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“Christ.” The last thing I need is my older brother trying to make amends. Some things can’t be repaired. Once you take a knife to canvas, it doesn’t matter how well you paint over the gash—it will never be the same. “You don’t think he’ll try to stay with me?”
“Why?” Will mocks. “Is your eight-thousand-square-foot beach house not big enough for the two of you?”
No. It’s not, but I can’t tell my brother that. We grew up in the same situation, but the three of us—we’re not the same.
They like open spaces.
Chapter Four
Daphne
The lights areon early in the security apartment when I order the Uber. They’re changing shifts, probably. Or watching. I ignore them when the car pulls up to the sidewalk. I check the license plate, check the driver’s face, and get in.
“It’s cold out for the beach.” He glances at my sketchpad in the rearview mirror.
“I have a commissioned piece,” I tell him, and I can’t keep the smile off my face. “They picked the place. I have to paint it. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“Good for you.”
I open my mouth to tell him more. Then—“Thank you. I love this song. Can you turn it up?”
It’s best to err on the side of keeping information to myself. Staying quiet, in my experience, is safer than spilling your guts to anyone who seems ready to listen. And it’s not that I don’t want a voice—I do. But part of being an independent woman is knowing when not to speak.
This Uber driver doesn’t need to hear about my feelings, anyway. I’m excited about the commission, and torn. I should definitely ignore the note. But I’m too curious about this rich old guy who bought my painting. He probably has white hair. Or is balding. In his fifties, or even older. Those are the kinds of men who have money to buy paintings like mine in a casual way. An old man would probably like this stretch of beach and find it interesting. We listen to music all through the ride, which is where I make a compromise in my head.
Leo wouldn’t want me to be here. The security team didn’t follow me in their black SUV, but I bet they took down the license plate of the Uber. I climb out and go around to the driver’s side window. “Can I pay you to stay here and wait for me? I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
I have money for this. A hundred dollars left over from the sale of my painting. I also have an emergency credit card from Leo, but I won’t touch that.
“Hell yeah,” he says. He’s younger than I thought and peers dubiously at the beach behind me. “Just order another ride when you’re done. I’ll stay right here.”
“Fifty now, fifty when I get back.” I hand him the first bill and he gives me a thumbs-up.
The road where he’s parked is raised above the beach. A stone staircase bisects a retaining wall. A cold salt taste saturates the air, with more frost packed into the sand. The snow’s not sticking yet but chill radiates through my boots. Pale sunlight sinks below a cool purple sky.
Crescent Cove beach at twilight
Waves roll against the sand in time with my footsteps. The sand crunches like snow under my feet. A lone beach chair has been left out, and that’s where I go.
My phone buzzes.
Eva: Free for dinner?
Daphne: Painting tonite. What about Saturday?
I should have brought a blanket. If that Uber driver keeps his word, he’ll make a hundred dollars for way less than an hour. My heart hammers under my layers. The breeze toys at the winter hat Eva gave me for Christmas last year—a cashmere beanie that’s good for walking from class to my apartment. Not quite enough for drawing on the beach when it’s this cold.
Eva: It’s a date! My place at 7?
Daphne: Bad movies ONLY
Eva: ;)
Okay. Bag. Pencil. Sketchpad. I open my book to a fresh page. At least my coat is warm enough to do a quick sketch. I need a sense of the place before I can paint.
So this is going to be the hard part of a commissioned piece. Keeping the Collector out of my head when I paint. Whoever he is, he wants my interpretation of it. My graphite tip hovers over the page. Mine. No one else’s. No asking for instructions. No assignment rubric, the way they had in school. Just me, my sketchbook—
And someone else.
