Page 80 of Liquids

I gave up the hospital shifts when I had to prepare for this show. I paid two thousand off on my cards before Rig complained that he never saw me because I worked all day, every day, and persuaded me to do more painting. When I said I needed the cash, he said, “We don’t need it, babe.”

“Give up caregiving? I can’t abandon Agnes, June, and Marge,” I say.

He eyes me sideways. “What about my idea of moving to the beach?”

He pulls out into traffic, huge hands steering us through the quiet streets, and I stare at his profile in the lights flashing over his face in the dark. The beach? I know that’s his dream. Is he going to go? How soon? My heart flutters in my chest as I look at the clock on the dash. Midnight.

“I’m going to give up working on the rigs, babe.”

Whoa. “Really?”

“Don’t want to be going away. Got harder to do, knowing you’re at home.”

Home.

He smiles over at me. “After tonight, I’m thinking of becoming a kept man.”

He’s less blunt and a lot sweeter these days. In fact, I can’t believe how sweet he is. “Kept by who?”

“You’ve just been paid ten grand for one painting, never mind the others. Luciano will take his cut, but you’re gonna make six or seven thousand off a’ that big one alone. One painting! Do you understand what that means?”

“That people are idiots?”

“That you can do another big one and charge ten grand for it.”

I laugh. I won’t trust that someone has paid for that picture until the money hits my account.

“You’ve probably made your annual salary tonight in one show. What was Luciano charging for the other ones? I bet he raised the prices when he got that offer.”

“My dad would have said ‘I told you so.’ He’d have been very proud.”

He pulls into the parking lot of the motel we’re staying in, lights on the paths illuminating the grass and the pool in the center of the horseshoe of low buildings. He stares out at the clusters of bushes at the sides and front of the motel, the neon sign, the neat rows of doors and windows.

“I’m very proud of you, babe. I’m thinking we should move to a better place,” he says. “This motel ain’t fancy, but it sure is a step up from where we’re living.”

I press my hand to my chest. “You don’t like my apartment? That ‘sweet pad’? I thought you said it was about the people, not the place.”

He laughs. “It is about that. And I’ve got a lot of awesome memories of that apartment. Not least of which is fuckin’ you in the shower, but I’d like to find something better, create memories in a new place, yeah?”

He twists in his seat and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, scrolling to something and passing it over to me. It’s the house on the beach he showed me so many months ago. “It’s just come back on the market. I’ve been looking and watching, can’t believe the same place came up. The previous sale fell through. Already made them an offer.” His eyes roam over my face. “I want to go, and I want you to come with me.”

“Are you saying you want us to live together in a house on the beach?”

“Babe,” he growls, leaning over and grabbing my chin.

I bat him off. “Okay, okay. Yes, I know.”

But he takes hold of my jaw, angling right into my space. “We’ve been living with each other for nine months. I know it didn’t go too well for you last time, but I’m not that asshole, yeah?”

And God do I know that! I really know that. He has never tried to push me into a hole; just the opposite. “You can also be an asshole,” I grumble, but of course he isn’t.

He grins. “Admit it. You like my brand of assholery.”

“Sometimes,” I mutter.

“Look at me, Carl.” My eyes rise to his. “I’m not moving without you, babe. That town is a shithole, and you have no family there. Awful for women. Awful men.” He rubs his thumb over my lips. But there’s pain in his eyes. He thinks I don’t want to go with him when I want nothing more than to go with him.

“It’s not about you, Rig.” I stare down at my hands. “After Charlie died, I didn’t know what to do with him. I couldn’t bury him where Mark and I lived. It felt so wrong, like I was leaving him behind, abandoning him … the worst thing imaginable. The pastor gave me a special place for Charlie in the church graveyard under an apple tree. He was so kind. I …” My throat is getting so tight. “I can’t leave him behind.”