Authors: Grace Greene
“
It was the oddest thing,” Maia said. “Sure I can’t get you something?” Then she went silent and her attention drifted. She lifted her mug and sipped the hot chocolate.
Brian ignored the question. They were seated at the lunch table in the back room of the gallery, but he hadn
’t removed his jacket, had only unzipped it.
He asked,
“Odd? What do you mean? She’s kind of nervous.”
She shook her head.
“She didn’t seem nervous to me and she wasn’t odd at all.”
“
What do you mean, then?”
“
When I saw her, well, she reminded me of someone.” She laughed softly. “I heard somewhere that we all have doubles, right?”
He didn
’t understand her. The words, yes, but not the interest. “What do you want? Do you have some issue with her?”
“
Oh, no. Nothing like that. She came in to pick up the paintings Will Denman had ordered.”
“
Then what’s the big deal?” He said it harshly. He had no use for gossips. Always sticking their noses into other people’s business. They did a lot of damage.
Maia
’s face showed every thought that whirred through her brain. Annoyance, hurt, recovery, hope, and they passed over her face like a kaleidoscope. He felt like a bully. Maybe he was, but if you weren’t careful, your loved ones would try to ‘love’ you into living according to their rules—even the rules they should be ashamed of.
“
I was just making conversation. I miss you. You’re still angry. How many times should I apologize? Because I will, you know. Over and over. As many times as necessary, plus one.”
“
I have to go.”
She placed both of her hands on his arm.
“I’m sorry, Brian.”
“
It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.” He stood, moving away from her hands, and picked up his helmet.
“
Brian.”
“
Enough, Maia. You’re sorry and I’ve moved on.”
“
But you still won’t join us for dinner. Won’t even sit here and share a cup of coffee or hot chocolate with me?”
He zipped up his jacket.
“I won’t, because you give me no peace. Can’t you accept that I’m fine?”
“
No, because you’re not.”
“
Drop it.” He walked out and into the alley where he’d parked his bike.
He was angry as he kicked the stand and brought the engine to life. He shouldn
’t have looked at her. She used those big eyes like weapons.
Need a little coercion? Hire Maia to bring on the tears. Not many could withstand her. She was emotional blackmail personified.
But he wouldn’t leave angry. Not on the bike. Never again. He breathed deeply, risking fogging up the helmet. After a minute he looked up and there she was, standing at the door with a hand raised to wave.
He didn
’t wave. He just rode off.
****
Resentment still drove him the next day. He stomped up the steps and knocked loudly. He heard her light footsteps speeding to answer the door. No need for her to run. He hadn’t pounded on the door.
“
Yes? Is there a problem?” She looked at him and then stuck her head outside to look past him, as if something might be chasing him up the stairs.
He almost laughed. In a manner of speaking, he did feel chased.
“Fine. Ready to start the next room?”
His eyes caught on the paint job. Was that satisfaction he felt?
“Looks good, if I do say so myself.”
The door clicked closed. She stayed behind him. He tried not to turn toward her
too quickly. To panic her. Why? No idea, but she was so skittish. He recognized a damaged person when he saw one. Took one to know one.
As he paused in the living room, he noticed the small paintings lined up along the base of the wall next to the dining table.
“What’s that? Do you need help hanging them?”
“
Oh, those are Uncle Will’s paintings. He ordered them. I don’t know where to hang them. Perhaps we should wait until he can tell us.”
“
They’re easy to move.”
“
So, you think I should go ahead and hang them?” She pointed to a blank wall in the dining area. “Is that a good space?”
“
Up to you.”
She looked down at the paintings.
“Yes, it is up to me.”
“
They’re kind of neat.” He tilted his head, looking at them. “Like I’m looking at the same stretch of beach but through different windows of the same house. At different times of year, too. Different seasons.”
Frannie stood next to him.
“Yes, I see what you mean. I hadn’t pulled it all together in my head. Yes, exactly. Well, I think they should hang on that wall after it’s painted.”
“
What’s next, then? The dining area and kitchen?”
She looked at the cabinets. They were chockfull and helter-skelter. That didn
’t matter for the painting, but the appliances and general clutter on the counter did.
“
What about the almost empty bedroom? I’m thinking of setting it up like a study or something. Staging, you know. Marketability is mostly in the staging.”
Staging. Faking. It all came down to that with women. He walked away without a word. She followed.
“We should save the kitchen until I can move everything out of the way, and I can’t stay to help today.”
“
Okay.”
“
I have a lunch appointment.”
“
Okay.” He started moving the few items toward the door.
“
Unavoidable, I’m sorry to say.” She blocked the doorway.
“
No problem.” He waited for her to move and she did.
“
My mother. She called this morning.”
Did she actually gulp? Like they wrote in books? He thought she had.
“She’s coming to visit. Not to the house. I made sure of that.”
H
e was getting interested despite himself. Fran had family problems, too? He threw out some feelers. “You can bring her here. I’ll stay out of the way. I can skip today if that’s the problem.”
Her already pale face paled still further. Her hand gripped the doorframe.
“No. Lunch is enough.” She looked away. “I’ll get out of your way. I’ll be leaving shortly.”
She looked in the mirror by the door and said,
“I hope I look all right.”
Was she expecting an answer? Apparently, no, because she went on,
“I didn’t bring much with me. I’m running out of decent clothing.”
She was dressed in the simple kind of clothes that you knew cost a mint and where dressed down was still dressed up. It looked good on her, but not any better than regular clothes would look.
She was slender and on the shorter end of tall, and with that face she’d look good in anything, except she was so tightly wound it spoiled the picture.
She tugged on her sweater and put her coat over her arm.
“I should go now.”
“
Have fun.” What more did she want from him?
“
Right.”
He knew what she wanted—an excuse not to go. Illness? Accident, maybe. Even a minor earthquake would do. He couldn
’t give her any of them. She was a grown woman. If she had problems, it was up to her to solve them. But then it slipped out.
“
Want to borrow my bike?”
Her face went blank,
and then suddenly laugh lines bloomed at the corners of her eyes. She laughed out loud. She clutched her middle and then put her hands to her cheeks. “I can see Mother’s face!” Carefully, she dabbed at her eyes.
“
Thank you, Brian. Maybe next time I’ll take you up on that. See you later.”
He waited until she was gone, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he returned her smile. It had been hard not to laugh with her. Her face had changed from attractive to…to compelling? As if the tension had washed away leaving something special in its wake. He returned to painting, but with a lighter spirit. It struck him that he
’d done a good deed and, in the end, unaware, Fran had returned the favor.
It was every bit as grim as she feared.
She was grateful to Brian for the moment of laughter he’d given her. She told herself that if she got too nervous, she’d imagine herself straddling that bike.
Laurel walked in like an empress. Frannie watched as her mother spoke to the hostess who then escorted her to the table. She fought the impulse to rise and curtsey.
She cleared her throat. “You look well, Mother.”
“
I
am
well.” She gave her daughter a long look and then capped it with a smile. “You look different somehow.” She managed to seat herself and pull in her chair. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
The waitress stood by the table.
“We should probably order first.”
“
Whatever you wish, sweetheart.”
“
A salad. A garden salad. Oil and vinegar dressing.”
Laurel placed her order. Frannie listened, wishing she could be as cool.
It was one of the many traits she hadn’t inherited.
After the waitress left,
Laurel repeated the question, “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“
I’m fixing up Uncle Will’s house. You already know that.”
“
So, tell me more.” Laurel perked up her eyebrows and leaned forward.
“
Not much to tell. It’s only been a week.” She placed the napkin in her lap. “I’m doing a little painting.”
“
No. You?” She laughed. “I’d love to see. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“
I’m painting walls, not a Da Vinci.”
“
Seriously, Frannie. You could hire someone.”
“
I could.” Not a lie.
“
You should put your time to better use.”
“
Doing what?”
“
They are missing you down at the shelter.”
“
No. That’s one day a week and they’re covered. The same goes for the other charities. I won’t be missed.”
“
Sweetheart, that’s only because you don’t dedicate more than the minimum to any of them. You spread your time around like you’re afraid to commit.” Laurel pressed her hands against the tabletop. “And I need your help with any number of things.”
“
No, you don’t. All you need is someone to run your errands and play secretary.”
One manicured hand drew up into a fist.
“You are as difficult and argumentative as ever. I believe you practice it. I wish you’d try half as hard to learn civility and respect.”
The waitress
’s smile was too big and bright. Frannie sympathized. No sane person would want to be part of this luncheon party. The girl hurriedly moved their food from her tray to the table.
“
Anything else?”
“
No.”
Her mother whispered
, but in a stage whisper that everyone within a few yards could hear. “Is your stomach upset again?”
“
No, I’m fine.”
“
Have you been taking your pills? You have your hand on your abdomen like you do when you’re having stomach trouble.”
Frannie
looked down and brushed her sweater as if that had been the intent. “I’m fine.”
“
I care about you.”
“
I know.” Frannie tapped the hilt of her fork lightly on the table. “But I’m an adult. I’ve been one for an embarrassingly long time considering I still live at home and don’t have a real job.”
Mother
shook her head. “No, darling. You had your sadness and so did I. One of the nicest things you ever did was to give up a bit of your independence to keep me from being alone.”
She
waited to hear more about her personal dark time. Her mother took some kind of perverse pleasure in reminding her of it, but this time she didn’t.
Laurel sat up straighter.
“You are correct. You deserve time on your own. I’ve been selfish. Do what you need to do. Remember, I’m your mother and I love you. I’ll be here for you whenever you need me.”
****
It was so very unsatisfactory, yet she had to admit few people could make an entrance, or accomplish an exit, with Laurel’s style. Her mother was who she was. At least, she tried.