AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Does he look like a bird?” I joked, filled with a need to make her laugh again, if only to erase some of my guilt.
“Good heavens, no,” she said. “My children are gorgeous—and I’m not just saying that because I’m their mother either.” She pointed at me in reprimand as if knowing those would be my next words. I held my hands up in mock innocence.
“Cole’s technically my stepson,” she said, focusing thoughtfully on the painting again, “which is why this piece connects with me the way it does. He’s my baby-blue.”
The dove hadn’t given birth to the blue jay, but due to a number of possible circumstances, she’d decided to care for him like he was her own.
Her vulnerability took me by surprise, and I wondered if she only seemed unguarded to me because I had the advantage of knowing so much about her. Selene brought her fatigued gaze back over to me, and even managed a soothing smile. Suddenly, my plans to poke holes in the theory that she was a saint felt like an impossible task, and a mission I no longer wanted.
I began thinking of polite ways to end our conversation before she could say or do something else absolutely perfect to make me question my recent life choices.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Noon Waters,” I said, not wanting to lie to her. Well, it was a lie, but it matched the lie I told to get in here, and it matched the name on the silver plaque below my painting. And for a reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted her to know it was me who had made her feel good for even a second.
Her eyes broadened along with her smile. “It’s you,” she said, and I shifted uncomfortably under the respect in her tone. “I can’t tell you how tempted I am to remove this from the auction block and keep it for myself.”
“You may still get a shot at it. I doubt anyone will bid. It took me less than a few hours to make it. Nothing crafted without effort and angst can be worth much, right?”
Selene stared at me, staredthroughme, seeing past my blasé ramblings. “You’re talented, Mr. Waters. But I think you already know that, or at least you’re beginning to suspect you are,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I think you like to be reminded of your talent because every reminder fills your cup and takes you one step closer to never needing anyone’s validation again, and to believing you deserve what youtrulywant from life.”
“Philanthropistandmind reader,” I said. “Impressive.”
“No. I’m just a mother. And a fellow cup holder,” she said with a wink.
She was right. If I could convince myself that I wasn’t any good, then I had an excuse for not doing something with my gift. It became harder and harder to keep up the charade every day. Especially with someone as validating as Franky in my life.
“What you’re doing here is amazing,” I said, adding some validation to her cup, returning the favor. “Not enough people in your position care about getting art programs funded for the underserved.”
She didn’t say anything to that, but her blush and the awakening of her tired eyes was thank you enough. Her assistant, I assumed, interrupted us, letting Selene know in a hushed tone that she was urgently needed. Selene nodded to me before allowing herself to be whisked away.
My painting did end up selling, and under the rules of entry, a portion of the sale went to me. I donated my half to the cause, leaving a note on the check for Selene.
Dear, Selene… Use this to fill more cups.
***
I drove back to my place to think and change out of my suit, and ended up falling asleep with a killer migraine. I woke up in the dark, disoriented, and to the sound of pounding on my apartment door.
I felt around the bed for my phone, cursing at the insane number of missed calls from Franky.
“Coming!” I shouted over the knocking. I flipped on the hall light, shielding my eyes as they adjusted to the brightness.
“Are you alright?” Franky asked before the door had fully opened. Rain water dripped from the ends of his hair, leaving dark circles on the shoulders of his white shirt. “I’ve been calling you.”
“Yeah, didn’t you get my text?” I asked, still waiting for my brain fog to clear.
Franky moved into the apartment while I locked the door. “You said you weren’t feeling well and were going to take a nap.”
I leaned against the wall opposite him in the hall. “I had a headache. I just woke up.” It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t get why he was so panicky.
“Leland,” Franky said. “That wastenhours ago. It’s after one in the morning. I thought I’d find you passed out on the floor or something.”
“What?” Seeing his missed calls had distracted me from my purpose of searching for my phone in the first place. I’d wanted to know the time. Franky wasn’t pleased, and his fear for me came off as annoyance. “Sorry, I um… It was a brutal headache.”
“Did you take anything for it? How are you feeling now?” Less than two feet separated us in the narrow hall, and Franky cut that distance in half, stepping into me and sinking his hands into my hair. He meticulously examined my expression for signs that I wasn’t okay.
“I’m good,” I said, but my assurance didn’t loosen the tightness of his lips. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him we couldn’t do this anymore. It had been the plan I’d formulated before diving into a ten-hour coma. But when Franky touched me, the way he touched me now, every plan I ever had for myself changed.
