“This is it.” I take the fragile sheet of paper from her, holding it carefully, reading the dates, the agreement to purchase, the smaller section drawn out as his—although in reality, it’s not that small.
“I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but this only shows they owned it at one time a long time ago.” Our eyes meet, and she’s frowning slightly. “Anything could have happened after this. He could have sold it, lost it in some financial downturn…”
“He didn’t.” I feel more certain of it than anything.
“Still, you can’t prove he didn’t.”
I’m less worried about that aspect of the story. What I needed most is right here, proof the family’s claim is real. I have a good idea where I can find the rest of the story, and it’s in that ancient old house where Winnie lives.
“Can I have this?”
Mary winces and slowly shakes her head no. “I’m sorry, Deacon. As far as we know, that’s the only copy left.”
“Moldering here with the rats in an old warehouse where no one even knows it’s located?”
“Pretty much.” She’s apologetic, and I consider what might happen if I bolt. “Is there a copy machine here?”
Two hours later, I’m back at Winnie’s with the original land deed and a copy in my breast pocket, hoping to catch Angel before she leaves.
No luck.
“Deacon! What a pleasant surprise.” My aunt meets me in the foyer with her arms wide, pulling me in for a hug. “The masque is this weekend, so we can’t do our usual dinner date. Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s after six. “Wow, no.”
She huffs a laugh. “Don’t give it a second thought.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it is. I was just hoping I could poke around in the attic a minute.”
“The attic?” She pulls her head back frowning. “It’s so hot… and really, what on Earth—”
“I’ll just be a minute.” Sprinting up the massive wooden staircase, I climb one more and go to the back hall away from the bedrooms where the rectangular door is overhead.
Stepping back, I open it and lower the wooden ladder before charging into the stifling heat. A naked bulb is perched on a beam in the open space. It’s a framework of two by fours and insulation, and it’s hot as hell. It smells like old paper and dried goods.
Carefully, I step on a thin plank covering the wood frame of the ceiling.
“Deacon?” My aunt calls from below. “What are you looking for?”
Straightening, I look across the massive space with boxes arranged in every nook and cranny. Wasn’t I just here? Fatigue hits me like a hammer. I don’t need a permit to search this house. I can come back tomorrow, after I’ve rested.
Returning to the ladder, I slowly climb down, wiping the sweat off my brow with my sleeve and folding the wooden ladder into the door before lifting it shut.
“My goodness what a mess.” Winnie waves a hand in front of her face. “What’s come over you?”
“I was thinking about Grandma Kim… your mom.”
“I know who Grandma Kim was. Why are you so fixated on her all of a sudden?”
“You said her things were in the attic—”
“Perhaps not all of them, thankfully. Do you have any idea how hot it gets up there in the summertime?”
“I can imagine.” Rubbing my hand over my mouth, I realize how much of her stuff is probably lost. “Did she keep a diary or anything that you know of?”
“I don’t know, Deacon.” Winnie starts up the hall, waving a hand over her head. “If you’re not staying for dinner, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m hungry.”
“Okay.” I jog to catch up with her, giving her a sweaty hug, which makes her holler. “If you think of anything let me know. See you Friday.”
“Brute.” She follows me down to the door, and I catch a warm smile on her cheeks. “You’re still bringing this mystery date?”
“Yep.” My beautiful wife.
“I can’t wait.”
26
Angel
“Describe your philosophy of art.” I’m sitting on Deacon’s lap in front of his giant desktop computer filling out the Arthaus application.
It’s been a week and no sign of Mateo. Every night we’ve slept in Deacon’s penthouse apartment, with the doorman guarding us below and layers of security between us and the street.
My main worry tonight is making this deadline. “Oh, man… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” He nudges me in the side. “You told me all about it in El Paso.”
“I did?”
“You did, and it was passionate and moving.”
“You’re thinking of something else.” I look over my shoulder and give him a sly wink.
“No distractions. You have to get this in tonight.”
“Okay… ugh… I hate when they make me write.” Scrubbing my fingers on my forehead, I try to put the words together, but it feels like a jumble. “Why can’t I just paint my philosophy?”
Again, I’m dressed in his boxer shorts and sweatshirt, belly full of mac and cheese. I was finally able to show him Spirit in real life, which he insisted on hanging on his living room wall.
The portrait I painted of him is in the bedroom.
“Here.” He puts his hands around me on the keyboard. “Tell me your philosophy, and I’ll type it.”
Turning my face, I kiss his cheek. “Let me stand up and walk.”
For the next several minutes I talk through my feelings about art. “It gives me a voice… I find ways of expressing myself in color and shape that I’m not able to do with my mouth and hands… It’s a way of touching people, making them think, making them change their way of thinking… Art can take the mundane and make it magical.”
Deacon’s fingers fly over the keys, and I wrinkle my nose. “Does that sound dumb?”
“Not at all.” His eyes are fixed on the screen, and he’s typing quickly, finishing with a sharp little tap. “You sound like someone I’d give a twenty-thousand-dollar scholarship.”
Leaning down, I kiss his lips. “It’s a residency.”
“I’d give it to you.”
“You’re biased.” Sitting on his lap again, I cross my legs and read the words he’s written, and my chest tightens. “You made me sound really good.”
He kisses my cheek, right beside my ear. “I just wrote what you said.”
I spend the next several minutes uploading my photos of Spirit, of Winnie’s portrait, of Deacon’s portrait, and a few sunsets and figure drawings. My final is the sketch I did of him while he slept.
“Hey, I’ve never seen that one.”
“I did it while you were sleeping.” I hold my finger over the mouse, hesitating as my stomach trembles before clicking submit.
Exhaling heavily, I turn in Deacon’s lap and put my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. “I did it.”