Painting Kisses

by Melanie Jacobson

  But it would also mean a fat fee that could make all the difference in Chloe’s life for the next two years if I could pay for Bethwell.

  I stopped pacing. There was no choice; there was only the right thing to do.

  I had an hour before Dani got home, and I had to make my case about why Chloe should go to Bethwell and why Dani had to let me pay for it. It would take fast talking and a few minor threats, but I knew I’d wear her down. No, not true. I knew Chloe would wear her down when she chattered on and on about her adventures there. I had to come up with a way to make it okay for Dani to say yes.

  When Dani came in from her shift, Chloe was sitting at the kitchen table making a mosaic self-portrait like the tissue ones we’d seen at Bethwell. Dani dropped a kiss on her head. “What have you got there, baby girl?”

  “I a big girl. I make a picture of me,” she said, tearing up some blue to get the right size for her eyes. “Wia, dis good as the school’s?”

  “Better,” I said and meant it. Her attention to detail amazed me.

  “School?” Dani repeated. “What school?”

  “Beffwell,” Chloe answered, still intent on her mosaic. “Nice school.”

  Dani straightened and narrowed her eyes at me. “What were you doing at Bethwell?”

  I cleared my throat. “Getting her in.”

  Hope flashed in Dani’s eyes for a second before they shuttered and frustrated lines appeared at the corner of her mouth. “It’s ridiculously expensive. You should have asked me before you took her there. She’s going to hate any other schools she sees now.” She crossed over to the kitchen counter to set down her purse and get a glass of water.

  “She already does,” I said. “We checked out the two closest to your work, and she’s not going there.”

  Dani whirled to face me, her face flat-out angry now. “What do you mean you took her there?”

  “You told me their names the other night, remember? I thought we should check out all the options. And you’re right—she hated them. She can’t go there, Dani. Dr. Bray mentioned the word anxiety today. That’s not simple shyness.”

  “Can I talk to you outside?” Dani asked, her voice tight. She nodded toward Chloe, who was watching us, her gaze moving between us as worry furrowed her little brow. Dani softened her voice for her daughter. “Lia and I are going to go on the deck for a few minutes. I love your self-portrait. Will you let me know when you finish the dress on it so I can see it all together?”

  Chloe stared at her for a long moment before nodding and turning back to her work. I followed Dani out.

  “Every tiny difference we see in kids isn’t something that has to be fixed or treated,” Dani said as soon as I slid the door closed behind me, and my heart clenched at how hard she was working to convince herself that she was wrong about Chloe’s social delays. “She’ll grow out of it. Kids grow out of stuff like that all the time.”

  Her words were angry, but my heart broke the tiniest bit at the fear in her eyes. Dani loved Chloe with a deep, fierce love, and I weighed the next words I said to her, wanting to make sure each one was exactly the right shape and texture. “I thought she was like me, that she preferred her own company, but I wonder if there’s more to it. Dr. Bray seemed to, I don’t know, sense something right away with Chloe. She needs to be with someone who can unlock her a little from her shyness.”

  Dani took a deep breath, a sure sign that she was trying not to kill me, but I caught the glint of tears in her eyes before she turned away to stare out at the mountains. “I would give anything I had to get her into a place that can help her. But everything I have isn’t enough, and it’s killing me. Bethwell is totally out of reach, Lia. You shouldn’t have taken her there.”

  “But I did, and I got her admitted.” Or almost. I’d do whatever it took to make it happen. I couldn’t stop pushing until Chloe was in.

  “I can’t pay for it,” Dani said, her voice rising.

  “I can.”

  She whirled to face me. “What? How?”

  “I got a commission.”

  She fell silent, studying me. “No,” she said and turned back to stare out at the mountains.

  “I love her. I love you. This is not a big deal to me.”

  “Really?” she said, her tone lifeless. “That’s why you haven’t painted in years? Because it’s not a big deal to you?”

  “I didn’t have a reason to before. I do now.”

  “Lia,” she said, her voice soft. “I know you love her. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for everything you do for us. But it’s already too much. I’m not letting you give up more time or money for us.”

  “Wait here a second,” I said, ducking into the house and returning with my laptop. “I want to show you something.” I turned the screen around so she could see over a dozen open tabs in my browser. One by one, I clicked them. “If you don’t do Bethwell, I’m teaching her myself. Here’s all the different curricula I’m looking at. And if Chloe were any other kid, I’d say this was a great option. But you’re right; she needs to connect to other children. And she’s going to be overwhelmed by Bethwell, but I think they can help her. At those other schools? She’ll get lost. And you said before that it adds a lot of time for me to drive out to get her there instead of sending her around here. So you can either cost me time in commuting, or you can cost me time in homeschooling, or you can cost me time in letting me do my art and do the thing that will make us all happy by sending her to Bethwell. Let Dr. Bray work with her, Dani.”

  She rubbed her hands over face. “I want her to go to Bethwell.”

  I set my laptop down and hugged her. “I know. And she will.”

  She hugged me back. “You were never this bossy before.”

  “It’s one of those things I’ve learned since New York. You’ll send her to Bethwell?”

  She stepped back and nodded, brushing away the tears that had escaped. “Yeah. But I’m paying you back.”

  “Duh.” I didn’t care if she never paid it back, and even if she did, I’d stick it in an account for Chloe and hand it to her for college.“Now leave me alone out here so I can think artsy thoughts.”

  She stopped at the sliding door. “Thank you, Lia.”

  “Love you. Go away.”

  * * *

  Within two days, I had a new bank account with a fresh wire transfer from Victoria in it. The number in it should have sent me dancing around my kitchen, but it meant I was committed now. Stuck. The thought of trying to fill a series of canvases unnerved me. My art had always grown out of struggle, from the conflict that came from finding my place. At the point where my Western upbringing and my Manhattan existence crossed, paintings evolved, huge pieces designed to tackle the scale of my life and the way two places had taken equal root in my imagination.

  Through my art, I’d constantly been trying to figure out which place I belonged, trying to meld the two disparate experiences together into single pieces of art that captured the dichotomy.

  But now I knew where I belonged. And I’d tamed my life into something that made sense, with a structure and routine that stabilized the utter madness that the last two years in New York had been. I didn’t need to explore that chaos anymore. It was done and over. So where were the paintings supposed to come from now?

  I had the technical skill to paint anything I saw. The daffodil had proven that. But technical skill produced pleasant pictures. What I had been paid for was art, the kind that moved the viewer even if they didn’t understand their own reactions. I considered Victoria’s phrasing again. I wasn’t supposed to paint how the mountains looked; I needed to paint how they felt.

  I’d spent the last two afternoons on the deck, waiting for dusk to fall so I could study the way the fading sunlight fell on the mountains. And also on Griff. But mostly it was the light on the slopes I wanted to study.

  Okay, half alpine glow and half Griff.

  But Griff didn’t make an appearance, probably due to work at the restaurant,
and I had plenty of attention to give the problem of sunsets and mountain faces. Pencils were only the first step, so I’d made a trip to McGill’s for pastels and thick drawing paper. This afternoon had produced a whole ream of pages where the color was right but the work still lacked soul. I shoved the pastels aside and decided to try a straightforward landscape in watercolor to see where it led me. That meant setting up more of my McGill’s haul: an easel, the highest-grade paper, and a treasure trove of paint tubes.

  I was deep into an attempt at capturing Mt. Olympus while Chloe chased butterflies again when Griff’s back door slid open. I looked up and blinked to reorient myself. He blinked back, then smiled.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said, surprised by the wave of teenage awkwardness that washed over me. I wanted to thank him for the book, but I didn’t think that was allowed since he’d given it to me anonymously. “Thought you’d be at the restaurant tonight.”

  “It’s slowing down now that ski season is ending.”

  “You going to survive?”

  “Oh, sure. I’m on salary, so it doesn’t matter if it’s slow since I don’t need the tips.” He winced. “Sorry. That probably sounds insensitive. Uh, how’s the diner?”

  I grinned. “I meant are you going to survive the end of ski season.”

  He laughed. “No. I’ll be a shell of a man until November. But the diner is good?”

  “Yeah. Mornings are always hopping. I guess they do even better in the evening because a lot of the Pine Peak construction crews stop in for dinner, but the breakfast rush is great for me.”

  “Can I steal a look at what you’re doing?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s not great though. I’m trying to paint a feeling, and it’s not coming out right.”

  He leaned over the railing and studied the picture. “It’s amazing. Is that watercolor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have way more supplies out than you did last time. Is this going to be a thing now? Lia is to painting as Griff is to skiing?”

  “Not exactly. I know which skis you use. I’d have to sink a few hundred more dollars to get the fancy brushes and all that stuff to be as committed to watercolor as you are to the slopes. No judgment here though. There are worse obsessions.” Much worse. My mood dimmed as Donovan’s bloodshot eyes peered at me from the depths of my memory. I shuddered and pushed the image away.

  “You cold?” Griff asked, already unzipping the hoodie he wore like he was going to hand it over.

  “Not that kind of cold,” I said, finding a smile for him. “It’s fine. It feels pretty good out here.” In high school, Dani had had all the mad flirting skills. She’d probably have added something like, “It feels pretty good out here . . . because of you” and sell it like she meant it, but even the thought of saying something like that out loud heated my cheeks.

  Griff slipped his sweatshirt back on. “Yeah, it does. I can’t wait until we start getting the heat lightning though. It’s pretty cool to sit out here and watch it.”

  I imagined it. Painting on my deck at dusk, a storm putting on a light show at a safe distance, with Griff keeping me company? I could do that. I could so do that. Even without Dani’s ability to navigate men, I knew if I wanted anything to happen, I’d have to let Griff know his gifts and attention and Griffness were welcome.

  “I think I have an idea to help you through your ski withdrawals,” I said.

  “A time-share in Argentina? Their season will start soon.”

  “Ah, yes, my Argentinian time-share. Already gave that away. Sorry. But if you’ll play about a half hour of guitar for me, I think I might be able to give you something cool at the end.”

  “Deal,” he said, already pushing himself up from his chair.

  “Wait.” Second guesses had seized me as soon as I’d made the offer. “I can’t promise. I can only try.”

  “Good enough,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into his condo and reappeared moments later with his guitar. He sat down and tuned while I set up a fresh sheet of watercolor paper.

  “Bluegrass?” I wheedled. He grinned and set his fingers to plucking while I frowned up at Mt. Olympus and tried to figure out how to capture the hundreds of times I’d snowboarded down other mountain trails with Dani in hot pursuit. The memories relaxed me, and I plucked out the tubes I needed.

  Chloe ran over every now and then when she tired of an activity, dropping butterfly chasing for dolls, which she played by my feet, then abandoning those to dig in the dirt and bury plastic jewels.

  I was working on creating the impression of the snow when the hum of the Jeopardy! theme song drifted from Griff’s guitar. I grinned at him and scanned my work. Painting white is never about whiteness. It’s about all the colors around it, all the color reflected in the white surface you’re rendering, that create the character of white. I ran a critical eye over the painting I’d done. Not bad at all.

  “Show me,” he said. “And no pressure, but remember, this is supposed to save me from ski withdrawals.”

  I stood and turned the easel to face him. He rose and leaned his forearms on the rail as he studied my work. He reminded me of the old westerns my dad used to love, when the cowboys would hang out by a corral, leaning on the fence and watching the horses. He finally looked up at me and shook his head. “I can’t believe that half an hour ago that was a blank piece of paper.”

  “You saw me do it. No magic tricks.”

  “If it’s not magic, it’s something like it.”

  “We’re even, because I can’t believe that you can pluck a few strings and suddenly I’m front row at a private concert.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, but your painting wins. Not to be demanding, but when can I have it?” He leaned forward to peer more closely at my work.

  I’d painted the way the world had blurred past me the many times I’d hurtled down a black diamond trail, my snowboard carving up the powder, the sky and trees undulating in front of me with each mogul I took. The snow was there in the flash and sparkle of light refracted through diamonds, not white but utterly and completely snow nonetheless.

  He straightened. “That’s exactly how it feels,” he said, and his voice held a note of wonder that sent a bubble of happiness floating up from my stomach to tickle my chest.

  “Thank you. But the question is if it will be enough to save you from depression when you’re stuck with hot, sunny days full of barbecues and poolside lounging.”

  He smiled, and I returned it. I hadn’t dated anyone since Donovan. This new thing with Griff felt nothing like the wild, headlong plunge that falling for Donovan had been, but I liked it. The difference might even be why I liked it. There was an easiness to it, not a lack of effort but an effortlessness as natural as painting the daffodils had been.

  “How about if I grill some cedar-plank salmon for us while you finish so I can distract myself and not be a lurker?”

  I dragged my brush through some blue and red and waved him away. “Now I’m even more motivated to finish.”

  “That was my evil plan.”

  Within a couple of minutes, the comforting scent of grill char drifted on the air, and I painted with Chloe’s laughs as a sound track. She’d gone back to chasing butterflies. She never caught them and yet the chase was enough to make her happy.

  Sitting there with the smell of dinner cooking and the evening light slipping toward purple while Griff hummed to himself and kept an eye on the fish, it struck me that for the first time in years, my life felt as simple and as right as Chloe’s.

  Chapter 8

  I headed into the diner Saturday morning almost twitchy to see Aidan. I had a question for him, and the sooner I asked it, the sooner I could quit lying to myself about all of the motives behind it.

  He came in around eight, Chief by his side. As soon as they were settled, I tucked my pencil behind my ear and cleared my throat. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure,” he said, no hesitation. I liked that
.

  “First, before I ask, will you promise not to think we’re friends if I give you a piece of personal information about myself?”

  “Uh . . . I’m sorry. Did you say you have a favor to ask? Because this is a weird way of going about it.”

  “Do you promise?”

  He sighed. “Yes. We are absolutely not friends just because you tell me something about yourself.”

  “Good. Are you on the Pine Peaks jobsite?”

  “Yes, Sherlock. What gave me away?”

  “Calluses, work boots, and proximity,” I answered, ignoring his wry tone. “I promised my neighbor I’d paint something for him, but I need a better view than my back deck. Is there a way you can let me on to the property?”

  “To paint? Like . . . paintings?”

  “Yes. To paint paintings,” I said, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second when he heard how ridiculous it sounded.

  “Sorry. Um, yes. I can get you in there. I like art. What kind of paintings do you do?”

  I went with part of the truth. “Little watercolors. Nothing grand. But I’m guessing Pine Peaks probably has some great vistas, so I thought I’d ask.”

  “Is this your secret way of—”

  “Before I forget,” I cut him off, “could you make sure I get to paint in a spot where you aren’t?” His eyes narrowed, and I smiled sweetly. “I would never want to distract you at work. That’s kind of rude, right?” I asked, and that made him laugh out loud.

  “Tom!” I called.

  “I’m already pouring you some juice,” he called back.

  Aidan grinned. “I’ll get you on the jobsite, and you don’t have to do art near me. Happy?”

  “Perfect. I’m going to get my juice.”

  “Great. Come up on Monday and ask for Sully. He’ll decide where to put you.”

  * * *

  Two days later I pulled into a dirt lot and parked next to a large wooden sign proclaiming I’d reached “Pine Peak: A Vanguard Development Project.” Pickup trucks crowded the lot, and my compact car sat among them like a pony among Clydesdales, but that wasn’t what intimidated me into staying behind the steering wheel for another five minutes, even after pulling my keys from the ignition. I stared up the long slope, where trees had been cleared to make a ski run, and I sat guessing at which were beginner slopes all the way to black diamonds. I slapped an imaginary double black diamond sign on one that twisted nastily down one of the peaks and admitted defeat when I ran out of runs to label. I’d have to march myself up the dirt path that looked like it would be the bunny slope and find a dude named Sully.