by Tawna Fenske
Meg reached out and ran a finger over the hammered bronze surface, and he noticed how small her hand looked. Had he ever noticed that before?
You always noticed. You noticed everything about her.
“Did I read somewhere that you work mostly with reclaimed materials?” she asked.
“When I can get them, yes. All the copper in that piece over there came from the roof of an old office building that got torn down near the Pearl District last winter. See all the punched tin on that piece over there?”
“This one?”
“It’s an old barn roof. And that steel right there came out of the old mental institution in Salem.”
“Is it finished?”
“Not quite.”
“The mental institution, huh? Is the piece called Looney Bin?”
He laughed. “Believe it or not, I considered that. Also Bughouse, Funny Farm, and Coocoo Shack.”
“So what’s it called?”
“Fluidity Number Nine.”
“I was close.” She reached out to touch it. “It’s beautiful. Very rough and raw, but it still manages to be fluid and graceful.”
“Yes,” he said, thinking he’d had art critics describe his work that way before, but it had never meant as much as hearing those words from Meg. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you the gallery. That’s where all the finished pieces are.”
He led her through a narrow hallway, maneuvering around piles of stainless steel and a pile of old car parts he’d been meaning to tear apart. “Careful of that stack right there. It’s a little tippy.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Tippy, not tipsy.”
“I know. I’m permanently poised to fall over, remember? I hope you have good insurance.”
“I think I’m covered.” He stopped at the end of the hallway, making Meg crash into his back. “Sorry,” he said.
“You did that on purpose.”
She was probably teasing, but it was a little bit true. He’d wanted to feel her pressed up close against him, to have her body up against his in the darkness. Feeling guilty, he hit the light switch.
A bright wash of light filled the gallery, spotlighting the twinkling array of copper and steel, tin and bronze. The pieces in here were mostly large, with a few smaller ones filling in space along the walls and shelves. He even had a small case of jewelry near the front, though he didn’t make a lot of it.
The space was airy and open with knotty maple floors and walls painted the color of vanilla bean ice cream. There were lights scattered all over the space, positioned to illuminate the artwork. A faint hint of sage hung in the air, and Kyle ran a hand over the pedestal that held a metal bowl he’d filled with small pinecones and bits of high desert foliage.
Meg stepped forward and Kyle watched her face to gauge her reaction. Her gaze skittered from one piece to the next, and she pivoted to take in the whole space. “Holy cow,” she breathed. “You made all this?”
“Yep,” he said, trying not to beam like a smug bastard.
“This piece is beautiful.” She reached out as though to touch it, then drew her hand back and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. “I love the branches and the trunk and the way it all flows together.”
“Thank you. Trees are one of my favorite subjects.”
“Is this copper?”
“Nope, steel. But I used a salt and vinegar solution on it and then set it out in the sunlight to oxidize. It gives me the strength of steel but the patina of copper.”
“Very nice.” She squinted at the label on the pedestal of a smaller brass and pewter piece on the shelf. “Karma?” She stroked a hand down the figure’s back, then laughed. “You sculpted your dog?”
“I made that right after she died.”
“How sweet.” She turned and looked at him. “Do you have a favorite?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
He hesitated. “It’s not here. It’s back at my house.”
“Can I see it sometime?”
“Maybe sometime,” he agreed, deliberately vague.
“Did Matt have a favorite?”
Kyle shrugged, fighting the urge to feel annoyed that all conversations seemed to loop back to Matt. Was that the only connection between them? He hoped not, but maybe he was fooling himself.
“I’m not really sure Matt had a favorite,” he said. “He liked that one in the front window, but I always thought it was because it’s the most expensive.”
“Probably a good guess.” Meg wandered over to it, and Kyle watched her as she took in the shape of it, the curves and angles and edges. She gave an almost infinitesimal shrug and moved on, strolling the perimeter of the gallery.
He stood rooted in place, watching as she touched and admired and bent down to peer more closely at a grouping of smaller figurines on a low shelf. He watched where she lingered, wondering if there were certain pieces that spoke to her more than others. He’d had thousands of people study his art over the years, and couldn’t think of a time he cared this much what someone thought of it.
She stepped into the center of the gallery, seeming to notice the giant calla lily for the first time. “Whoa,” she said, standing on tiptoe to peer inside. “This one’s cool.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s huge.” Her voice echoed a little as her chin brushed the edge of the petal, and she stood on tiptoe to peer deeper into the flower. “What’s the story behind this one?”
He grinned. “You want the story I tell my mother, or the real story?”
She pulled her head out of the lily. “Which one’s true?”
“There’s a little truth to both stories, I guess.”
“Then let’s hear them both.”
Kyle nodded, and rubbed a palm down the leg of his jeans. “If you ask my mother, I was inspired by the calla lilies my father brought her for Easter brunch last year. It’s a representation of family harmony and tradition and the love my parents have shared for forty-three years.”
Meg folded her arms over her chest. “And the real story?”
“The real story is that it’s a stylized representation of Cara’s . . .” he stopped, clearing his throat in hopes that Meg could fill in the blank herself.
It took her a few beats, but he knew she’d gotten it the instant her eyes widened. She took a step back. “Oh,” she said, glancing at the lily again. “Ew?”
“Not ew. Not at all. The female body is beautiful.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just thinking I might not have stuck my head so far inside it if I’d known.” She walked around to the other side of it, her discomfort seeming to give way to curiosity. “It is beautiful, you’re right.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll tell Cara you thought so.”
She laughed and trailed a hand over the stem. “You’re still in touch?”
“Not like that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “So she knows her lady-business is on display in your gallery for everyone to see?”
“Well, it’s not like there’s a label on it that says, ‘Here’s my ex-girlfriend’s bikini biscuit.’”
“Bikini biscuit?” She snorted. “That’s a new one.”
“You prefer hush puppy? Coochie? Honey pot? Panty hamster? Cave of wonders?”
“God,” she said, laughing. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
Kyle grinned, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. He decided it might be a little of both. “Besides trees, the female form is one of my favorite subjects, though I don’t usually focus on a single part of the anatomy.”
“I’ll be watching for your display of kneecaps in the future.” She walked around to the other side of the sculpture, and Kyle felt an unexpected surge of pride at how intrigued she seemed. “It’s really intricate. The sculpture, I mean. I can’t comment on Cara’s bajingo.”
“Thanks. It’s sturdy enough it could be di
splayed outside if someone wanted that. The sculpture, not Cara’s lady garden.”
Meg snorted. “Please don’t feel the need to elaborate on its ability to withstand weather conditions like intense moisture or pounding heat.”
“You said it, not me.”
Meg took another step to the side, coming full circle now to stand beside him. “Does it ever weird you out a little? Having your ex-girlfriend’s vajayjay right there in the middle of your gallery?”
He shrugged. “Not really, though it sometimes makes me laugh to have people stroking it or asking how much it costs.”
“How much does it cost?”
He nodded to the price tag near the corner of the base, and watched her eyes go wide again. “Holy cow. That’s one expensive cha-cha.”
“Literally and metaphorically.”
“What do you mean?”
Kyle shrugged. “Cara got the house when we split.”
“I didn’t know you bought a house.” Meg frowned. “Wait, you bought a house together, but you didn’t want to get married?”
“I thought it was a good compromise.”
Meg rolled her eyes, then ran her palm over the stem again. “I think it would weird me out, having this constant reminder of a failed relationship.”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t really see it like that. Whether there’s tangible evidence or not, aren’t exes always sort of hovering around the periphery of our day-to-day lives?”
“I suppose that’s true.” He watched as she tugged at her earlobe, then flushed a bright crimson.
He grinned. “Confession number one—”
“No!” She shook her head, backing away from the calla lily. “Sorry, I’m pleading the fifth on this one.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be. It’s just—some things are okay to stay secret, don’t you think?”
“If you say so.”
Meg wandered away from the sculpture, ending up back in the corner where they’d started. “This is amazing, Kyle. You should be very proud of what you’ve built for yourself.”
“Thank you. I am.”
She folded her arms over her chest and regarded him with a look he knew signaled a shift in conversation. “So,” she said, leaning back against the wall with her eyes locked on his. “Ready to tell me why you wanted me to come here?”
CHAPTER NINE
Kyle cleared his throat, not sure he was ready yet to transition to the lecture part of the evening, but knowing she was onto him. “You don’t think I brought you here just to see my gallery?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Nope. It’s very nice, but that’s not what this is about.”
“Thank you.” Kyle sighed and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “All right, Meg. I brought you here because I wanted you to see for yourself how much heart and soul and sweat and tears and dedication and love and personal experience goes into an artist’s work.”
“I can see that,” she said, her voice wary now.
“And I wanted you to consider my mother’s case from that point of view. From Matt’s point of view.”
She stared at him for a moment, then looked up at the ceiling. When she turned back to him, her expression was guarded.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you taking her side? You and your mom have never gotten along that well. Or is it about taking Matt’s side?” She frowned at that notion, seeming to consider it. “But the two of you were always at each other’s throats. Literally, at least once that I remember.”
She didn’t need to say anything else. Kyle remembered the fight like it was yesterday, even though it had happened nearly six years ago. They’d been drinking beer and bullshitting about a gallery opening they’d attended the week before. When Kyle made the mistake of telling Matt his new metallic print of a race car looked a little over-processed, Matt had responded by shoving Kyle.
He’d tried to pretend it was playful, but Matt’s words had been anything but.
At least I’m earning a living off my art, baby brother. Just last week, I had a photo on the cover of Men’s Health, and here you are three months behind on your power bill.
Meg had been the one to pull them apart, ordering them to separate corners of the room like a pair of squabbling children. In hindsight, Matt’s bouts of temper were probably a sign of the depression lurking deep in his big brother’s psyche, but that hadn’t occurred to Kyle until years later.
Kyle cleared his throat. “I remember the fight, Meg.” He felt his chest growing tight and he folded his arms over it to keep his heart in. “Obviously, that wasn’t the proudest moment for either of us. Matt or me.”
“Obviously.”
“He was still my brother.”
They let those words hang between them a moment, neither of them willing to concede. Clearly, this battle wasn’t going to be won tonight. The lawsuit or any of the rest of it. Maybe it was best to just drop the subject and let things shake out in the court system.
But didn’t he owe it to Matt to at least take a stab at defending his legacy? Didn’t Matt deserve his loyalty, after all?
Meg dropped her hands to her sides. “That cookbook was my baby, Kyle.”
“I know that. But it takes more than one person to make a baby.”
She looked at him, then shook her head slowly. “You know, that’s actually a good analogy. You seem to be looking at this whole cookbook thing like Matt and I rolled around naked together and produced it.”
Kyle winced, wondering if she knew that the idea of his brother rolling around naked with Meg was the last thing he wanted to imagine.
“But the thing is,” Meg continued, “it wasn’t like that. I know you weren’t privy to our conversations, so it’s my word against your brother’s. But the way it happened was more like a sperm donation.”
“You’re equating Matt’s photos to that?”
“In a way, yes. I went to the sperm bank, paid my fee, went home with the turkey baster and—”
“Okay, I get it,” he said, not sure whether he was more annoyed or turned on by the picture she was painting.
Meg sighed. “I know we didn’t have legal contracts in place, and believe me, I regret that. But this is like the sperm donor’s family coming after the baby. Or not even the baby—more like the income the baby makes when it suddenly becomes a stockbroker and makes millions in spite of the fact that the sperm donor and his family scoffed at the baby and never believed he’d amount to anything and—”
“Okay, Meg,” he said. “You’ve made your point.” Her words had touched a nerve, though he didn’t want to admit it. He felt something tearing him in two. Half of him wanted to prove loyalty to his brother, to make up for some of the shitty things between them over the years. But part of him knew what it felt like to be that damn baby. Or to produce a baby no one believed in or—
Hell, he was getting lost in the damn metaphors, and maybe this whole conversation was pointless anyway. He raked his fingers through his hair, not sure where to go from here.
It was Meg who extended the olive branch first. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish things were different.”
“Me, too.”
“I want us to be friends again.”
Kyle felt his heart twist. “So do I.”
“How about we agree not to talk about this stuff? About the lawsuit or the cookbook or anything having to do with your family.”
“That seems like a tall order.”
She shrugged and shoved her hands in her back pockets, which gave her a softer, more approachable look. Not that Kyle should be approaching her. Not that way, at least.
“I’m willing to try,” she said.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“Friends?”
“Friends,” he confirmed.
The silence between them stretched out for a good long while, making it clear the friendship thing was easier said than do
ne. A clock jittered loudly in the corner, and Kyle wondered if he should just take Meg home. It was getting late, and it had been a helluva long day for both of them.
“Why did you ask me to bring the ring?”
Her voice startled him, and it took him a moment to figure out what the hell she was talking about. He’d almost forgotten, but it seemed like the perfect chance to move on to something more constructive. “I’ll show you,” he said, moving past her and into the hallway. He flipped the lights off in the gallery and heard her hustling behind him to catch up. She was only a foot or two behind, but he still gave a start when she touched his arm.
“Oops,” she murmured, latching on to his shirtsleeve. “I have terrible night vision.”
“My fault—I should get lights in this hall.” He stopped walking and fished in his pocket. “Dammit, I left my phone in the studio.”
She laughed. “You’re going to call an electrician?”
“No, I was going to use a flashlight app.”
“It’s okay, I can just hold on to you.”
She was still clutching his sleeve, and Kyle looked down at the dark outline of her hand on his arm, conscious of how very close she was. It was too dark to see her face, but he could feel the heat from her body and it made his blood begin to simmer. A wisp of her hair floated on a current from the heat duct overhead, and Kyle fought the urge to tuck it behind her ear. What was it about being alone in the darkness with her that brought out the urge to do foolish things?
He heard her breathing beside him and felt the warmth of her fingers through the thin cotton of his sleeve. It seemed unusually hot in the hallway, and the scent of flowers in her hair was making him dizzy enough to do something dumb.
Meg must have read his mind. “You’re thinking about that kiss in the closet, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“Because so am I.” Her grip tightened on his arm.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it all day.”
“Me neither.”
His heart was pounding in his throat, and he tried to remind himself of the million and one reasons this was a terrible, horrible idea.
But all the reasons were clouded together and jumbled with the singular thought of how very, very badly he wanted to kiss her again. To twine his fingers in her curls and angle her mouth toward his, to run his hand up her side and feel her hot and alive beneath his palm.