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“Well fuck them anyway, you’re incredible.” She got moving then, leaving her dishes in the sink before she wrapped me in a hug and breezed out the door, always in a rush.
I cleaned up and changed, leaving with just enough time to make it to the art store before class began. “Hello, Jana. I wondered if you’d come tonight.”
I grinned evenly at Moon. “This week was busy and I really needed to paint,” I told her and she gave me a commiserating smile. My usual spot was open so I quickly took it and began to set up the supplies how I liked them.
“Jana, I’d like to speak with you a moment,” Moon said nervously, wringing her hands on the crushed velvet dress that fell to the floor.
“Sure, Moon. What’s up?”
“I’m doing a showcase of amateur artists and I would love to feature some of your oils and sketches. You have a good eye.”
I sighed, a war brewing within me. I would love to show off my art, but just like chefs, people always wanted to meet the artist. “I would love to help you out Moon, but I can’t.” At her confused look I explained and she looked horrified.
“No, that can’t be. You’re beautiful. That old thing is hardly noticeable, no matter how much you think otherwise.” She waved her hand like it was inconsequential. A jagged six and a half inch scar was inconsequential. “Just think about it. Please.”
“Sure, Moon. I’ll think about it.”
“Oh good.” With the same kind smile that was her trademark, she glided away and got class underway. Tonight, there were two separate hen parties, one for a twenty-something and the other for a late in life love affair. The women chatted happily, giggling and drinking, oblivious to my own turmoil that had nothing to do with Max’s absence.
No, tonight’s subject was self-portraits. My absolute favorite.
It was Friday and I had a bottle of vodka chilling in the freezer and long neglected Netflix account to look forward to when I got home. It would be the perfect end to a long, emotional week.
Next week had to be better.
***
The good thing about having my own business was that I could choose my weekend. It turns out that vodka and Netflix hadn’t been a suitable enough distraction and I spent the rest of the night going over the books for my latest client. Mr. Cross had warned me that the books were in complete disarray and it turned out that two martinis had been the perfect fuel to organize everything into stacks. Once that had happened, the rest of the weekend had kind of snowballed into hours upon hours of updating eighteen months of nonexistent recordkeeping.
I’d been hesitant to take them on as clients because of the gray area of legality, but helping small businesses get their books in order and helping them save money to achieve their dreams was a rush unlike any I’d ever known. I used to believe there were people out there who got pleasure out of helping other people, but years of foster care had cured me of that foolish notion. At least until I took on my first small business. Mr. and Mrs. Chen had created a funky Asian fusion restaurant but they’d had a difficult time getting the right clientele in the door. I freed up some of their cash for marketing and now they had one of the most popular eateries in Chicago.
I had that feeling all weekend, which was probably why I worked straight through, only stopping for meals and sleep. I knew how pathetic it was that I used work to get out of living the rest of my life, but helping this company wouldn’t hurt me. I felt a brief sense of euphoria at helping but then it was business as usual.
Unlike men, who tended to leave their mark when they left.
So, I decided when I woke up at seven on Tuesday morning that I’d take the day off, which meant lounging around in my pajamas while I cooked up a southwest omelet topped with my delicious jalapeno pineapple salsa. And I plopped down on the sofa, put my feet up and watched the news as I ate. I was feeling proud of myself, not sparing a thought for Max all morning until the pretty brunette anchorwoman forced him to the forefront of my mind.
“In local news today, Tate Ellison, convicted six years ago of killin
g a man in cold blood, has been released. For months, a team of law students and their professor have been working to prove Ellison’s innocence, which he’d always proclaimed.”
I sat there, completely fucking stunned as she went on. Max’s brother, because they had the same stunning gray eyes, had been exonerated. After a series of hearings that amounted to a new trial with the admission of new evidence, he’d been freed. The footage was live, a younger, blonder version of Max strolled out of a municipal building with a wide grin that radiated happiness. He was tall and broad shouldered like his brother, thickly muscled arms draped over an older man and younger woman dressed like lawyers. My hand automatically shot out to my phone, but I froze. I couldn’t call Max. We weren’t friends. We were less than friends.
But this was about his family. A brother who might like family while he readjusted to freedom. It might’ve been a piss poor justification, but it was also the right thing to do. I dialed and the phone picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” Max’s voice was thick like he’d been asleep and then I heard a woman’s laugh and my body crumbled into the sofa. “Hello?”
I squeezed my eyes shut with a quick reminder that this was real life and Max had always been too good to be true. Sucking in a deep breath helped, but not enough. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but I just saw on the news that your brother was exonerated and he’s out of prison.” I delivered the information calmly and hung up quickly, biting the inside of my jaw to keep from crying.
I had no right to these tears. It was foolish to cry over what amounted to a one night stand. I knew my emotions were tangled up because I’d never had sex before so I let a few tears fall and banished the rest. I’d done a good deed and that was behind me. I had a whole day to myself and I planned to enjoy it.
After a quick workout in the basement, I cleaned up a bit and showered, then made a shopping list. If I had a list, something to focus on as I pushed the cart up and down the aisles, I wouldn’t have to focus on the other shoppers. I wouldn’t see them look at me and recoil or their children point and stare, and I wouldn’t have to pretend I didn’t notice or that it didn’t hurt. Besides, my list kept me organized. It guaranteed I had all the ingredients I needed and wouldn’t have to make another trip too soon.
My first stop was a gourmet shop that required a trip into Vegas proper for the soft, fancy cheeses that I loved along with wines that the big stores didn’t carry. The place was all dark wood and cool glass cases, filled with cheese and cured meats, jams and chutneys. The place was small and the man who owned the place was always kind, so I kept coming back. I always spent too much money in there, but on the upside, it forced me to buy more fresh veggies to combat all that cheese. I wasn’t overly concerned with my figure, but I knew I needed to be healthy because there was no one to take care of me.
The next stop required several deep, cleansing and fortifying breaths before I could even get out of my car. The supermarket was forty rows of everything consumable which meant at any given time there were dozens of people milling about inside. But I wasn’t a scared little girl anymore and I took another deep breath and stepped out into the sunny day. I grabbed a cart, pulled out my phone and kept my head down while I filled my cart with everything I would need this week.
Other than dodging a few guys who thought they were interested, the trip had been a success. But there were a group of young guys standing right outside the automatic sliding doors, smoking cigarettes and laughing loudly. I peeped their leather vests and I knew they were bikers. Other than television and the little Max had told me, I didn’t know much about them, but I knew men. They were trouble.
