by Elle Spencer
“Are you trying to talk me out of it? You know it wouldn’t be that hard.”
Patty wagged her finger. “Oh no, you don’t, Lindsay Hall. You’re not taking it back now.” She grabbed Lindsay’s shoulders and pushed her toward the door but stopped and wrapped her arms around her from behind before she could leave. “Whoever that boy is, you know I love him too, right?”
“I know.”
“Then trust me to do my job. I’ll make sure he goes to someone who sees him.”
“No asshole investors who made their money in hedge funds?”
“Linds. Seriously? You know me better than that. I’ll make sure he goes to someone who loves him.”
Tears threatened to fill Lindsay’s eyes. She and Patty had been friends since grade school. They kept each other’s secrets, and in a small town like Salt Creek, where gossip spread like wildfire, it was important to have a friend like that.
Patty was also the only person she allowed in her studio besides Brooke. She released herself from Patty’s embrace and turned to face her. “I know, Pattycakes. And I love you for it.”
“And you’d tell me if something was up, wouldn’t you?”
Would painting the face of a woman she’d only seen in her dreams for sixteen hours be considered troubling? She wasn’t ready to talk about the painting with anyone. Not even Patty. “I’m not like Mrs. Stokely. I don’t sit in the same place, painting the same picture.” But she did exactly that, didn’t she? “I mean, he’s not a photograph I have clipped to my easel.”
Patty took hold of her shoulders. “I know that. He’s up here.” She tapped Lindsay’s forehead. Then she pressed her palm to Lindsay’s heart. “And here. Hold on. My phone is buzzing.” She went to walk away but stopped. “Seriously, Linds? I know what you look like when you’re worried. What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing—” Lindsay stopped herself. “Actually, there is something. I was in the studio all night. Brooke caught me. She wasn’t happy.”
Patty waved the comment off. “Oh, she just wants you to be like all of the other boring moms in this town, but you’re a badass painter of CEOs and politicians. And a beloved pet every now and then.” Patty went back to her desk. “And by the way, I think you’re talented as hell, but anyone who’d pay your rate for a painting of their cat has too much money.”
Lindsay took a few hesitant steps back into the gallery. “It’s a woman.” Her words were barely audible. A part of her hoped Patty hadn’t heard. Why couldn’t she just keep these things to herself?
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, I heard you.” Patty stood there with a look of shock. “You promised, Linds. Back in high school, you said I’d be the first to know if you were ever with a woman.”
Lindsay remembered it clearly. I don’t just like boys, you know. It was a truth she would have shared eventually, but at that moment, she’d been lamenting the fact that her life had quite suddenly and very unexpectedly been mapped out for her. What that had to do with the woman in the painting escaped her. “Why bring that up?”
“You just said Brooke caught you in the studio with a woman.”
Lindsay slapped a hand over her eyes. “Oh God. OMG, no!” She spread her fingers apart just enough so she could see Patty, who was scowling. She took her hand away. “How could you think I’d bring someone out to my workspace to, I don’t know, screw around?”
“How could I possibly have had a crush on you almost our entire senior year? When you smelled like baby vomit? And your boobs got ginormous, and you’d stopped showering? How desperate could I be?”
Lindsay gasped. “I never stopped showering. I was just young and depressed because I was forced to marry a boy I didn’t love. And also, what crush?”
“Oh, shut up, Linds. You know I was crushing on you in high school. I hated that you had to marry him. For me and for you. So, yeah, you bring up some woman in the studio, and I…I…kind of want to kick her ass back to wherever she came from. Is that wrong of me?”
“Yes,” Lindsay said. “High school crush or not, it’s not your place to kick anyone’s ass, and you couldn’t anyway because she doesn’t really exist.”
The silence was deafening.
“I spent all night painting her, just like I did the first time I ever painted Timmy, you know?”
Patty softened her tone. “I don’t know. Not completely. You have this other world that I can’t see. You have memories I don’t have. And I can’t see the pictures in your head, Linds.”
Lindsay nodded.
“I know something has you obsessing over a boy you’ve never met. And now you’re telling me there’s a woman? Is it Roo?”
Lindsay winced. Patty respected that she felt she’d lived before, in another time, another place, with a woman she only knew as Roo. But Patty didn’t fully understand, couldn’t understand. “Yes, it’s Roo.”
“How do you know?”
Images of a woman with dark brown hair and red lips flashed through Lindsay’s mind. She was walking on a beach in a floral summer dress. She turned around and smiling, said, I love this beach, and I love you, Katie Jane.
The feeling was most certainly mutual. To Lindsay, it was as if she could feel everything Katie felt for Roo. All of the love and passion. All of the pain. Everything. This woman, Roo, belonged to her.
“Linds?”
Lindsay opened her eyes. “I know what Roo looks like. I know her face. Every freckle. Every laugh line. The small scar above her eyebrow. It’s Roo. I’ve never painted her before, but for some reason, I had to last night. She had to come out of my head and onto a canvas.”
Patty seemed surprised. “Never? I mean, I kind of always figured you had paintings you didn’t show anyone. Not even me.”
Lindsay shook her head. “Not of Roo. I just, I don’t know, I guess I always wanted to keep her just for me.”
“I’d love to see this person you think you shared another life with. Is she pretty? Is she happy and smiling or sad and crying? What is she wearing? You said she has freckles. Lots of them or just a few? I’m dying to know, Linds. I’ve wanted to know ever since the first time you told me about her in high school.”
To Lindsay, it felt as if she’d always known Roo, but the memories only came to her by accident. Or fate, depending on how she looked at it. She and Patty had been bored on a rainy Saturday afternoon, so they’d gone to a tag sale looking for a cheap video. They’d found a set of CDs that were supposed to guide people through a past life regression. What had happened next would change Lindsay’s life forever, in more ways than she could count.
“I think I’ve never painted Roo because I’ve been afraid that if I did, I’d lose the memories of her. Of us. Together. It’s like, Timmy comes to life on canvas. With Roo, she already comes to me alive. You know?”
“No, I don’t know. But you’ve said you and Roo were like, together, together, right? Do you have memories of that part?”
Lindsay nodded. “Yeah. Together, together.”
“Huh.” Patty shrugged. “Maybe it won’t be like Timmy. You’ve only painted Roo once.”
“Yes. But it wasn’t like painting a client’s portrait.” Lindsay tried to think of a better description. “It was like I was experiencing her, not painting her.”
“I don’t mean to be flip, but it sounds kind of erotic.”
Lindsay turned away and walked over to the window. She could feel her cheeks heating up. “I don’t know if that’s the right word for it, but kinda, yeah.”
Patty let out a long, low whistle. “Wow. I need to see this painting. Can I come over for dinner tonight?”
Lindsay turned back around. “How did my emotional turmoil turn into me making you dinner?”
“Well, you’ve got to eat, and it just so happens I find myself unexpectedly free.”
“Did you break up with that hairstylist? What was her name?”
“Oh! You mean, Stacy—I love your curls, now
let me cut them all off—Peters? Yeah, I don’t care how good you are in bed, you don’t mess with the hair. Plus, the forty-five-minute drive was kind of killing me.”
“Right. They always say true love wins. Unless there’s an inconvenient commute.”
“Or a bad haircut.” Patty had thick, curly brown hair that she hardly ever cut. She loved her damn hair, but Lindsay wouldn’t have minded seeing what Stacy had in mind. She’d never met Stacy, but she empathized with her desire for a new look.
“Come by around seven,” Lindsay said. “I’ll make your favorite.” She opened the door and noticed that the accompanying sound of a little bell had been replaced with a computer-generated gong. “Where’s the bell? I love the bell.”
“I updated the security system. Can’t have anyone stealing Mrs. Stokely’s ‘originals.’” She put finger quotes around the last word.
“I’ll miss it,” Lindsay said. “It always made me feel at home.”
Patty threw her hands in the air. “Fine, I’ll put the ancient bell back on the door. God, I hate how wrapped around your little finger I am.”
Lindsay shouted over her shoulder, “Don’t be late, or I’ll feed your share to Sir Barksalot!”
* * *
Brooke stopped dead in her tracks and sniffed the air. “Is Aunt Patty coming over for dinner? I smell tater tot casserole.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and sat at the kitchen island.
“She is.” Lindsay dipped her pinkie finger in the vinaigrette and tasted it. “More mustard. Wasn’t Corey supposed to stay for dinner tonight?”
Brooke grabbed a few grapes from a bowl of fruit sitting between them. “That car she drives isn’t free, Mom. It comes with lots of strings attached.” She sighed. “It sucks being a kid. I can’t wait until I can choose my own breakfast cereal and movies and boys.”
Lindsay quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t choose the boys you hang out with.” She shrugged. “Much as I’d like to sometimes.”
“It’s Dad and his unreasonable expectations,” Brooke said. “Those boys are just kids too. They don’t need to have their whole lives planned out right now. And besides, he’s such a hypocrite.”
“Your dad? How so?”
“He didn’t even wear a condom. Only tools do that.”
Lindsay sighed. “He was young, Brooke. I was young. It just happened. And P.S., it’s the whole reason you’re here.”
“Oh my God,” Brooke exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I’d be in if I came home and said, ‘it just happened. Hope you’re ready to be grandparents at thirty-four’?”
She had a point. Evidently, Patty thought so too. She came into the kitchen and set a bottle of wine on the counter. “You’d be grounded until your poor child, God help him, her, or however that beautiful little cherub identified, turned thirty-four. Then and only then would you be allowed to have a life.”
Brooke threw a fist in the air. “Preach, sister.”
Patty grabbed Brooke by the chin. “If you even think about getting pregnant before you’re twenty-five, I’ll tie those tubes with my bare hands.”
Brooke’s eyes widened. “Wow, Auntie Pattycakes. Way to escalate that shi…oot, is something burning?”
Lindsay smirked. “Nice save. And listen to your auntie. She’s a very wise old woman.”
Patty gasped. “We’re two months apart!”
“Your hair and clothes say different.”
It was Brooke’s turn to gasp. “Mom!”
“What? The tie-dyed muumuu look screams, I don’t shave anything. Ever.”
“Mom!” Brooke’s mouth hung open. She turned to Patty and whispered, “Really? Nothing?”
Patty laughed. “First of all, muumuus are in now. They’re the new yoga pants. And don’t argue with me because if it’s in People, it must be true. Second, don’t listen to your mom. I would like to have sex again sometime this century. Not that my privates should be a topic of dinner conversation.” Patty glared at Lindsay and made a slicing motion across her neck.
“You can say vagina in front of me, Aunt Patty. This kitchen island…” Brooke made a circling motion with her hand. “Is a safe zone. Anyone can say anything they’re feeling or thinking as long as you start with the words I’d like to be in the safe zone right now. Oh, but don’t cuss, or you’ll owe a buck to the swear jar. Five if it’s an f-bomb.”
“Gee,” Patty said. “I’m so old, I remember when an f-bomb was only fifty cents.”
Lindsay shrugged. “Inflation.”
“Yeah, but I’ve basically funded Brooke’s college education, which I have to wonder, was that your goal all along? And if so, when does it stop?”
Brooke turned to Lindsay. “Yeah, Mom. It’s kinda pointless since I’m, you know, almost an adult. It’s not like I haven’t heard every single swear word there is to hear. Plus, it’s embarrassing. It’s not like any of my friend’s moms have a swear jar.”
“None of them have Patty Potty Mouth for a best friend, either.” Lindsay threw her hands in the air. “Fine. No more swear jar.”
Patty and Brooke gave each other high fives and a couple of hip bumps. Lindsay opened the oven and checked on the casserole. She turned back around to find Patty staring at her. “What?”
“Is this safe zone a real thing? Like, you can really say anything, and it’ll be okay?”
Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Oh God.”
Brooke pulled Patty over to the kitchen island. “Just say the words I told you to say.”
Patty cleared her throat. “I’d like to be in the safe zone right now.”
Lindsay wanted to laugh when Brooke gave Patty a reassuring pat on the back. But then she realized there was a real look of fear in Patty’s eyes. “What is it, Cakes?”
Patty took a deep breath, looked Lindsay right in the eye and said, “Linds, I’ve never liked your tater tot casserole.”
Brooke’s eyes widened. “But it’s your favorite, Aunt Patty.”
Lindsay’s mouth gaped open. “What?”
Patty put her hands on the island. “I’m in the safe zone.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened just one.
“Since Brooke was born it’s been your favorite,” Lindsay said. “I’ve probably made it a hundred times for you.”
“More,” Patty said. “I swear, I’ve eaten those tots at least three hundred times.”
“Four hundred-ish,” Brooke said. “You know, if you really do the math, ’cause I’m seventeen, and if you figure twice a month for seventeen years—”
“That’s enough, smarty-pants.” Lindsay teased. “And three or four hundred-ish times, you chose to what, gag down the meal I’d worked so hard on?”
Patty put up her hands. “Okay, just hear me out. I had a good reason because for a long time, it was all you knew how to make when company came over, so of course, I complimented you on it. We were kids, Linds, and I wanted you to feel like you were being the grown-up you were forced to be. No offense, Brooke.”
“None taken.” Brooke looked at Lindsay. “I love your tater tot casserole, Mom. No lie. Corey too. Yeah, she drowns it in ketchup, but she drowns everything in ketchup.”
Lindsay’s anger turned into hurt and disappointment. “What kind of a friend would lie for years like that?” She shoved the oven mitts on her hands, pulled the piping hot casserole out, and tossed it on the stove.
“Well, first of all, in my defense, I would like to point out that I have not—after all these years—been apprised of the existence of the safe zone. So like, WTF is that?” Patty folded her arms across her chest. “And really, Linds, this is good news if you think about it. I’m mean, you don’t ever have to go to so much effort on my account again. We can order pizza or tacos. Help me out here, Brooke. You’re the one who got me into this mess.”
Lindsay glared at her. “Brooke can’t save you when you’ve been lying for our entire friendship. How can I ever trust you again?”
Patty made a circling motion with her hand. “What abou
t the safe zone?”
“But that was harsh, Aunt Patty. Like, savage harsh. The safe zone is for stuff like, I tried smoking a cigarette, but I promise never to do it again. Or I’m thinking about having sex, but not really. You circled around to casserole, so you’re kinda on your own there.”
Patty threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t know there were parameters! And how is casserole a bigger deal than sex?” She rounded the island. “Linds, please.”
Lindsay backed away. “I’m going to my studio. You two can fend for yourself.” She pretended to be furious, but she gave Brooke a quick wink on the way out the door.
* * *
Ten minutes was longer than Lindsay thought it would take, but she had a beer waiting for Patty when she showed up at the studio door. She kept her eyes on the pencil sketch in front of her and held out the bottle. Patty took the beer and sat where she always did, on an old stool Lindsay had picked up in a secondhand store. Sometimes she needed distance from her work, and the stool by the door gave her just enough. “Don’t touch anything.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I mean it every time.” Lindsay took another sip of beer. “Don’t tell Brooke I keep beer out here.”
“Little Miss Nosy Pants doesn’t already know? She’s like a freaking investigative journalist. You can’t even keep Christmas presents hidden from her.”
Lindsay rapped her knuckles on a tall box she’d covered in drop cloths and set behind her easel. “As long as she has access to the other minifridge with the yogurt and coffee creamer, her nosy little ass never imagines Mom would hide another fridge, right?”
Patty’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. What else do you keep in there? Chocolate?”
“Of course. And maybe some weed.”
“You do not. I haven’t seen you smoke since—”
“Last fall on the cape?” Lindsay opened the fridge and pulled out a beer for herself. “I know I grew up fast, but come on. I’m hardly in a retirement home.”
“No, love, you’re just a recluse.” Patty took a swig of her beer. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to give my standard-issue ‘it’s time you thought about dating because you deserve to be happy’ lecture.” She set the beer down and gave Lindsay a smile. “You know, Linds, it was good to see Brooke stick up for you back there. I think she’s so lucky to have a mom as cool as you.”