Somewhere Between Black and White (9 page)

Sam tossed some wood into the fire pit, then
he paused. “And of course, you know what’s best for her,” he said amiably. 

Sophie sat up straight in her seat. “I’m
not saying that, exactly.”

“What
are
you saying then?”

“Dude! Aren’t you supposed to be on my
side? I mean, she’s my sister,” she said, putting her hand to her heart.

“Sophie, I’m not on anyone’s side here.”
He brushed his hands on his jeans, lit a match, and threw it into the pit. The
result was only a faint glow, so he took the fire iron and nudged the wood to
ignite the flame. “Do you know for a fact he’s cheating on her?”

“Well, no.”

“Does she love him?”

“Oddly, yes,” she replied.

He shook his head and smiled. “Nah, I
can’t see why she would feel like you’re judging her or anything.” He dropped a
couple more matches into the fire that was slow to start.

Sophie was about to argue the point,
then stopped herself. She put her hand to her mouth.  “Oh my God!” she said,
recognizing it for the first time.

“I get it.” Sam joined her on the swing.
“Like you said, she’s your sister, and you want to protect her.”

“I do!” she agreed emphatically.

“I know it’s hard, but things will be a
lot easier on
you
when you just realize and accept that it’s her life,
and she’s gonna live it the way she wants. Never mind how you feel about it.”

“Apparently you haven’t had a loved one
making choices that aren’t good for them.”

“Yeah.” He grunted as he sat his coffee
cup on the table next to him. “Oh, that’s right. You haven’t met my mom yet.”

The thought of meeting his mother someday
suddenly made her feel anxious. What if she didn’t like Sophie? “Why? What’s
the deal with your mom?”

“Nothing, except that she’s the
stereotypical elderly person attached to an oxygen tank, still puffing on a
cigarette.”

“Ohhh.” Sophie crinkled up her face and
gave him a grimace of sympathy, before taking a sip from her cup.

“Doctors told her five years ago that
she had emphysema, but she still wouldn’t quit. Now she can barely walk across
a room, in and out of the hospitals. Whatever.” He sighed. “What’re you gonna
do? I’m done being pissed off about it.”

Sophie put her hand on his leg. “Funny,
but you don’t really sound like you’re done being pissed.”

“Honestly, I am. I came to the
realization that, for whatever reason, she just can’t do it. She can’t quit.
I’m not gonna lie and say it’s easy to watch her do it to herself.” He put up
his hands. “Maybe there’s some reason she has to go through it. Who am I to
say, anyway?”

“So you think we’re predestined.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s the only
thing that makes sense. You see so many people who get stuck, can’t seem to get
themselves out of bad situations, even when they know they’re bad.”

“I don’t really get that,” Sophie said.
“Seems pretty ridiculous to me. You always have a choice.”

“I’m sure that even you, Miss Responsible-Got-it-Together
chick. . . .” He chucked her under the chin before pausing to kiss her, “can
think of at least one time that you were a part something, however brief, that
you knew wasn’t in your best interest. But you did it anyway because you felt
compelled.”

“Not really,” she said flatly. “I’m too
cautious. Too sensible. I know that’s probably pretty boring.”

“I’m not talking about doing something
bad. Your sister is not doing anything bad. She’s just choosing to stay in a
situation that’s maybe bad
for
her. But then again, maybe it isn’t.” He affectionately
tapped a finger to her chest as he made his point.

“Boy, you’re just all over the map on
this one!” she said. It occurred to her that if anyone else had said these
things, she would be somewhat insulted, as if she were a child who needed to be
enlightened, but he had a way of speaking to her that was calming without being
the least bit condescending, even when he was messing with her.

“What can I say?” he said in response to
her remark. “I’m not much of a black and white sorta guy.”

Twelve

Sophie spotted Christian standing
outside the gallery, waiting for her as she approached. He’d asked her to meet
him there, yet wouldn’t say why over the phone. She assumed it had something to
do with the day she and Evie saw him, but had no clue why he was asking to see
her
. 

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“What’s this all about, Christian?” she
asked warily. “I’m not getting why we needed to meet here to talk.”

“Just come in here with me. Please?” he
said as he extended his arm, encouraging her to go into the gallery ahead of
him.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of
her wool pea coat, and glanced around uneasily before heading inside
Centaur
.
That was the name of the gallery, the very place she had applied for a job in
college.

The same lovely redhead was sitting at a
mahogany desk at the far end of the gallery, and Sophie’s stomach began to
churn.

“Tara!” Christian called.

Beaming, Tara rose from her seat and
stepped out from behind her desk. “Christian, how are you, my love?” They
exchanged cheek kisses, the way artsy folk often do.

“This is my sister-in-law, Sophie.” Christian
rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Very nice to meet you, Sophie,” Tara
said, offering her hand. “Did you come to see Christian’s brilliant work that
graces our gallery?”

“I, uh . . . I guess. I don’t really
know.”

“Come, come!” Tara took Sophie by the
hand and led her past several abstract bronze sculptures.

“You’re being a little over the top,
don’t you think, Tara?” Christian asked as he trailed behind them.

“He’s so modest,” she murmured to Sophie
from the corner of her mouth. “And I tell you, that’s a rarity in the art
world. The egos!” She rolled her eyes. Sophie was already taking a liking to
this woman, despite herself. “And here they are.” 

Tara motioned to the wall which
displayed ten pieces of Christian’s work. They were all relatively small, about
eleven by fourteen inches. Sophie hadn’t seen his work in years, but she
stopped dead in her tracks when she laid eyes on it. She could not believe that
these were created by a person, and not a camera or computer. She said nothing
as she got a closer look, studying the details, colors, and realism depicted. 

Sophie turned to Christian. “You did
these?” she asked in awe.

“He most certainly did,” Tara replied.

“They’re amazing.” Sophie lingered in
front of each one, before moving on to the next.

“Thanks, Soph.”

All of the pieces had a very old world
feeling to them, most of them landscapes. Then she came upon a portrait of
Evie. It was absolutely beautiful. He somehow managed to capture not only her
vulnerability, but also her strength. Her eyes reached out to her.

“That one’s my husband’s favorite,” Tara
volunteered. “I think he’s in love with your Evelyn, and he’s never even met
her! Do you know that she didn’t even model for this?” she asked Sophie. “This
all came from his head.”

Sophie turned in Christian’s direction
to see him watching her reaction before he nervously averted his eyes. She
lowered her gaze, not wanting to acknowledge she may have been wrong about him.
She returned her attention to the portrait and marveled at the life within it.
Sophie sketched quite a bit when she was an art major in college, but never had
she come close to such authenticity, especially without a model or photo.  

Christian and Tara engaged in a
conversation, something about a showing for his work, and Sophie could hear the
strain in his voice at the thought of having to mingle.

She finally managed to tear her
absorption from Evie’s portrait and moved on to the other drawings. Her breath
caught when she reached the last piece. She moved in carefully to get a better
view.

Long, golden grass, brilliant turquoise
sky, and a barn in the distance. Exactly the same. Exactly. 

Tears came to her eyes, and she didn’t
even know why. She tried to sneak another glance at Christian, thinking this
would lift her confusion. He was still engrossed in conversation with Tara, then
paused when he noticed her odd expression.

“Sophie? What’s up?” he asked with a
frown.

“Nothing!” She jerked back around to
face the picture, blinking to clear her eyes. She sensed Christian and Tara staring
at her.  

“Well, we don’t have to talk about all
of this now,” Tara said, clearly puzzled by Sophie’s behavior. “I’ll give you a
call, Christian. It was very nice to meet you, Sophie,” she said with a little
wave, before heading back to her desk.

“Thank you. You too.” Sophie was fixated
on the drawing.

“Sophie,” Christian said behind her. “We
can go now.” 

She brought a finger to her eye and
rubbed it, pretending there was something in it. 

“Are you all right?” Christian asked as
they were leaving the gallery. “You were acting kind of weird a minute ago.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, yes!
I’m totally fine.” Feeling like a ditz, she put her hand to her forehead,
trying to collect her thoughts. “So,
why
did you ask me to come here?” she
asked, trying to deter him.

“Come to the food court with me so we
can talk. I’ll buy you a lemonade.” 

Sophie stood motionless, deliberating. 

“Please?”

As they walked side by side in awkward
silence, she couldn’t get that picture out of her head. She’d been compelled to
yank it right from the wall to keep as her own. Not only was her connection to
this place becoming increasingly intriguing, but it was also unsettling.

Later, when they were finally seated
with their drinks, Christian got straight to the point. “We need to figure out
a way to coexist, for Evie’s sake.”

“Okay,” she answered. “But what has this
got to do with you bringing me to the gallery?”

He leaned back in his chair. “C’mon,
Sophie. You know the answer to that. I wanted you to see that nothing’s going
on between me and Tara.”

Sophie folded her arms across her chest
and crossed her legs. “I don’t know that. Only you do. Besides, why would you
want
me
to see it, instead of Evie?”

“Evie is more likely to believe me
because she loves me, and it’s what she wants to believe. I want her to believe
it because it’s true. You, on the other hand—well, we both know you have no
love for me.”

“Geez, Christian!” She set her lemonade
on the table. “I don’t hate you. Why am I such a terrible person for wanting
someone to take care of my sister?” She sighed, and then added softly, “That’s
all I want. And yes, I know, it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right. It
is
none of your
business. But Evie doesn’t want to be taken care of all the time, and if you
think she does, maybe you don’t know her the same way I do.”

Sophie neither responded nor looked at
him as she took a sip of her drink, swinging her foot with agitation. “You’re
right.” She bowed her head. “You’re right. I get carried away, and I have no
place telling you guys how to live your lives.”

“Look, Sophie. I’m not perfect. None of
us are. Not everyone handles things the way you do. I admit it, whenever Evie
gets really sick, I choke.” He jammed his hands under his arms. “I don’t know
what to do, because all I can think about is, will I eventually lose her? You
don’t know what it’s like—”

“Excuse me?” she interrupted and laid
her palms on the table. “She was in remission when you met. You don’t know what
my family went through before they finally figured out what was wrong!” Her
voice trembled. She would never forget her father standing helplessly in the
bedroom doorway as his Evie lay in bed, crying in pain, wasting away. Sophie
and her mother held her, sobbing right along with her. The agony in her dad’s
eyes would stay with her forever. 

Christian swiped a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry. You do know.”

“Of course I know! Why do you think I’m
so overbearing when it comes to her? Every time—” Her fists were tight,
fingernails biting into her palms. “She’s my best friend.”

“She’s my best friend, too,” he said,
pushing his shoulders back. “Maybe you could try to remember that.”

Sophie took in a deep breath, before
giving a nod of acknowledgment. She stared at the Dairy Queen sign. She had to
admit it was quite draining being aggravated with him on a constant basis. She
was sure things would be a lot different, if only Evie were healthy.  But that
was the thing—if only.

“Your work . . . it’s just beautiful,
Christian.”

Christian’s eyes lit up. “Thank you,
Sophie. That means a lot.”

“Well, I mean it. Has Evie seen the
drawings?”