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A fat one in my hand as I added some texture to a painting of the ocean I was working on.
Very cliché. Very basic.
But just the idea of painting…
I should have been at work.
I should have been on sales calls.
Or marketing calls.
I should have been sifting through sales contracts and working on commission rates and dealing with vendors, bosses and executives.
I should have been dreading making a call to the lawyers to change a contract at the last second.
All that had been my life for so long.
And now?
“Here, my love, have something to drink,” Demi said.
She held out a bottle of water.
Her right hand shook more than I normally saw.
Not that I had been around Demi enough to know what was really bad or not.
Her face looked a little pale.
She looked tired.
I put the paintbrushes down and took the water from her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re working up a storm here today.”
“Hardly. Just messing around.”
“It’s not that, Fiona. You think you’re painting a boring picture of the ocean. But what you’re painting is the ocean from your eyes. Your memory. Which is not the same as mine or anyone else. That’s what makes it unique.”
I smiled. “You have a way with words, Demi.”
Demi offered a weak smile.
She slowly reached for a stool of her own.
Wincing as she tried to move.
I took a sip of water.
I swallowed hard. “Demi, can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“Are you okay?”
Demi nodded. “You noticed.”
