AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I did.”
She simply nods again and turns my way. Before either of us can speak, the door behind me opens. Emma and Orval enter, laughing, and stop when they see me standing before them. “Oh, good evening, dear. I didn’t know you had another guest,” Emma says, a warm, grandmotherly smile on her face.
“I’m Annabelle Elliott, Kathryn’s mother,” Mother replies formally. She walks over, extending her hand rigidly.
“Oh, well, good to meet you, dear. I’m Emma, Jensen’s aunt, and this hunk of burning love is my Orval.”
“Pleasure,” Mother replies, though I can hear the disdain dripping in her words.
“Well, we better get on to bed and leave you two to catch up,” Orval replies, taking his wife by the hand and gently leading her to the staircase.
I watch as the man escorts his wife carefully up the stairs and then disappears around the corner. “I can’t believe you’re taking in people like that, Kathryn. Haven’t I taught you anything? People like that could rob you blind and you wouldn’t even notice.”
“Emma and Orval? Rob me? They’re in their eighties, Mother. What do you think they’re going to do, load up their Buick with the good china?”
“Well, you never know, darling.”
Rolling my eyes dramatically, I head for one of her bags. “Come on, let’s get you settled in one of the rooms.”
“The master suite, I’m assuming? Can you pull my car into the garage?” Mother asks, not even bothering to stop and grab one of the two remaining bags left in the entryway.
“Fine,” I grumble, hating I’ve giving in to her so easily. But if it’s one thing I’ve learned about Annabelle, its that it’s always better to just agree.
Except where Charles is concerned.
There’s no way I’ll agree with her on that.
When her sports car is secured into one of the garage bays and I have the third bag carried up to my bedroom, Mother comes out of the bathroom dressed formally in her nightgown. I grab a sleep shirt from my drawer and retreat from the room, hating how she’s just taken over my personal space. In the small bathroom off of my old childhood bedroom, I wash my face and get ready for bed. However, it’s not the bed that calls to me.
It’s the painting.
Instead of crawling under the covers, I slip down the hallway and descend the stairs. I silently close the door and flip the switch, bathing the library in soft light. My painting sits perched upon the easel as I make my way toward it. I grab a clean brush and squirt a glob of paint on the palette, diving right into the breathtaking scene before me.
I work into the night, not stopping to take a break, until it’s done. My eyes fill with tears as I gaze at the image of Jensen and myself, a younger version of love and adoration so very evident in the work. I set it aside to finish drying and grab a clean canvas. My brush dips into new color and my hand starts to move, spreading the paint and bringing the image to life. It isn’t until the sun starts to peek over the ocean that my eyelids start to droop. As wired as I was to create this piece, now that it’s also complete, the exhaustion of working through the night settles in. I feel the fatigue clear down to my bones.
I drop my brushes in the solution and turn off the small light I used to help keep the space illuminated during the dark of night. My legs are heavy as I move through the room. Instead of carrying me up the stairs, I find myself heading to the couch in the entertainment room. A tired smile crests my face as I gaze up at the handmade painting adorning my wall. The ball field with purple and yellow flowers.
Max’s painting.
It’s the last image I see before exhaustion carries me off to sleep.
