She manhandled her right tit with her free hand. “These are more trouble than they’re worth. Just the backache alone ruins the experience.”
“Good point. Of course, I happen to know a thing or two about hot oil massage.”
“Hold your horses.”
“I’m trying, but holding still isn’t my forte. Can I have a basketball to bounce or something?”
She closed an eye, tilting her head to the ceiling. “Maybe.”
“How many more sessions will you need?” I asked.
“A painting takes as long as it takes—deadlines don’t mean diddly.”
“So it could take many more sessions.”
“I do like staring at your body.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s get back to the important thing—you warming me up. It is one of your specialties.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” The teasing in her tone suggested she’d put her finger on what I desired. “Clementine, maybe?”
“Now that you mention it…” I winked.
After the accident, it took months before we could be intimate. It was as though we would smash the remnants of our souls to smithereens if we gave into our desires. Then, one night Kat had walked into the bathroom right as I stepped out of the shower. Her dark, soulful eyes had roved over my skin, without any indication whether she wanted me or couldn’t handle the sight of my nakedness—the vulnerability we’d both pushed down deep. Sex, even with the one you trusted more than you trusted yourself, allowed the other person to see all the fissures under the surface.
Then she had slammed me against the wall, kissing me, unleashing our sexual fetters. That night, instead of shattering the pieces, the act filled the gaps with emotional glue that grew stronger with each touch. It was as if we craved being close to each other as a reminder that we were still alive.
Kat cleared her throat. I hadn’t sensed her probing eyes as I drifted into the past. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, indeedy. How are you, beautiful?”
“Done for the night.” Kat grabbed the top of her head with one hand while the other cupped her chin, and she cracked her neck to the left and then right. “Let’s go home and warm you up.”
I popped off the divan and motioned for her to walk ahead.
She tittered. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
Her eyes hungrily roamed up and down my body.
I looked down at my stark nakedness. “Oh, yeah. Be right back. I’m surprised you didn’t let me wander out into the streets like this.”
Kat feigned being hurt. “As if I would ever do such a thing.” She followed with an evil laugh, which was both unsettling and settling in equal measure.
“At least not without a recording device.” I kissed her cheek.
“You know me too well.”
I locked eyes with hers. The trace of sadness was still ensconced there, driving me mad at my inability to eradicate her torment. If I could shoulder all of her hurt, I would in an instant.
Kat placed a palm on my cheek. “I know, baby. I know.”
Chapter Five
Friday morning, Harold had called for a powwow. It wasn’t unusual for him to request a meeting to coordinate upcoming events, but lately I hadn’t been in the mood to discuss business of any type. Kat, sensing this, insisted the meeting convene at our home over breakfast.
By the time I returned from my run, Harold was sitting at the dining room table with his sketchpad, working on an idea for a graphic novel.
He barely glanced up. I kissed Kat on the cheek, but she shoved me away.
“You stink. Not even flowers will earn you a kiss at the moment.” She gestured with a stainless steel mixing spoon to the trio of yellow tulips in my hand.
I sniffed my armpit and shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to earn a kiss. I found these on the doorstep. One of your secret admirers, perhaps.”
“Or yours.”
“Please. The last to give me flowers was Vanessa, and that was way back when dinosaurs roamed the planet.”
“Pre-Kat?” She grinned.
“Exactly.” I plucked a card from the bunch. “Just the initials GH.”
Kat frowned. “That’s weird.” She stroked her chin. “Ah, Gail Henderson. It probably pained the woman to write anything else. I’m not high on her ‘good’ neighbor list.”
“But her husband loves you,” I teased.
Kat wore a cat-that-ate-the canary smile. “He loves that I mow his lawn in a bikini top and short shorts.” She took them from my hand, and I attempted to steal a kiss.
“No.” She pushed me away again. “Shower, now. No need to torture Harold with your jogger’s stench.” Kat set two eggs next to the mixing bowl.
“Fine.”
Several moments later, in fresh clothes and dripping hair, I peered over his shoulder to see his artwork. “Not bad, Harold. Have you approached any publishers yet?”
He blushed, hovering over the paper. “Oh, this is just for fun. It relaxes me.”
“Can I look?” I pointed to the pad.
At the oven, Kat flipped a pancake over on the iron skillet, curiosity in her eyes. Typically, Harold didn’t like to share.
Reluctantly, he coughed it up, and I took a seat at the table. As I leafed through the pages, I said, “Talk me through it.”
He laughed nervously.
“I know it’s the dreaded question for any author. The sales pitch for a story.” I tapped a detailed pencil sketch of a German tank. “World War II?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s about two book nerds who go behind enemy lines to save the world from Hitler.”
“Do either have special powers?”
“Of course!” As Harold filled me in on his story, Kat sauntered over with a platter of chocolate-chip pancakes, fresh fruit, and hash browns. After arranging the table, including placing a vase with the flowers in the center, she casually filched the pad from my grasp.
Our interest ignited Harold’s chatty switch. While she dished up his plate, he continued chattering, even mumbling around bites of food while I polished off three pancakes and some fruit.
I put a palm up to interrupt. “Wait. Are you telling me this is the fifth installment?” I motioned to the drawings Kat was absorbed in. She’d completely forgotten to eat.
He nodded, chewing on half a pancake he’d shoveled in when I asked the question.
“Harold! This isn’t a hobby.” I leaned over in my chair and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “This is your life’s work.”
Harold pounded his chest and sipped orange juice to force the pancakes down. “But I like this job.” He gestured to Kat and me. “I like being your assistant.”
“And we love working with you.” Kat set the sketchpad to the side. “I don’t think Cori is suggesting you stop.”
I shook my head.
“But it doesn’t mean you can’t pursue publishing in your own right. Cori teaches and writes. I work at Barb’s studio. Doing one thing doesn’t necessarily mean you can’t do something else.”
My mom sashayed through the front door. She was the reason the table was set for four. Mom plopped down into the chair across from me. With an evil flourish of her eyebrows, she said, “Nice flowers. Cori, are you stepping up your game?” My mother loved to needle me about my lackluster gift-giving skills.
I grunted. “Any idiot can buy flowers. I prefer to give gifts with more meaning. Besides, one of the tulips has seen better days.” I prodded the one with a broken stem at the neck of the petals. Kat had used a toothpick to keep it upright.
“They’re from Mrs. Henderson.” Kat kicked my shin under the table. “Last week she left a plate of chocolate chip cookies outside on a paper plate, but by the time I found them they were inedible after a snowstorm. A shame, though, she put a lot of work into them.”
“The old biddy from across the street? Cori’s been outdone by a nine
ty-year-old woman.” Mom scrunched her nose. “Looks like she culled these three out of a bunch she’d received and regifted.” She tsked, but I couldn’t discern whether she was tsking me or Mrs. Henderson. Not that it mattered. She made a motion for the meeting to commence.
Kat scooted Harold’s book over to Mom. “We think Harold should look into publishing his World War II graphic novel series.”
Mom slipped on her reading glasses.
Harold wriggled in his seat. He had been reluctant to show us, but compared to Mom’s publishing success, Kat and I were small potatoes. Nell Tisdale had publishing contacts coming out the wazoo.
The more she nodded, the redder Harold turned. I made eye contact with Kat, telegraphing my concern: was he still breathing? Kat observed him, and her posture relaxed slightly when his chest rose.
Mom laughed and eagerly flipped a page to continue the story.
Seconds ticked by. Harold’s discomfort almost reached 911 levels. And then Mom tucked the pad into her lap and said, “I’m taking this.”
“What?” I sputtered.
“I want to show some people.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “You like it. But that’s not the first in the series.”
She rotated to Harold. “Can you get me the rest?”
He nodded, his mouth opening and closing like a baby turtle’s.
“Good. Now, let’s talk about Mother’s Day weekend.” Mom rested her forearms on the table with her fingers laced.
“Mother’s Day! It’s not even Christmas.” The holiday had been hell last year, and I secretly hoped we wouldn’t ever acknowledge another one.
Kat stared down at her plate as if she’d expected that reaction.
“I know, Cori. Before you close down completely, just hear me out.” Her voice was soft.
I crossed my arms.
“I’ve asked Harold to set up a signing for both of us that weekend in celebration of Mother’s Day.” Mom paused to see whether I’d interrupt before continuing. “I want to donate all of the proceeds from the event to the neonatal intensive care unit.” She flicked her head in the general direction of the hospital where they’d tried to save Charlotte. “The organizers of the event want us to sit down for a conversation and then take questions from the audience before the signing. Can you do it?” I saw only concern on her face, no judgment.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
Kat glanced up, a faint smile on her lips. “It’s for a good cause.”
“I don’t disagree.” I sucked in a ragged breath. “This conversation… will it be about Charlotte?”
“Not necessarily, but she’ll probably be mentioned.”
I massaged my burning throat. “So ticket prices and book sales will go to the unit?”
“All of my book sales on all channels for the weekend will be donated. I’m coordinating my next release for that weekend.”
I whistled.
“You don’t have to commit right now.” Harold finally found his voice.
All three of them studied me as if anticipating I’d fall to pieces.
“No, it’s fine. You can schedule it.”
“Are you sure?” Kat pushed.
I nodded. “Yep.” I stood. “I need to shower.” Wet strands of hair brushed against my cheek as I moved past Kat, reminding me I’d already cleaned up. I added, “Or something.”
As I rushed down the hallway, I overheard Mom say, “No, let her have a few minutes.”
The woman knew me well. She knew I’d never say no to the event, considering it was in my daughter’s honor, but she understood I needed to have a meltdown alone right now. I sat under the shower stream until the hot water ran out, still wearing my T-shirt and jeans.
Chapter Six
“Cori! You’re naked!”
My mother’s voice didn’t contain any disgust. She was just in shock. Complete and total shock. My aunt, with her broad shoulders, towered over my mother’s runner’s frame as both stared down at me on the divan in the art studio. Barbara was just as stunned, if not more. I jumped up and threw on a terry cloth robe, securing it tightly at my waist. My face sizzled as hot as the surface of the sun.
They’d had probably never considered Kat and I would be in the private work room in the studio early on a Sunday afternoon when the space was typically shuttered, let alone that I would be in my birthday suit, clearly modeling for Kat. Little did they know I had spent many hours naked on the divan over the past couple of months. Kat’s schedule had been jam-packed, preparing for a summer show, so we had to squeeze in sessions whenever we could. She said it helped her relax, working on a project that didn’t require much thought. I wasn’t sure whether I should be insulted. When she was naked, certain thoughts definitely entered my mind.
Kat stepped out from behind the easel, a palette in one hand and a paintbrush in another. Her eyes glowed with devious amusement.
My mom and aunt, their mouths dangling open, about-faced to Kat for an explanation, correctly surmising I’d hedge.
“I asked Cori to model nude for me, and she agreed.” Kat shrugged, as if this was an everyday occurrence in the life of an artist.
“She agreed?” Mom’s eyebrows shot up. She wasn’t upset I was posing nude—that would never bother Nell Tisdale, who flaunted her sexuality and who believed in freedom of expression on all levels. But she was the first to wise up to my ways. As a youngster, I’d coaxed Uncle Roger to install a deadbolt on my bedroom and bathroom doors. Mom hadn’t seen me naked since I was old enough to dress and shower myself. To say I was reserved was putting it mildly.
My aunt smiled. “What’d you promise her?” She folded her arms over her gray boatneck sweater.
I grimaced at the notion I would only pose naked for Kat to get something in return. What was wrong with my wife painting me in the nude?
“A trip to England,” Kat said with the same sexy smirk that had persuaded me to pose naked in the first place.
“Oh, that makes sense,” Barbara said.
I stepped closer, keeping enough distance to stop my mother from undoing the ties on my robe—something she’d do just to ruffle my reserved feathers. “What do you mean that makes sense?”
I eyed my aunt and then Kat.
Kat held my gaze, but she bit her bottom lip, letting me know I had been conned, even if I hadn’t yet put the pieces together to know how.
The hilarity in Aunt Barbara’s face quickly transformed into guilt. My mother, though, grinned malevolently. Guilt was not in her personal vocabulary. Oh, she could write about it ’til the end of time, but to be intimately acquainted with remorse? No chance.
“When did you plan on going to London?” I tapped my now slippered foot. “Is it for work?”
“In the summer.” Kat lifted one shoulder shyly. “The upcoming show is in London.” There was a smidgeon of black paint on her chin.
“You tricked me!” I pointed to the divan.
“Oh, please. You wanted to be tricked. Not once did you ask where the show was taking place.” Kat’s luscious lips curved up almost magnetically, the way they always did when I caught her in some type of deception. I hated that it turned me on when I wanted to be angry with her.
“I assumed it was here, where all of your shows have been.”
“That’s what you get for assuming. You make an ass out of you and me. Well, not me. I’m not the one exhibiting my goods for all to see.” She clubbed her chest with the hand gripping the brush, smearing more paint on her chin.
“For all to see…” I waggled a finger in her face, unable to complete the thought.
Kat set her supplies on the table.
“Do you care to fill me in about London?” I perched on the desk, careful not to upset the pile of crap threatening to spill onto the floor.
“Oh, now you want to know the details.” Kat patted my cheek. “And I’ve already promised to take you.”
“Only if I posed naked.”
My mother ignored my childish behavior. “Do you plan to show it?” She motioned to the easel.
“Ah, no. Cori insisted it be just for me.” Kat’s downcast eyes brimmed with disappointment. Why she would want someone to see—or worse yet, buy—a nude painting of her wife baffled me completely.
Both my aunt and mom analyzed the canvas.
“How’d you get in?” I stepped in front of the canvas to get their attention and to stop their leers. “Kat said she locked the door and you’d never intrude if the door was locked.”
My aunt gently pushed me aside. She had morphed into professional mode. Instantly, Aunt Barbara and Kat launched into a discussion about the painting. Kat’s vision. They spoke as if they were the only two in the room.
I knitted my brow, demanding an answer from my mom.
“Barb has a key, of course.”
“And?”
My aunt respected boundaries more than my mother.
“And I convinced her to use it.” Her slack posture indicated it wasn’t a big deal.
I rolled my eyes. Of course Mom was the instigator. After they’d failed to get the dirt about Kat’s secret project at the family dinner, I should have known Mom would go into high gear to suss it out.
We locked eyes. I kept hoping an ounce of culpability would flash across her face. It didn’t. It never would.
“And London. Did you know about that?” I sensed Kat’s eyes on me, but I resisted the urge to flip around and give her the evil eye. Listening to her discuss a painting with such ardor was music to my ears, considering all the weeks her paints had lain idle after last Christmas.
“Tell you what, go get dressed and Barbara and I will take the two of you to a late lunch.” That was her way of apologizing without admitting guilt.
It worked. I zipped out of the room to change.
Minutes later, I returned wearing jeans and a merino wool V-neck sweater. Kat had already slipped into a cowl-neck fiery red sweater and curvy-fit jeans.
***
Pablo’s Café, a Tex-Mex restaurant, was oddly quiet for a Saturday afternoon, aside from the holiday country tunes softly streaming over the speakers. It was almost Christmas, and the weather had been hideous all week. Someone had pinned a Santa hat on the alligator in the Pure Louisiana Molasses ad on the far side of the restaurant.
Confessions From the Dark Page 6