by Regina Duke
“Done,” said Don, pulling out five crisp hundred-dollar bills. He handed them to Zinnia. “Will this be enough?”
Zinnia took the money in a daze. She wasn’t sure what to do or say. Unable to find words, she nodded vigorously.
Rayna was still swooning over the portrait. “Could we commission a larger piece of the two of us? For over the mantle?”
Zinnia’s eyes widened. “I suppose so,” she stammered.
“Will we need to arrange sittings?” asked Rayna.
“I can start from photos. Just select something you’d like me to work from, and we’ll save the sitting for adding life and personality.”
Bart interrupted, “But take your time. Zinnia will be in New York for my gallery opening in a couple of weeks.”
Zinnia added, “If Ashley’s okay.”
Bart agreed. “Of course. We’ll make sure she has help while you’re away. Cross my heart.”
“What’s wrong with Ashley?” Rayna asked with concern.
“She’s pregnant!” Zinnia pressed her hands together to keep from jumping up and down. Then more quietly, “Evidently she has a really hard time during her first trimester.”
“Oh,” said Rayna sympathetically. “I’ll make a point to go visit.”
Thirty minutes later, they’d packed up all the canvases and supplies and were in Bart’s SUV, heading for the Cattleman’s. Zinnia sat quietly in the passenger seat, smiling over what had just transpired.
“See? What did I tell you?” asked Bart. “You can definitely make a living at this little hobby of yours.”
Zinnia took a deep breath and exhaled raggedly. “Yes, for a while at least.” She cocked her head to one side. “How many more relatives have you talked into buying my work?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bart was stunned by Zinnia’s question. “What do you mean?”
Zinnia gave a tiny shrug. “I know you want me to be all excited over my future in the art world, and I really appreciate the extra money, but come on—all I did in there was what I do for ten dollars in black and white at craft fairs.”
Bart pulled onto the shoulder of the two-lane. Tiny flakes of snow had begun falling, and they dotted the windshield. In the headlights, a few bigger flakes were visible. He sat for a moment, staring incredulously at Zinnia. “You saw Rayna’s face. She was enchanted by the portrait. Do you think I somehow got hold of her ahead of time and coached her about how to react? I don’t even know where she was all day.”
Zinnia sagged against the leather seat. “So, she really loved it? And you didn’t bribe your brother to pay me?”
“No, of course not. Also—” He held up a finger, “—I am not related to the people who run The Muffin Man.”
“Oh,” she said, a hint of optimism in her voice. “I guess I…” She bit off the rest.
“You thought I lied,” said Bart. “You thought that money came from me.”
Zinnia looked guilty. “I’m sorry. It’s just so hard for me to accept that anyone would pay this kind of money for my ten-minute portrait.”
“In that case,” said Bart gently, “don’t tell them you do it in ten minutes. But frankly, your method is one of the things that make you special. That adds value to what you do.”
“Oh.” Her tone of voice made it clear that she’d never thought of that before.
Bart tipped his head so he could look at her face. “Are we good?”
Zinnia smiled. “We’re good.” She paused. “May we swing by my parents’ house? I’d like to give this money to my mother. She can tuck it away for a rainy day.”
Bart checked his mirrors and pulled out carefully. “Think of how much you can help her out after you start selling on a regular basis.”
Zinnia looked surprised. “Do you really believe…I mean, at craft fairs, no one has ever paid more than ten dollars.” She paused. “Except for some tips.”
“People with real money seldom go to craft fairs. They purchase art as an investment, wagering that some day, in ten or twenty years, the artist will rise to the rank of a household name, or at least be well known in the wealthy circles they mingle with.”
“Oh,” said Zinnia. “That’s quite a gamble, isn’t it?”
“Not when someone has talent like yours. What you need in order to succeed is exposure. And I want to take you to New York to get that ball rolling for you.” He slowed at an intersection. “Which way to your mother’s?”
Zinnia pointed to the left. As he turned, he asked out of curiosity, “What happens when you take longer than ten minutes?”
Zinnia laughed. “Acrylics and oils take a lot longer. That’s why I love pastels. You can do a quick portrait or you can work on a more ambitious project. It’s a dry medium so I can store it in the attic of the house, if need be.”
“Have your parent’s owned it all your life?”
Zinnia gave a little snort. “They don’t own it. They rent.” She picked at the seam of her jeans. “That’s why they didn’t give me back half of what I paid them this month. They already gave it to the landlord.”
Bart frowned. “Who’s the landlord?”
“Don’t know. Never asked. They’ve never talked about it in front of me.”
“Do they like it there? They’ve been there for years, haven’t they?”
“Since I was twelve or so.” She dug through her purse for a lip gloss, momentarily piling a few things in her lap. “I don’t think it has anything to do with liking the place. It’s what they can afford.” She began replacing things in her bag.
“What’s that?” asked Bart.
“A book.” She said it fondly, as if it was special.
Bart craned his neck for a look. “A guide book?”
“San Francisco,” said Zinnia. “Whenever Rose goes on vacation with her folks, she bring me gifts. Mementos. The books are the best…and the CDs, too.”
“That’s nice of her. Your family doesn’t take vacations?”
“Mom and Dad have gone away for a weekend here and there,” she said, “but I was always home watching the kids.”
“I see. Is that the place over there? Sorry, it looks different in the twilight.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Should I come in with you?”
Zinnia hesitated. “Would you mind waiting out here? I’m just going to slip this to my mother. I don’t want Bernard to embarrass me again.”
“Of course,” said Bart. “Mind if I look at your book while you’re gone?”
Zinnia handed it over. “I’ll leave my purse with you. I don’t want Chrissie digging through it.”
“She’d do that?”
“In a heartbeat,” said Zinnia. “I won’t be long, I promise.” She got out of the car and trotted across the street.
Bart turned on the overhead light so he could flip through the book. The pages that showed the most wear and tear were about Chinatown. He smiled. To a girl who never went anywhere, Chinatown must have seemed exotic indeed. He pulled her bag closer so he could tuck the book back inside. As he did so, he noticed the edge of a small sketch pad. Curious, he extracted it and flipped through the pages, finding a different symbol on each. Some had a word penciled at the bottom. Why in the world was Zinnia sketching Chinese characters? Could the high school in Eagle’s Toe provide classes as exotic as this? He heard a door open and tucked everything into her purse before Zinnia could return to the car.
She was flushed and emotional when she got in.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “Was your mother pleased?”
“She was over the moon,” said Zinnia. She held up an envelope. “She just got a notice that their rent is going up again. Thirty percent! How can people get away with that? Mom says the landlord claims he’s been holding off for months, but with the housing shortage and all, he feels he should get more money.” She wiped hastily at a tear. “Here. You wanted to know who their landlord is. It’s all in there.” She handed him the envelope. “May we go back to the Catt
leman’s? Rose is probably back by now.”
“Sure,” said Bart. He started the car. “You seem way more upset than you should be because of a raise in your parents’ rent. Is everything okay?”
Zinnia rested her head on the back of the seat. “Mom told me Chrissie’s pregnant again. That’s the real reason they moved me out of my room. She’ll need more space when the baby comes.”
* * *
Zinnia rushed into the suite, barely noticing that the door had been replaced. “Rose! You won’t believe why they gave my room to Chrissie!”
Bart made it all the way to the sofa before his phone pinged.
Rose was sitting at the little table, punching numbers on a calculator. When Bart turned to leave, she said, “You can stay if you want. We promise not to gang up on you.”
Bart smiled grimly. “I have to go take care of this.” He held up his phone. “Woodsy says my shipment is being held up at Customs. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
After he left, Rose deflated a bit.
Zinnia sat down on the sofa and patted the spot next to her. “I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t even ask how your folks are doing.”
Rose shrugged. “They miss me. But Daddy said if Chester bugs me again, he will take action.” She flexed a bicep, then slumped against the cushions.
“What does that mean?” asked Zinnia.
“I’m not sure, but it felt very fatherly.”
Zinnia smiled. “That must be nice.”
Rose lifted a shoulder in the air, as if to say any father would do the same.
Zinnia kicked her shoes off and pulled her knees up. “Rose…may I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Last Sunday, you were head over heels in love and teasing Chester about waiting for marriage. Then, boom he gives you order number four hundred and nine, and all of a sudden you’re fed up. Are you sure there wasn’t more behind calling off the wedding?”
Rose colored slightly. “Maybe there was.” She glanced sideways at Zinnia. “Remember how I peeked at Bart’s phone and read Woodsy’s message?”
“And got all mixed up about what she was saying?”
Rose nodded. “Well that Sunday night, after the square dance, Chester said he was kind of tired and would I mind if we made an early evening of it.” She paused, biting her lip…
“Go on.”
“I said okay, I hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything. I got up to leave, took my phone, and went to my car. Then I realized I had his by accident. Remember? He bought us matching phone cases—green and turquoise—because he said I kept dropping mine. I only did that once, but it was in a cow patty. Anyway, it was his phone. And I…” She checked on Zinnia’s reaction with another sideways glance. “I sort of peeked. Just to make sure I remembered his code, you know?”
“He gave you his code?”
Rose looked away. “Okay, okay. I saw him use it a hundred times and wanted to see if I remembered it.”
“Okay,” said Zinnia, trying to sound nonjudgmental. “Go on.”
“Well, I did remember it. And from there, it was one tiny tap on the text message icon…. You know.”
“And you saw something that was none of your business,” chided Zinnia gently.
Rose looked guilty. “At first I just thought, darn, I shouldn’t be peeking. But then I saw a name I recognized…And after that I saw he’d had two phone messages…” Rose looked troubled. “It was Chrissie.”
Zinnia’s eyes narrowed. “But Chrissie doesn’t…” She was going to say, ‘have a cell phone,’ but of course she had no way of knowing that. Chrissie wouldn’t even tell her how much welfare relief she was receiving or how much rent she was paying. Then her eyes widened in horror as she realized the import of Rose’s discovery. She started to speak, but Rose hadn’t finished yet.
“I took his phone back inside and got mine. Then I left.”
“But you didn’t get home until two a.m.” said Zinnia.
“I went to the Eagle’s Nest and pigged out on fries and a milkshake. Then I went to a movie. Can’t remember any of it. Then I drove around for a while, trying to decide what to do.”
“Wow,” said Zinnia. “Then you got home, and I was asleep in your room.”
“Anyway,” said Rose, “by the time he forbade me to go back to work, I was ready to confront him. After that, he came to my parents’ house to yell and scream at me on the pretext that he loved me too much to lose me. It was ugly. And it still is, I guess.”
Zinnia felt like her heart had just dumped a tray of ice cubes into her stomach. When she didn’t speak, Rose went on. “I think he’s been sleeping with Chrissie behind my back.”
Zinnia struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Her mouth was so dry, she could barely speak. At last, she managed, “I think it’s worse than that.”
Rose was taken aback. “How could it be worse?”
Zinnia took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Rose…” She wasn’t sure how to say it. “I took my mother some money today. She told me she had a secret and Bernard didn’t want her to tell anyone!”
Rose blinked at her. “And…?”
“Mom was so grateful for the money,” Zinnia said as if it were an apology. “She said I was too good to her and she couldn’t keep secrets from me anymore.” She straightened up and took Rose by the hand. “Chrissie is pregnant.”
Rose’s face scrunched into the mask she always used in the face of pain. Zinnia had seen it at school, at the dentist, and on the day Mr. Stigliano’s sister was killed in a car crash. Zinnia wondered if she was going to explode.
But a moment later, the mask fell, leaving disappointment and betrayal in its place. “I knew it,” she said darkly.
Zinnia asked cautiously, “What are you going to do?”
Rose pushed her shoulders back and announced, “I’m calling Daddy.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After Rose ended the call to her father, she said, “Daddy says we should come over there right now. He’s really angry. I hope calling him wasn’t a mistake.”
“Should we go?” asked Zinnia.
“Yes! We might have to stop him from doing something rash!”
Zinnia slipped her coat on and mumbled, “I thought that’s what you were hoping for.”
But Rose had her jacket under her arm and her purse over her shoulder, and was already out the door. Zinnia sighed heavily. I came in here needing comfort, and once again, Rose has turned this whole thing into her own drama.
She heard Rose calling from the elevator. “Are you coming?”
Zinnia mumbled, “I wouldn’t miss this for the freaking world,” as she hurried to catch up.
Rose drove like a maniac, fueled by hurt, anger, and the desire for revenge. Zinnia hoped they’d survive long enough to reach the Stigliano’s house, but she knew from past experience not to say, “Slow down.” That would only make it worse.
She had a white-knuckled grip on her seatbelt as Rose squealed into her parents’ driveway. The porch lights were on, and the house was lit up, lights shining from every window. Zinnia couldn’t imagine anything happening to her that would set her father off on an electricity-burning rampage. She stifled the giggle that threatened to erupt at the thought.
Rose was already out of the car. Zinnia followed. Mr. Stigliano barged out of the house to meet them on the porch. He actually had a shotgun slung over his forearm. “Get in the car,” he yelled. “We’re going to pay a visit to this Lothario.”
“Daddy, wait,” said Rose. “If we go over there with a shotgun, someone will die and you’ll go to jail and mother will never forgive me. Let’s go inside and figure out what to do.”
“I know what to do, girl! He led you on, made you think he was being faithful and looking forward to getting married. And all the time, he was cheating on you behind your back and rolling in the hay with the first worthless...” He cut himself off when he finally noticed that Zinnia was standing on the step.
“All right,” he
grumbled. “You women. All you want to do is talk. Well? Get on in here and get the talking over with so I can go defend your honor.”
Rose went all sweet and sugary. “Thanks, Daddy. I knew I could count on you.”
Once inside, she fell into her mother’s arms and wept for five point nine seconds. Zinnia was pretty sure her friend was genuinely distressed because when she was playing for sympathy, she’d turn on the tears for quite a bit longer. But her parents were already incensed, so it only took a few seconds to cement their undying support of her side of things.
“Oh Mom, can you imagine? Chrissie’s going to have Chester’s baby!”
“We think,” said Zinnia. “It could be some weird coincidence. All we really know is they texted back and forth. I didn’t even know Chrissie had a cell. So Bernard threw me out because he wanted Chrissie to have more room for the next baby.”
“Yeah,” said Rose, managing to work up a tiny bit of aggravation on Zinnia’s behalf. “That, too.”
Mrs. Stigliano patted Rose reassuringly. “You need pizza. Every crisis is better with pizza.” On her way to the wall phone in the kitchen she asked, “Pepperoni and olives?”
Mr. Stigliano propped his shotgun behind the front door and called back, “Sounds great. You girls eat yet?”
Rose dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “There’s always room for pizza,” she whimpered.
Zinnia pressed her lips tightly together to keep from smiling. “May I help pay for it?” she asked.
“Ha! No.” Mr. Stigliano was firm. “Okay, Rose, if you won’t let me go shoot the cheating good-for-nothing, what do you want me to do?”
Zinnia followed father and daughter into the big kitchen and lent a hand to pull out the drop-leaf table and extend the sides. Mrs. Stigliano hung up the phone and reported, “Half an hour or it’s free.” Rose pulled the two extra chairs into place and they all sat down.
Zinnia took Rose’s hand and squeezed gently. “What should we do, Rose? You had your suspicions and that’s why you called off the wedding. But what next? I mean, if you’re not a couple anymore…”
“If Chrissie’s pregnant, that happened before I broke up with him. Don’t I have a right to be furious?”