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“Mrs. Tanaka might just be my guardian angel,” said Brielle.
Nora looked confused but shrugged and tapped the Scrubbing Cherub art on the back of Brielle’s T-shirt. “I think you mean ‘guardian cherub.’”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Did you draw this?” Mrs. Ward stood back to gaze up at the canvas Brielle had hung about a month before. The other one stood stuffed between two of his cabinets, out of sight but rarely out of mind.
This was actually the first time his mother had been to his condo in weeks, so he couldn’t have asked her to hang the other canvas if he’d wanted to. But Pauline came on an almost daily basis, and his dad had stopped by for lessons. He just couldn’t bear anyone else hanging it.
“No, Mother, I did not drawDick Tracy.”
“Is that was this is?” All Mrs. Ward was missing was the monocle. She squinted and finally tore her eyes away. “I don’t know why you’d hang something so garish if it wasn’t one of your comic drawings.”
“Thanks, Mother.” Archer rapped his knuckles on his armrest. Silence lingered conspicuously in the air, but it was interrupted by the occasional thump from his upstairs neighbor’s condo.
“Why don’t you have any of your art in here? I bet you could have it printed and hung on canvas.”
The suggestion brought to mind Brielle, and it stung. Archer’s reply was more biting than even his mother deserved. “Becauseyoudecorated it, so of course you only hung your art.”
She looked as if he’d slapped her. “I thought you liked these pieces,” she said, her lip quivering. “You said you got your love of art from me.” She slipped past him to grab for her painting of a vase of flowers and fruit. “I can take them back. Or just throw them out…” She choked on her words.
Archer cradled his forehead. “Mother, no, don’t. Please. I’m sorry.” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry, I mean it. I do like your art.”
“Could have fooled me.” She crossed her arms and stared upward.
“Thank you… For giving me space these past few weeks.”
“Well, your fatherinsisted.” She dug into her purse for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “All of a sudden, teaching you to drive was worth skipping all of our dinners for weeks. But heaven forbidIvisit you even once a week.”
The hallway toilet flushed at just the right moment, giving Archer time to think over his response. “You could have come once a week,” he said. “I just didn’t like… that we made an appointment of it. Besides, Dad and I haven’t spent much time together in years.”
“What about your old man?” said Mr. Ward as he joined them from the hallway. “He’s getting on in years?” He wrapped an arm around Mrs. Ward and pecked her on the cheek.
She blushed, the hurt and anxiety that so often colored her face around Archer dissolving. “And handsomer with each passing one.”
Archer almost missed seeing them together. He saw another side of his mother she so rarely showed him. It was like just thinking about her son turned her into a ball of nerves, and his dad was the only known antidote.
“Okay now,” said his dad, “none of this arguing you two always wind up doing.”
“We don’targue—” started Mrs. Ward.
“Sure,” said his dad, sticking his hand into his pocket. “But today is about celebration. Today we celebrate Archer earning his driver’s license!” He tilted his head down at his son, beaming.
A little more than a month ago, Archer hadn’t been certain his dad could ever be proud of him for anything. But it seemed like all that had been holding him back was a way to relate.
“I need a drink just thinking about it,” said Mrs. Ward, pulling away.
Mr. Ward grabbed her by the arm. “Uh-uh. This is agoodthing, and we’ll limit our drinking to when we toast him tonight.” He winked. “Though none for you, son. You’re the designated driver.”
The doorbell rang. “That must be Pauline,” said Archer, still grinning from his dad’s dumb joke, even if he was wincing at the idea that maybe, yes, his mother drank too much. “I’ll get it.” He wheeled down the hallway and opened up the door.
“Hi,” said Brielle, her fingers threaded together.
Too late Archer realized the obvious: Pauline had a key. A few days after he’d last seen Brielle, she’d had her mother drop her pair of keys off when she’d closed out the contract. Pauline had dealt with her. Archer had cowered in his bedroom.
That, and only Brielle was polite enough to ring the doorbell. Despite him practically chewing her head off the first time she’d done it.
He realized he hadn’t responded and his jaw was practically on the floor. “Hi.”
