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Daisy smiles hopefully. “You should check it out sometime. There are tons of volunteers, and the kids are great. It’s an amazing place.”
I love that she’s already found happiness and contentment. When Phillip, Cash, and I were Daisy’s age, we wanted everything.
It wasn’t enough to do what we loved. We all wanted to be the best, to make a name for ourselves. Then I had to watch, struggling to make ends meet as an artist while my friends succeeded without me for years. It was brutal, but it made me all the more determined to find success.
Nothing else in my life has ever touched that burning, unendingwantuntil that day when Daisy walked into the kitchen, and my whole world shifted beneath my feet.
Daisy, who grew up in the shadow of that kind of ruthless ambition, who sees the result of it now and has no interest.
What the hell does that say about me?
“You don’t have to or anything.” She hurries to assure me, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long. “I’m sure you have better things to do. I just thought you might like it.”
“Okay.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Okay?”
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I ache to reach out and run my thumb over her full bottom lip. We’re standing at the edge of a busy Philadelphia sidewalk, but everything has faded away except Daisy’s face. “Show me.”
???
Some of the kids in Daisy’s class have clean, new sneakers, some wear clothing coming apart at the seams, and some hurry into the room and go straight for the basket she has set up on the windowsill with fruit and freshly baked blueberry muffins.
I get a few curious looks, but they’re all too excited to start on their projects to pay me too much attention. Daisy had evidently fired a full kiln of birdhouses they made last week.
I lean against the wall, listening while she explains about the different kinds of glazes and how they can make sure their pot doesn’t get stuck to the bottom of the kiln during the next firing. I’m sure if there was another adult in the room, they’d be able to see my feelings for the beautiful young teacher written all over my face.
She’s great with the kids. Fun and easy-going while still making them question and think about what they’re doing. When the big bottles of glaze finally come out, Daisy finally draws the class’s attention onto me.
“This is my friend, Mr. Adler.” She explains. “He’s a very good painter, and I’ve recruited him to help us today.”
One little boy sitting at the front table sticks his hand straight up in the air and frowns at me. “My Mom watches you on TV.”
“Cool.” I push off the wall and go to stand beside Daisy. Our arms brush, and I have to fight the urge to look over at her. “Does your Mom like to paint?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes. They look kind of blobby and weird, though.”
The class giggles, and I grin too. “Would you like to know a secret? I’ve created my fair share of blobby and weird paintings too.”
The ice is broken.
It doesn’t take long before I’m being tugged around the room by little hands, helping the kids paint, open bottles, reach brushes on high shelves, and tie smocks. It’s hectic and loud, and even though at the end of two hours my head is beginning to pound, I can’t stop smiling.
My heart feels lighter than it has in years.
“Still think I should be your assistant?” Daisy asks idly when the last of the kids leave and we’re alone in the classroom.
It’s a warm summer night, the windows are thrown open, and a faint breeze rustles the ends of Daisy’s pink hair as she sprays down one of the worktables with disinfectant, smiling over at me across the room while she wipes it down.
“No,” I answer truthfully, the image of another painting appearing in my mind’s eye as I look at her. I’ll get to it later. “No, this is better.”
Chapter Five
Daisy
Weird things have been happening around my neighborhood.
First, it was the building two down from mine when the city turned up for an inspection and shut down the entire place for a whole slew of safety violations.
