perfect. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    “This is crazy,” she scoffed, moving away from the window. “What have you been smoking?”
    He chased after her. “No, seriously. I have to paint you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
    Abby’s laugh caused people to turn their heads and stare. Embarrassed, she whispered to avoid any more attention. “Now I know you’re crazy. I’ve got to go.” She headed for the door, but Stewart took her hand and held her in place.
    “No, wait. I don’t even know your name. I have to know the name of the woman I’m going to marry.”
    “I take it back. You’re not crazy. You’re insane. Out there. Way out there.” She completed a full circle of the room to find Lainie so she could get the hell out of there and away from the nut following her like a needy puppy.
    Stewart ran after her. “Sorry,” he said, darting in front of her. “Let me start over. My name is Stewart Gentry and I’m in love. Oops, not much better, was it?”
    Abby couldn’t resist. She giggled involuntarily. No one had ever approached her like that before. She studied this tall, rangy man, all angles, sweater two sizes too big, and saw no tinge of mockery in his earnest face.
    “Look, I’m sure you’re very nice, but you’re coming on too strong. You’re a little scary, Stewart Gentry.”
    “You’re right. This time I will start over.” He rolled up his sleeves, tucked in the shirt hanging below his sweater, fingered his long sandy-brown hair back off his face, and made a slight bow from the waist. “Rhett Butler here, ma’am. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Now if you’ll tell me your name, I’d like to ask you out to the nearest café for a cup of coffee and a sweet cake.”
    Abby broke up. Lainie was right. Stewart Gentry was damn cute. Irresistibly cute. His eyes were the bluest blue she’d ever seen, and his smile lassoed her heart. And it stayed that way until almost the very end.
    “Scarlett O’Hara, sir. De-lighted.”
    * * * * *
    “Y ou remember how good things were, Abby? How all the galleries were after me? How my work was sought by collectors? Those were great times, weren’t they?”
    “Yes, I remember.” Stewart had swept her off her feet. He was handsome and funny, intelligent and filled with promise.
    “You were my favorite model. I couldn’t paint you enough.”
    She remembered that too, and thinking about those days brought a lump to her throat. How could it have all gone so bad?
    “I didn’t believe how lucky I was when you said