Bette had read an editorial several years ago in the New Yorker that had mused eloquently on the impact on the art world, and the public at large, if, one day, the collection were to be displayed.  Given its vastness, the article posited that several exhibits would be necessary, to allow the public to benefit the most from its richness. 

If anything happened to that collection … 

“Don’t feel responsible, Bette,” Tina cut into Bette’s thoughts. 

“I’m not.  Am not,” Bette responded, absentmindedly, still lost in thought. 

Tina sat up, but held the arm Bette had around her shoulder in place.  She turned to Bette, “Listen to me, baby.  That’s not your responsibility.  It was her decision.  That collection is her family’s legacy.  She’s responsible for what happens to it.  No one else.” 

Bette sighed, and then turned to Tina.  “That’s the thing about art, T.  Or at least art that is singular, iconic, or in the truly masterful level.  It truly is priceless.  And that’s not a marketing cliché.  Art that speaks from one generation to the next, that is a true expression of the finest mankind has to offer – that’s not just a family legacy.  That’s a legacy of mankind, for mankind.  It’s never just owned by someone.  We’re all just passing through, after all.  But art stays.  It’s passed on, from one person, one generation to the next, so that each may benefit from its beauty.  Learn from its truth.  Be inspired.” 

She paused.  Then faced forward again, “So of course I feel some responsibility.  I studied art. Lived and breathed it.  Found meaning in it. Made a living from it.” 

Bette looked out the window as they fell silent again. 

“There’s a reason why I helped Mike out several years ago … and then again last year, T.” 

Tina nodded, as she felt tears form in her eyes, and track down her cheeks.  Bette had given up a lot, her life’s calling, even, to, in her words, live this life, and to keep Tina and Angelica safe.  She’d given her whole world up, mainly for their sakes, had tried hard to immerse herself in a totally different world in New York, and had shut out every avenue that could have led her back into the art world.