Authors: Bridie Hall
“That’s an awesome
painting,” Harper said. It was an image of a jazz band, with the trumpeter in the forefront, a black man with beads of sweat on his forehead, eyes closed, in the middle of what seemed like an intense solo. The atmosphere of the painting was dark, with cigarette smoke lifting up above the heads of the musicians. The passion of the performers was what brought a ray of light into the dusky bar depicted on the large canvas.
Isabelle
was taken with Harper’s praise of the painting. It was one of her favorite art works she’d ever seen, even if she was being subjective with the artist being her grandpa.
“You liked Grandpa’s painting,” she said
now as a set of headlights flashed past their car. She would never admit it, but she mentioned it just so he would praise it again.
“Huh?” He looked at her confused
, and she wished he wouldn’t glance at her so often and pay more attention to the slick road instead. The rain refused to subside.
“The painting in our living room?”
“Oh, the jazz players? Yeah, I love that one. I’d love to have a copy of it on my wall.”
“It’s one of my favo
rites, too.”
“So your grandpa painted it?”
“Yes. Anton Dupree. He was from New Orleans.”
“Yeah?”
Harper sounded more enthusiastic by the minute. “Tell me about him. I bet he was a cool guy.”
“I don’t know. I never met him. He died pretty young. Forty-something.”
“How come?”
“You know, the usual
troubled artist story—married young, had a daughter—my mom, never sold a painting, too much booze, died of cirrhosis.” Isabelle shrugged. Although she loved her grandpa’s work, she was also ashamed of how he’d wasted his life. She tried to focus on his talent, not his misguided life.
“That sucks. He must’ve been
very talented. All that emotional power on a single painting.”
“You’re ...” Before she managed to find the right words
to express her thoughts, he butted in. “What?”
“
Perceptive for a guy.”
“Well, that’s sexist. If I
’m a guy it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art, does it?” Only when she saw his grin, she realized he was teasing her. Again.
“I didn’t mean it like that. A
nd you were right about my poppies.” She blushed.
“I painted another one,” she
said, the words fast as if she hoped he wouldn’t hear her.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember what you said about the painting I gave to Jamie?”
“Sure.” He looked at her as if he couldn’t understand where she was going with this.
“I painted one with a path of trampled poppies winding through the field.” Harper looked at her and he grinned widely. She didn’t know whether because of her blushing or because of what she’d admitted.
“You were right. It is better like that.”
“Of course I was right,” he said.
“You don’t have to be so smug about it,”
Isabelle said, to cover her embarrassment. She didn’t know why she told him. She hadn’t even told Jamie. It was her secret. And now Harper’s. She couldn’t trust him not to tell Jamie. He would do it to gloat, if for no better reason. She considered asking him not to do it, but then changed her mind. As well as she knew him, that would only spur him on.
“Can I have it?”
Harper asked after a while.
“Huh?”
“The second painting? With the trampled poppies? Can I have it? Please.”
Her mouth was already open to utter an excuse,
say no, but his ‘please’ sounded so genuine that she hesitated. “Why?”
“It would mean a lot to me.”
He looked like he meant it.
She was torn. She’d wanted to keep it for herself
as a reminder that she had to look at things from a different perspective if she wanted to create true art.
“I promise to hide it from
Jamie,” Harper said.
“Can I trust you?” she asked as if she’d already decided.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He smiled at her, a real, soft smile. “Thank you, Isabelle.”
She felt warmth in her cheeks again.
But this time it wasn’t from embarrassment but from feeling contented. Admired, even. It felt good. Like this was the true beginning of her artistic career.
****
Although Isabelle felt mortified, she had to ask him to stop. Because of the chaotic experience at the airport, she had forgotten to go to the restroom before they left. She really needed to go now.
“Could you pull over at the next gas
station?” She hated how she sounded small and timid, but she knew Harper would make fun of her for this.
“What for?”
“I drank a milkshake at the airport,” she said as a way of an explanation.
He sighed as if she had asked him to carry her all the way
back to Atlanta.
“Girls.
”
“It’s just a short stop.”
“Whatever.”
They drove on in silence and Isabelle was flooded with relief when she saw the sign for the next gas station coming up soon.
Harper pulled up a few yards from the restrooms and he jumped out before she even opened the door. She felt a light drizzle on her face as she got out.
“I thought you’d wait in the car,” she said.
She had to walk slow: she needed to go so badly, it hurt.
“I’ll stretch my legs. Got a problem with that?”
She shrugged and turned towards the restrooms. She hoped the interior was cleaner than the outside. The sidewalk in front of the entrance was littered with empty cigarette packs, bottles, tissues and other debris of modern life. If she were blindfolded, she could be convinced that she was already inside, judging by the strong smell of urine. Isabelle made a face but braved the filth and smell. Two steps from the entrance, she stopped and reconsidered.
“Harper, could you hold this for me?” She took off her jacket, guessing that there wouldn’t be anywhere decent enough to put
it down inside.
He hopped up to her and took hold of the jacket. He threw it across his shoulder.
“Careful. My phone’s in there,” Isabelle said.
The inside was just as
filthy as she had expected. The unknown substances spilled in and around the sinks were definitely not water. She could tell from their color and consistency. Her stomach turned as she washed her hands. She used more soap than water to wash off any bacteria that she might have come in contact with.
Isabelle started
humming along with a familiar tune that she could hear through the door. Then it occurred to her that it was her phone’s ringtone.
“Darn.
” She hurried to rinse her hands under the frail jet of water. Jamie was calling to make sure she was fine. She had to love him for caring so much. But her thoughts of gratitude were interrupted when she heard Harper speak up.
“Isabelle’s phone, Harper speaking.”
The jerk.
“Yes, she’s fine.
”
She knew that with
Harper answering her phone, Jamie would be worried, thinking something had happened to her. What if he thought she
let
Harper answer her phone? Would he be jealous?
Isabelle tried to pull a paper towel out of the dispenser but the thing seemed to be
jammed.
“She had some feminine issues to attend to
,” she heard Harper say.
Ugh! She would kill him once she managed to wipe her hands. Isabelle hit the plastic thing with her elbow and something inside moved. Finally.
She would need the towels to wipe the blood off her fingers once she was done with Harper.
“I didn’t do anything to her that she didn’t want me to
.” Harper’s mocking voice reached her.
“Harper! I’ll kill you,
” she yelled through the door while still struggling with the towels. She managed to pull out one mangled piece of tissue.
“Well, she’s threatening to kill me if I tell you anything more,” he said more loudly
, so she wouldn’t be able to miss it. She could hear his chuckle. He knew how upset she would be over this. Why would he do this to her? She had thought they were friends.
“Harper!”
Another mangled paper towel later, her hands were almost dry but she couldn’t use the soppy paper to pull the doors open. She needed a dry one.
Isabelle could hear Harper laugh and she could sense another sardonic comment coming. “
Don’t worry, J. Everything’s G rated. So far.” His last words were dripping with innuendo that she knew would worry Jamie.
“I will kill you, Harper, I swear,” Isabelle mumbled, her hands shaking with anger as she pushed the door open. She crashed into Harper, standing just outside.
“Sorry, you missed him,” he piped up, smiling and handing her the phone.
“What is wrong with you?” Isabelle hit his arm as she grabbed at the phone and the jacket.
“Hey! I did you a favor. Otherwise you’d have to call him back.”
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Sorry,” Harper said with a smile that suggested otherwise. “I was trying to be helpful.”
Isabelle was fuming.
“God, you’re such a … a …”
“A what?”
She struggled to find words to express how mad she was with him. “Ugh!”
As she
stomped to the car, she could hear him laugh as he trotted behind her.
“It was just
Jamie, Isabelle,” he said as he got in.
She wouldn’t look at him
when he turned the keys and drove off.
True, Jamie knew his brother’s
weird sense of humor. Maybe Harper hadn’t done any irreparable damage. But still …
“Geez,” he mumbled when she still didn’t respond.
“What gives you the right to answer my phone?” Isabelle said through her teeth.
“It was a joke.”
“I don’t find it funny,” she retorted.
“I wanted to see you get
angry,” Harper said with a small grin on his full lips. “You look hot with your cheeks turning pink and your upper lip pouting. Adorable.” He snickered.
Did he just say that? Isabelle couldn’t believe her ears. After everything, he was making fun of her?
She could strangle him.
“Can you be any more idiotic?”
“I’m sure I can,” he said and smiled.
“Yeah, you can,” she sighed, shaking her head, looking out the side window.
She would call Jamie first thing when they stopped for the night. She would explain everything.
But
Jamie beat her to it. Her phone rang again just minutes after they left the gas station. She fished it out of her jacket pocket. She sighed, hoping Harper wouldn’t interfere with their conversation.
“Hey.
”
Out of
the corner of her eye she saw Harper roll his eyes. She swatted his arm in response and he chuckled.
“Why did Harper answer your phone earlier?” Isabelle detected a hint of annoyance in Jamie’s voice. She could relate.
“Mostly, because he’s an idiot. And also because I was in the restroom at a gas station. Sorry.” It wasn’t her fault, but she felt bad about it anyway.
“Oh.
” Jamie still sounded a bit skeptical.
“You’re not too shaken up after the incident at the airport?”
He changed the topic, and she was grateful.
She’d missed
Jamie the past week. They spoke on the phone every day except for the last two days. He left for Florida on Thursday, and she was asleep early in the evening on Saturday because she had to get up at three to get to the airport on time.
“
I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”
“She’s right, you know, she’s in safe hands,”
Harper said, and Isabelle cringed. Would he ever learn to respect her privacy? She was beginning to reconsider their friendship.
Jamie
was silent for a moment before he asked, “How’s he treating you?”
Isabelle
glanced at Harper who was smirking at her from behind the wheel. She wasn’t sure whether he’d heard Jamie or not. She sighed. “He’s okay. A jerk, but okay.” She smiled to tone down the insult and Harper smiled back.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay.
I’ll be home tomorrow evening. See you then. Miss you.” Isabelle imagined his gentle blue eyes and his strong arms hugging her once she got home. She couldn’t wait to see him.
“Me too.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
When she ended the call
, she made a big deal out of putting the phone away to avoid Harper’s questions and teasing.