I picked up a blank canvas and set it on the wooden easel in front of the rummy tally on my wall. A couple of days ago, I had gone to the hardware store and picked up a can of paint with every intention of erasing it. I had told myself it was time to paint over it.
But I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Or maybe I wasn’t quite ready to see it go.
I opened up several pots of paint. Dipping my brush into the green, I smeared it across the white space. Then blue. Then black. I painted for almost five hours before stopping.
When I was done, I couldn’t even look at the finished product.
I knew what I’d see.
My heart thudded painfully. I opened the closet door and shoved the still-wet painting inside, in the dark, where it belonged.
Chapter 8
Meghan
I recognized the number as soon as my phone started ringing at 7:00 the next morning. Only one person would be calling me at such an ungodly hour. Even my mother knew better than to try and catch me before ten if I wasn’t working.
“Skylar, do you know what time it is?” I asked, my words punctuated with a jaw splitting yawn. I had painted until almost midnight and then slept hard. It was the best sleep I could remember having in ages. I suspected it had something to do with finally being able to create something. Getting engrossed in my work was better than any sleeping pill. Even if the finished product wasn’t something I wanted to look at any time soon.
“It’s time for you to get up, lazy ass. I’m only in town for the day, and I won’t let you waste it in bed,” she said matter-of-factly.
I sat up in bed, stretching my back. Ouch. One thing I hadn’t missed was the lumpy, twin-sized mattress. Even though I had slept deeply, I felt the effects of the twenty-year-old mattress on my joints and muscles. Maybe I could talk Mom into letting me switch out beds with the double-sized one in the guest room.
“You’re in Southport?” I asked in confusion. What day was it? What was going on?
“No, I’m in Miami.” Skylar’s sarcasm was as blistering as always.
“Dude, it’s too early for me to try and navigate your witty banter.” I yawned again. “What are you doing in town? I thought we were going to meet up next week. I planned to come to Pittsburgh to have dinner with you and Mac.”
“Yeah, well, I kicked Mac out last night, so dinner’s probably out,” Skylar answered in her characteristic bland delivery.
“Woah, hang on a sec. Did you kick Mac out? Why? What happened?” Skylar had been with Mac for over six years, engaged for three. He wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but he had always seemed to make Skylar happy—well, as happy as Skylar ever let on. My friend wasn’t one to emote much, if at all. Even though she had grown out of her goth phase somewhere around sophomore year of college, she was still the most dead-pan person I knew.
Mac Stevens was a musician of the struggling variety. He played drums in an industrial metal band called Flypaper. Skylar hated their music but still went to all their shows. When Mac wasn’t hammering away on the skins, he was a librarian at the university, which is how he met Skylar when she came in to check out the latest serial killer biography.
They had seemed like a good match—Skylar was a talented graphic designer, and Mac was super smart, but he was also a raging douchebag that was a little too up on himself to be tolerable for long periods.
“He’d been spending our savings on internet porn. He’s thrown away more than twenty thousand dollars meant for a house down payment so he can jack off watching a barely legal girl named Tiffany on a website called Lusty Schoolgirlz. With a ‘z’.” I could hear the hitch in her voice, which she suppressed immediately. “It’s all good. Just glad I found out now rather than after the wedding. So I’m here at my parents’ house while he clears his crap out of my apartment.”
“Shit, the wedding, Sky,” I gasped. “Can you get refunds on the reception hall and the caterer?” Mac and Skylar had been planning for a spring wedding next year. Skylar had booked the botanical gardens and a renowned caterer in Pittsburgh that she had to put down a hefty deposit to secure.
“I don’t want to talk about the wedding, Meg,” Skylar said quietly, and I knew how hard it was for her to hold it together. “I’m at the house with my parents, and they’re already driving me insane. Mom has made me three different herbal teas that all taste like cat piss. I need caffeine. The real kind. So meet me at that new coffee place on Lane Avenue in ten minutes.” She paused. “Please.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Of course. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up and went to the closet. I lingered for a moment on the painting I had done the night before. I thought about pulling it out. Why was I hiding it?
Because I wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant.
I grabbed a T-shirt and an old pair of jean shorts before closing the door with a decisive click. I got dressed and pulled my hair up into a bun. I didn’t bother with makeup, I never really did. I was about as low maintenance as you could get when it came to getting ready. If it took more than five minutes, it was too much effort.
I headed down the stairs, looking for my mom. I found her in the kitchen, sat at the table, hunched over papers strewn across the surface. She was holding her head in her hands, her eyes closed.
“Mom?” I called out with concern. The lines on her face appeared deeper than before. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, a sign she wasn’t getting enough sleep. She had lost weight too. I was worried about her.
Mom opened her eyes, giving me a startled look. “What in the world are you doing up? I wasn’t expecting you to start moving before mid-day,” she teased, but I could hear the strain in her voice.
I walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on the top of her head. “Skylar’s in town. She wants to meet for coffee.” I noticed that Mom started piling up the papers in front of her, flipping them over, clearly trying to hide them from me.
I picked up the one on top. It was an itemized bill from Southport General Hospital with the bright red words, Final Notice, written across the top. When I read the amount owed, I almost choked.
“What’s this?” I asked.
Mom snatched the paper from me. “None of your concern. Now tell me why Skylar’s in town? Doesn’t she live in the city now?”Mom wasn’t subtle. I knew she was trying to change the subject.
“Mom, what’s that bill for?”
Mom blew out a long breath. “It’s the bill from your father’s stay at the hospital.”
“But you guys have insurance. Why is it so much?”
Mom started straightening the papers before stuffing them back into a grey folder. “Because the insurance your dad had through work was awful. Three years ago, the town changed providers. Aside from the deductibles being astronomical, they refused to pay for most of your dad’s treatments, including the surgery because it was out of network.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Can you believe that? Your father has a heart attack, needs emergency services, and the insurance company quibbles over the fact that the hospital and doctor weren’t in-network.”