“Maybe the paint has faded since you last saw it? It has been a year.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t look convinced. Slamming the passenger door, she skipped eagerly to the pedestrian access in the large roller door. “Dad? Daddy?” Her tiny fist rapped on the metal, echoing down the driveway of warehouses.
I flinched.
Needing to stay occupied, I reached into the backseat for Olive’s backpack full of newly purchased clothes and toiletries. I didn’t need them anymore.
She was home.
Hopefully indefinitely.
The door swung wide, and Gil appeared. His face immediately turned lighter, younger, happy. The seriousness in his gaze became playful. The worry in his jaw relaxed. I’d never seen him so enamoured and carefree. “Spinach!” He bent down and swung her into his arms.
Immediately, he groaned and plopped her back on her feet. “Sorry, kiddo. I forgot I still have a few weeks of healing until I can lift you. You’ve gotten big.”
She pouted but buried her face in his belly, wrapping her arms tight around him. “It’s okay. I can wait.” She jiggled in his embrace, her joy at finally being home overflowing as she looked up. “Can I go see my room? I missed this place so much!”
Gil nodded, sidestepping out of the way so she could bolt inside. “Of course. Go ahead and get reacquainted.” He chuckled as she took off, vanishing into the cavernous warehouse.
His head tipped up, his gaze caught mine, and instantly the dreary English day became alive with electricity. My skin sparked as I clutched her backpack closer, forcing myself to delete the distance between us. “Hello.”
He wiped his mouth with a rough hand. “Hello.” His green gaze once again became weapons. Only this time, they weren’t weapons of annihilation—determined to scare me away and hurt me—but pools of regret and love.
Love...the most terrible weapon of all.
He didn’t try to hide it.
He didn’t care his guard was down.
He acted as if showing his true colours was a relief after a lifetime of hiding.
“Thanks so much for looking after her, O.”
“Not a problem.” I held out the backpack. “Here, this is hers. I bought her a few things.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s fine.” I backed away. I’d completed my task. I’d delivered his daughter and returned his borrowed hatchback. I was free now. Free to pack up my life and run far, far away like a coward.
“Will you come in? Olive will want to say goodbye.”
“Um, I might go if—”
“Daaaaaad!” Olive’s high-pitched voice travelled through the space and erupted outside.
Gil looked over his shoulder, his body already turning to go to her. He grimaced. “Look, don’t go. I have to...I better go check on her.” Striding deeper into the warehouse, he waved for me to follow. “Please, O. Stay...for a moment.”
I really didn’t want to, but some invisible force tugged me.
Stepping inside, I braced myself as my attention fell on the podium where I’d eaten a drugged sandwich, found out about Gil’s past, and fallen asleep while he’d painted me.
He’d tidied up the equipment and hidden away the brushes, but goosebumps spread over my arms. I hugged myself, keeping my chin high and spine straight.
I wasn’t afraid of this place.
I wasn’t afraid of him.
I was just wary of falling into the same trap of being caught up in the pain of others. Of wanting to fix what I couldn’t fix and believing I could be happy if I could make others happy.
I’d learned a valuable lesson that giving too much of yourself never ended well. Generosity with feelings was a must in a relationship, but endless forgiving was a recipe for disaster.
Gil made his way to the office leading toward the small apartment. Olive bowled right into his arms from the opposite direction. Her eyes wide and mouth parted as she pointed around the space suspiciously. “Where is everything?”
Gil hid his wince, his hand pressing to his wounded side as he steadied her. “What do you mean?”
He let her go as she darted toward me, pointing like a crazy thing at the empty walls, cupboards, and floor. “The paintings, the furniture. It’s all gone.” She spun to face her father with a helpless shrug. “Where’d it go?”
Gil looked at me, fibs forming in his eyes. Fibs to protect her from the truth. But almost as if he didn’t have the strength to tell another lie, or because he valued his daughter far too much to keep things from her, he said, “I sold most of it.”
“Sold your paintings?” She soared around and shoved her finger toward the sky where a bare hook hung between two windows. “Even that one? The one we did together?” Olive marched toward me, stealing my hand as if this was very important. “I liked that painting. It wasn’t all that nice ’cause I wasn’t as good as I am now, but I liked the turtle. It was huge and scaly and its shell had lots and lots of little creatures painted on it.” She nudged her chin at Gil. “Daddy did the smaller animals. He also had the turtle eating spinach ’cause apparently they like that and said it would always be a joke that I’m so fast and speedy, but the giant turtle ate me.”
Gil came toward us, looking at the blank spot on the wall. “Someone paid big money for your turtle, Olive Oyl. It’s gone to a good home.”
“But it belongs here.”
“You belong here more.”
“I don’t get it.”
Gil bent forward, bringing his stare in line with hers. “I sold things to get you back. Some things I didn’t want to get rid of, but I wanted you more, so I found them new homes.” He cupped her cheek with a soft smile. “And it worked because you’re back here. We can paint together again. We can go shopping and replace what I sold. It will be fun. You’ll see.”
Her eyes lit up, already her mourning for missing things replaced by the idea of new. “Can you take me to Kohls...like before? Is it still there?” She looked up at me, pinpricks of excitement on her cheeks. “Daddy used to take me to Kohls once a week if I did my chores and helped him tidy up his paints after he worked. He let me buy one thing each visit. Last time, I bought a pencil case to keep my crayons in.” She frowned, facing her father with a strict expression. “You didn’t sell my pencil case too, did you?”
Gil chuckled. “No, that I kept. Go and see for yourself.”
Olive sniffed, flashed him a grin, and bolted back through the office. A second later, she called, “My room is locked! Why is my room locked?”
Gil groaned. “I forgot what a little tornado she is.”
“She’s definitely bouncy.” I smiled, sucked into Olive’s purity and infectious energy.
“She’s always kept me on my toes.”
“You probably need it.” I scanned the sparse place, trying to see it from Olive’s point of view. Imagining it full of artwork and couches and chairs and life. I’d been so used to Gil’s melancholy and his unattachment to physical items that the bareness of his home didn’t ring alarm bells. However, in the short interactions I’d watched him with Olive, I uncovered a totally different version of him.