“Sorry about that,” his mom tells me.
“It’s hard when you want something you can’t have.”
She smiles wearily and steers her son out of the store.
Artsy is empty now that it’s dinnertime. I rest my elbows on the counter and thump my forehead with my hands.
Karma’s on my ass and I have to get her off. It burns that I have to write Iona an apology and return her boots after what she did, but I don’t want Tara showing up again.
I reach into the drawer below the cash register and take out the key to the display case of the Lascaux acrylics. My coworker Romy’s upstairs in the custom frame and canvas department, so I’m alone on the floor. I walk over and unlock the case. I remove a tube of Phthalo Turquoise Blue and carry it over to the cash register. Then I scan the paint as a sale and pull fifteen dollars out of my jeans. For a second, I weigh whether I deserve an employee discount. Nope.
The paint goes back in the display and I lock the case. There. My debt is repaid.
Not so fast, Mom whispers in my ear. It’s not enough to pay for what you stole. You have to make amends.
Barney, my manager, comes out of the back office. He stops partway down the main aisle and fusses with an endcap of glitter glue. I could walk over right now and confess what I did.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my butt. What would confessing get me? Out of a job, and a truckload of hurt if word got back to CALINVA.
No, the best way to make amends to Artsy is to be better at my job. To clean shelves without being asked, to tidy displays, and to be the friendly, helpful, customer-centric employee Artsy loves.
I go over to Barney, who’s still trying to clean up the endcap. Handfuls of glitter pens are thrown around the shelves. “I can do that.”
“Every year it gets worse. From the week before Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve, this place looks like Elf Revolt at Santa’s Workshop.”
“I won’t let them beat me, sir,” I say, and give him a salute.
My manager thanks me, and I scoop up pens and start to slot them. Green, red, gold, silver, and Hanukkah blue. If only I could sort out my life as easily as I can art supplies.
I can repay Artsy, but what about Krell? Invading his studio and copying his work without permission? If I confess, I’ll be out of CALINVA in a hot minute.
The glitter pens are all in their proper slots, but I find a tub of yellow poster paint that needs to be put back where it belongs. I stroll toward the front of the store as the door swings open.
Adam walks in, wearing a battered black leather jacket that even unzipped shows off his broad shoulders and trim waist.
I’m not prepared for how his smile latches on to me and pulls me down the aisle. When I get to him, he reaches for me, but drops his hand when he sees my manager looking at us.
“I thought we were meeting at CALINVA,” I say.
“We were, but I couldn’t wait to show you something.”
My manager lets me off early, and Adam and I walk down Raymond toward CALINVA. The first block is well lit, and even though it’s midweek, the bars and restaurants are busy.
Adam clasps my hand, but he’s scanning the street as if there’s someone he’s trying to avoid. His stride is longer than mine, so I have to walk fast to keep up.
When we cross to the next block, Adam slows. The patio furniture store is dark, and the outdoor display of fountains and gazebos behind the ironwork fence looks like the remains of a cemetery in a gothic novel.
Adam’s never chatty when we’re in a public space, so I’m used to his silence.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I tell him. “I almost lost it today.”
“What happened?”
“First, Krell called me in—”
His hand spasms, almost crushing mine. “Shit. Did he find something?” An ugly look comes over his face.
“Yeah, that was my first thought, but—”
“So he didn’t find anything.”
“No, he—”
Adam blows out a breath. “That’s a relief.”
“I know.”
“So what else was going on?”
I decide to skip over my meeting with Krell. “My past has come back to haunt me.”
“You’ve got a past?” he jokes.
I don’t laugh. Adam stops and turns me toward him. “Are you in trouble?”
“Definitely.”
“What did you do?”
I wish I hadn’t said anything, but now it’s too late. “I sold something that didn’t belong to me.”
He gives me a sideways smile. He’s both amused and intrigued. “But you didn’t steal it?” he says.
“No. I didn’t take it, but I didn’t return it either when I realized I had it.”
“You must have had a good reason.”
Adam sees me so clearly. He knows I’d never hurt someone for no reason. “I did. I was desperate.”
“Why, what happened?”
I’ve never told anyone even part of the story, but I feel in my heart that Adam won’t judge me, so I lay out what happened with Iona, her tossing me out, me selling her dress, and the six grand I owe her. Adam does all the right things, cursing Iona and insisting she deserved everything I did to her. Then he wraps his arm over my shoulder. “You’re unbelievable. I had no idea how strong you are, living on the street like that.”
I lean into him. No one’s ever said that to me before.
“Whatever happens,” he says, “I’m here for you.”
“Thanks.” I nestle closer, taking in his warmth. “I can’t tell you what that means to me.”
He looks over my head and mutters, “There’s a homeless woman staring at us.” I turn. Julie’s in the park across the street with the guy who sells Jesus poems for a dollar. She waves at me like she wants me to come over.
“Hi, Julie!” I wave back, pretending not to understand what she wants. Adam’s creeped out, and I don’t blame him. The palm trees they’re standing under slice the light across their faces, so Julie and the poet look like ghouls.
Adam tugs me along. “That’s the woman you’re painting?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that going?”
He listens, not interrupting once, while I describe the second panel, the idea of seen and unseen. I’ve never felt closer to Adam than I do tonight.
We cover the last two blocks to CALINVA and Adam goes ahead of me around the building. We sneak in the back door, and even though we’ve done this dozens of times without getting caught, I’m still on the lookout while Adam’s striding through the halls and unlocking doors.
I need to tell him I’m done with Duncan, but he’s so fixated on getting into Secure Storage I can’t find a way to say it. It’s not until he opens the locker and slides out my copy of Duncan that he starts to relax.
He gazes at my painting. “Promise me that if anyone ever tells you you’re not talented, you won’t believe them.”
The look he gives me next is so intense, so awestruck, my heart swells with pride for how I’ve grown. “I promise.” How could I have made it through this semester without him?
“This is it. Tonight you complete this painting and tomorrow we light its funeral pyre.”