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But I can’t be having those thoughts in front of his aunt.
Especially when I see so much of him in her now, and her mirrored in him.
That refined way of speaking—he got that from her, I think, even if Clara uses the elegant words of a southern lady, while August barks with the cold precision of a ruthless gentleman.
The careful, proper manners.
The kindness she wears like a second skin—while he tries oh so hard to bury his.
It makes me wonder who he was kind to in the past.
And who hurt him? Who made him throw it all away so he wouldn’t get hurt again?
Aren’t you making a lot of assumptions?
Yep. I need to get my mind off August ASAP.
So I pin on a smile for Clara.
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously, you’ve just made my day. My whole life. You know, they say ‘Never meet your heroes,’ but I’m glad I met you, Clara. I’m just ... I’m sorry that you feel like you can’t continue Inky.”
Something remote flits across Clara’s face for a split second.
A hint of pain.
She looks away, still holding my letter like it’s a comfort somehow.
“Sometimes things happen. Unexpected things that drain the color from the world, dear,” she says softly. “And I never did paint well in black and white.”
I don’t understand. But maybe I’m not meant to.
Maybe there’s a bigger secret behind why she quit than losing her muse.
I just wish I could do something for her.
Right now, I feel like August hiring me as her assistant is just forcing something on her that could be a burden. But what if she needs a fresh face, a few new ideas?
“What if you weren’t doing it for publication? Inky, I mean,” I ask carefully. “August thought that maybe we could work together and I could help you somehow. Would you be willing to teach me just for the sake of it? Just to draw Inky again?”
Clara’s smile is so kind, but her eyes are misty. “You’re a darling to offer. However, I don’t think I could, even for those reasons.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s time to let go. If that Sullivan girl truly wants the penguin badly enough to fight poor August for it in court, tooth and claw—well, I’m willing to let it go.”
What?
Oh, hell no.
I freeze up.
I’m also deathly afraid I’ve just screwed up royally.
August is going to kill me if he finds out I had anything to do with his aunt throwing in the towel.
I try to find words—any words—to undo the horrible thought I’ve just put in her head, but my lips won’t work.
Clara glances at me again and turns away quickly, evidently hoping she can hide the faint tremor in her lips. She crosses back to the chest to put my letter back inside.
“Could you give me a moment? I regret for you to see me out of sorts like this.”
“Sure!” I manage.
