Time passes so quickly when I’m working, I barely even notice it’s after lunch until my stomach growls. I’m plotting out the room around her using blocks instead of details. We can decide on that later.
“It’s after three.” Winnie’s voice causes me to inhale sharply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I assumed you’d be stopping for the day.”
“It’s later than I thought.” Stepping back, I wipe the black off my fingers.
“People always said I have my mother’s eyes.” She observes my sketch. “She was a very beautiful woman.”
“I’m sure.” Lifting my pencil, I finish sketching out the surroundings.
“You’ve captured the resemblance here.” She holds her hand towards the canvas. “I like it. You may continue.”
Is that a compliment? I do my best not to act surprised. “I’ll start laying paint tomorrow.”
“You work fast.”
“Once I start painting, it’ll slow down.”
Her eyes narrow, and she surveys me. “How much time will it take?”
“Depends on the weather, but I expect a few weeks.”
Her lips tighten, and she seems annoyed. “The article I read said a portrait should take fifty hours to complete. Why would you need longer than a week?”
Why would you ask me how long it takes if you already know?
I don’t say that.
“I can’t work on it nonstop. When working with oils, you work in layers.” I really hate that she has me on the defense. I hate feeling like she’s accusing me of being lazy. “I’ll start with the darkest colors then add highlights on top. Each layer has to dry or it gets muddy—"
“If you’d like to come over in the evenings to work, I will allow it.” She nods as if she’s the Queen of England passing down a decree.
“I don’t know if that’ll make a difference.” Rubbing my forehead, I try to think. “I could start earlier in the day then take a break at lunch and return later. A fan would help.”
“I’ll have a fan delivered in the morning. You can begin your revised schedule then.” She marches to the door as if problem solved, pausing before she leaves. “This is for you.” She places a white business-sized envelope on the end table.
With a sigh, I collect my things. It’s not like I want to hang out in her mansion longer than I have to, but I would like to add this to my portfolio. On my way out, I pick up the envelope. Inside is the signed contract, with the correct numbers and what we agreed to do.
I suppose it’s the yin to her yang. She’s a racist, bossy bitch, but at least she’s a woman of her word. Shaking my head, I’m on my way out when Rosalía meets me.
“How’s it going?” She puts her hand on my arm, and we walk to her car together.
“You weren’t kidding when you said she was the worst. I thought people like that only existed in the movies.”
“I wish. Need a ride?”
“Sure, thanks.” Beto’s house isn’t too far from the Dring estate, and Rosalía chats about her day polishing the silver and Winnie’s habit of counting everything afterwards.
She pulls into the driveway, and I pause before getting out. “How can you do it every day?”
“She pays me in cash, and at least she’s fair.”
Pressing my lips together, I think about this. “Why does she pay you in cash?”
“I think she thinks I’m illegal. She never asked for my social or anything.”
Dropping my head against the headrest, I groan. “This woman!”
Rosalía laughs, and we say goodnight. I climb out, walking to my brother’s home wondering how Deacon and I will ever merge these two worlds. It feels impossible.
The burner phone vibrates and I pull it out to see a text from my guy. Staying over an extra day or two. Can I call you?
Touching the number, I call instead of texting a reply.
“Hey, beautiful. How was your Monday?” His rich voice warms my insides, and I want to thread my fingers in his hair, see the blue eyes that love me.
“The Mondayest.” Instead of going into my brother’s house, I walk along the sidewalk that loops the lake.
“Busy day at La Frida?”
“Actually… I’m not working at the coffee shop anymore. Juliana took over my shift. I got a job… an art job.” God, I sound like Rosalía. “I’ve been commissioned to paint a portrait. It was kind of out of the blue, but—”
“What?” I hear him smile, and in spite of it all, I smile. “That’s fucking amazing. Who are you painting? Tell me all about it.”
He can’t see me wince. “Let’s talk about it when you get home. It’s a really neat opportunity, though. If it works out.”
“It’ll work out. You’re the best.”
This guy. “I miss you.”
“I miss you.” I love hearing him say it.
Maybe Lourdes is right, and I did make a deal with the devil… But I see little flickers of a bridge, and I want what Deacon wants. I want our families to like us. Or maybe I’m dreaming of somewhere over the rainbow. My mother did raise me to believe in dreams.
“Why are you staying in Harristown? Is something wrong?”
Now I hear him hesitate. “Maybe I should wait and tell you when I know more. At this point… I’m not really sure.”
“Sounds like we’re both keeping secrets.”
“Fuck that. I hate secrets.” He’s growly, and I laugh. “Noel had this old letter… it was from my grandmother to her best friend who lived here a long time ago.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I need to find out more.” His voice grows quietly serious. “It might be the reason your brother is so angry at my family.”
“Oh, Deacon…” My stomach tightens. “Is that good or bad?”
“Too soon to tell.” He exhales heavily. “Either way, we’ve got to know what happened. I feel like I’m getting close to answers.”
Nodding, I look up at my brother’s house, rising tall in the twilight. “I wish you were here.”
“I’ll be there soon, Angel. Trust me.”
“I do.”
13
Deacon
“Is there anyone alive who might’ve worked at the hospital back then?” I’m back at Pine Hills in the activity room with Miss Jessica and Ms. Irene.
They were both surprised to see me again, and when I explained the situation, they apparently already knew most of the story. My grandmother came here pregnant, and she left without a baby. The second part is the mystery. Neither woman knows, but neither one acts surprised either.
Mindy is at the front desk, and we’ve been ordered not to say anything interesting until she gets back. I’m not waiting.
“Is there a nurse or administrator who might have helped her?” I’m hoping against hope.
Miss Jessica presses her lips into a straight line before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help.”