Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) (28 page)

“That’s amazing news. Congratulations and good luck.” I scrunched my nose up.

“Oh, c’mon.” Ridge laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

“I don’t know. Do they know about your toe fetish? Or how about your lactose intolerance? That shit gets messy from time to time right, man?” Wes socked Ridge in the shoulder.

“Takes one to know one right, Ridge?” I winked at him earning a heartfelt chuckle from Wes.

“You may have met your match.” Ridge’s dad laughed sticking out his hand to me. “I’m Dan.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled, but more for the man standing next to me who seemed to be honestly enjoying himself for the first time all night.

“She’s pretty special,” Wes said, causing my heart to flutter. “Don’t know what she’s doing with a loser like me,” he added, breaking my heart’s wings. “She’ll realize soon enough that she can do better.”

“I’ve been saying that for twenty years.” Dan laughed missing the enormity of Wes’ words. Then again, he probably didn’t see the way his eyes cringed when he spit them out or how they were clouded over now.

“Don’t say that,” I whispered to him, but he ignored me looking over my head.

“I’m gonna go find August,” he said to Ridge’s family, “I’ll catch you guys on your way out.” He touched the tip of my elbow with his hand on his way past me.

“We were so lucky to have met him.” Ridge’s mom smiled watching him greet my brother. “He’s helped Ridge so much with the things we try to understand, but just never will.”

“You do great, Ma.” Ridge leaned in kissing her on the cheek.

“He’s great at that,” I said. “Being there for anyone and everyone.” It was letting others be there for him that he couldn’t seem to do. He could avoid me all he wanted; I’d still be here when he realized he needed me.

T
he last time I was here, I panicked. This time, I was anxious in a different way. Stepping into the gallery had my heartbeat pumping for possibility instead of insecurity. I had to admit it was a nice change, and one that told me I was ready to be here and ready for this opportunity.

With a little time to spare, I took a couple of minutes to walk through some of the exhibits. I stopped at one particular piece that immediately grabbed my attention. It was a mermaid, but instead of a clear painting, it was done so that it looked as though she was just under the surface of the water. Her form was visible, but her features were blurred and skewed below the ripples.

The title below the painting was “Trapped.” I disagreed. Though she hovered there below the water line, she looked as though she was about to burst free. Instead of seeing a woman imprisoned, I saw a woman swimming from the depths to the surface. She was breathtaking.

“Can I help you?” a guy around my age said looking every bit of a hipster peeked from around the small partition wall separating the artwork from the office.

“I’m here for a meeting with Bia at eleven thirty,” I said feeling my folder bend in my grip and turned around to meet him.

“Rad. I’ll let her know you’re here.” He disappeared just as quickly as he’d shown up.

“Thanks.” I smiled standing off to the side of the tiny waiting room at the gallery as he floated down the hall.

I woke up this morning and saw the missed call from the gallery curator, Bia. I’d sent them an inquiry just three days ago about possibly putting some of my stuff on display. I was shocked to hear back so soon, or at all.

I pulled out my phone, quickly pretending to turn it off, not like anyone was in the room with me to see. I guess I was pretending for myself because really I was checking to see if Wes had texted.

He and August went out after the reopening last night for a beer together, and I foolishly waited for him to text me, falling asleep on my parents’ couch at some point. I awoke in the middle of the night without a word from Wes and texted to see how he was with no answer. Then, I spent the rest of the night and early morning trying to sleep through the pit in my stomach.

“Capri?” hipster dude said, coming back in the room. “Go on in. It’s the room that’s not the loo.” He smiled sitting back down at his desk.

“Thank you,” I said making my way to the room that was not the loo. The door was open, but I knocked before going in.

“Come on in,” a voice chimed. I peeked around the door first, and my body followed. “Capri.” Bia smiled, tying a knot in the scarf around her hair. She came around her desk to shake my hand.

“Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand then awkwardly stuck out my folder. “My samples,” I said just as awkwardly and sat down.

“Great. Let me take a quick look at these.” She sat down with my sample portfolio. Time slowed as she flipped open the folder. The bend of the paper exaggerated, and the dust blew into glitter in the sunlight.

“Interesting,” Bia mumbled holding my painting of a droplet of water. Interesting? That could be good I think, or bad, really bad.

“Mmm hmmm,” she mumbled to herself, picking up the black and white feather of a bird, and I squirmed in the seat. I chose a few of my pieces that I’d done over the years, but none of them were from the portfolio hidden in my closet. These were what I thought best represented my monotone style, focusing on single elements of a larger image.

“Now this one,” she said again holding up a painting. It was a painting of piece of splintered wood on an old fence post. Maybe I should have thought these through a little more. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought them in at all. I was much too inexperienced with his sort of thing, this sort of ‘people looking at my art’ thing. I’d tried to remind myself on the way here that it was no big deal. Dozens of people saw the mural last night, and I handled that okay. This though, this was different. It was mine and mine alone, and it was a chance at what I’d always dreamed of doing. This was me freaking the fuck out.

I wiped my wet palms on the chair then thought twice about it wondering if the chair itself was art. The cushion was a lovely chevron pattern.

“Well,” Bia spoke when I was two seconds away from running out of the door, “these are brilliant.”

“What?” I put my sweaty palms back on the chair.

“Brilliant,” she said smiling, and I checked the corners of it for any hints of trickery.

“Brilliant good?” I asked.

“Brilliant, brilliant,” she said smiling wider.

“Okay, cool.” I laughed nervously.

She leaned forward on her desk, propping her chin on her beaded wrists. “You are very talented. Your style is unique and you have an impeccable eye for detail. You bring out the beauty in objects that would otherwise be overlooked. You make them meaningful, and give them life. I like it.”

“Thank you,” I said not knowing what else to say. My head was swirling with disbelief so rapidly that no other thoughts or words would form.

“Don’t thank me just yet. I have a local hotel manager looking for some new art for a few additional bungalows, and I think these might be just what he’s looking for.” She picked up a pencil and made a note on my folder. “Can I keep these?” She looked up at me.

“Yeah, um, yes,” I said. “Did you say hotel? I’m sorry; I’m having a hard time absorbing this.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear that had come loose from my bun.

“I did.” She laughed and set her pencil down. “Sometimes we serve as a place to simply display work, and other times, it gets purchased. If the manager approves, he will most likely purchase these and commission you for a few more if that’s something you would be interested in.”

“Yes!” I shouted leaping forward in the chair. Bia jumped back into hers. “Sorry, gosh, sorry, um yes. That would be amazing.” I smiled squeezing my hands together.

“Good then.” She smiled closing the folder. “I’ll get in touch with Nate and let you know. Until then, get some more things ready. We’d love to have you feature some of your work in the gallery, as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I stood quickly.

“Bia, dear.” She smiled rising from her chair. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay, Bia, yes, thank you.” I picked up my bag and skittered down the hallway.

“Have a nice day,” Hipster called as I flew past him toward the street.

I fumbled my hand around in my purse squinting into the sunshine. Once I found it, I immediately dialed Wes. I couldn’t wait to tell him.

“Wes, it’s me again,” I mumble sighed into the phone. I’d called and texted Wes a few times since I’d gotten home from the gallery without one word in response. “I wanted to come by and see you, so if that’s okay.” I started to talk into the message, “You know what, no. I’m coming over. Right now. See you in a few.” I hung up and grabbed my purse off the floor of my room. I’d had enough. I understood the hurt, the confusion, the panic, but I would never understand the disrespect toward me nor would I tolerate it.

Fifteen minutes later, I was knocking on his door with again, no answer. Maybe he wasn’t home? I lifted my hand to knock one last time when the door blew open. “Oh, hey Capri,” he said leaving the door open and walking back into the apartment. I didn’t follow him immediately, though. I was more concerned with how perfectly put together he was.

I guess I expected him to look like he’d been wallowing all day; unshaven, sweats, eyes that darkened in the corners causing them to droop. He was none of those things. He was dressed in a tee shirt and jeans like usual, his hair styled as usual, and a trail of clean musk followed him like normal. In fact, “Are you going somewhere?” I asked noticing he had his shoes on.

“Yeah,” he said putting the remote into the holder on the couch and placing the pillows in the corners.

“Okay,” I said taking one step into the apartment. Just one. More than that seemed unwelcome. “Do you want me to come, too?” I asked as he busied himself closing the blinds.

“Up to you,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve just got some errands to run.”

His indifference stung. “Well, I can just go if that’s easier for you.” I winced at the surrender in my voice.

“Whatever you want, Capri,” he said walking past me into the kitchen not even looking at me. Why wouldn’t he look at me?

“I want to know what’s going on,” I said hearing him closing and opening drawers.

“I’ve just been busy, Capri, trying to get things sorted.” The sound of my full name from his mouth was starting to dig into me. I stood in the apartment, still only one step in when he came out and grabbed his keys off the hook directly next to me. The blast of his scent momentarily filled an emptiness in my gut.

I watched him, my head following his movements—reaching over me, picking up the keys with one finger, pulling his hand back, and stuffing them into his pocket. He didn’t look at me.

He stood by the door holding it open for me but busied himself looking around the apartment as if he were checking to make sure things were in their place.
Look at me.

“Look at me,” I said evenly, not taking my eyes off his.

His eyes looked up in a pause then darted to mine quickly, latching on for a brief and transcendent moment when my entire world’s meaning was defined within one blink. Then they were gone and back on the ceiling. “You ready?” he asked with despondent words.

I forced my legs to take the single step back out of the apartment, and then turned my back on him and faced the hallway. I felt the movement of air as the keys came out of his pocket and he locked the door. Then it stilled. I held my breath not wanting to disturb the way the particles had frozen around us.