by Karis Walsh
Mel gestured at a bench near the windows. “There’s an extra brush over there.”
Pam knelt next to Mel and dipped her brush in the wash. She swept on the glaze with long sure strokes. Mel watched her hand move, her fingers flexing with the brush as if it were part of her. “Why are you here?”
Pam didn’t look up. “I brought the fifth painting.”
“Oh, I see.” Pam had finished her commission. She had come to tie up loose ends, to be free from Mel and their business deal. She couldn’t think of any small talk, so she continued painting in silence.
Pam seemed satisfied with the quiet, and between the two of them they quickly finished the remaining cabinet doors.
Pam stood up. “These are going to be beautiful in your kitchen,” she said. “I love the muted color.”
“Thank you. And thanks for your help,” Mel said. Pam would probably want to drop off the painting and collect her check without sticking around, but Mel had to be a polite host. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee sounds great,” Pam said. “I’ll get the painting out of my car and meet you inside.”
Mel wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by Pam’s willingness to stay or by her friendly smile. She got a pot of coffee going and then went into the living room where Pam was unwrapping the painting.
She set it on the mantle and turned to Mel.
“What do you think?”
Mel stared at the whale breaching, its mottled gray coat and the blue sky and waves accented by the sparkling spray of tiny sea glass chips. Mel could feel the powerful joy Pam had managed to convey with simple stones and tubes of paint. No matter how many of Pam’s paintings Mel would be privileged to see, she’d never look at one without the same feeling of awe she had experienced on that long-ago August day. When she had first spotted the seascape and had been startled and amazed by Pam’s talent and drawn to the artist behind the brushstrokes.
Since then, Mel had learned about Pam. Pam didn’t just depict emotion in her paintings. She lived it, experienced it. Whatever she felt moved through her and spread outward, onto the canvas. The whale was Pam breaking free, resurfacing as an artist. Mel knew Pam’s struggle, knew she had been weakened by pain until even lifting a brush was too much effort. And she knew the profound release Pam must have felt as she painted this gravity-defying creature. What Mel didn’t know was where she fit in Pam’s new future.
“Well?” Pam prompted.
“I’ve been wrong before,” Mel said. “I’ve looked at your paintings and wanted to see something hopeful even when it wasn’t what you meant people to see. I’m afraid to interpret it the wrong way again.”
“Mel, I painted this for you. I know how you see my art, what you find there even when I’m too scared to admit it to myself. You won’t be wrong.”
“Then I need to hear you say it,” Mel said, still facing the whale, unable to look at Pam. “I see what you painted, but I need to hear the words.”
Pam stepped close enough to touch Mel, but she kept her hands to herself for the moment. “I love you,” she said. “I love you because you wanted to learn how to hang a painting by yourself. Because you make sanding and digging and installing water heaters seem like fun. And because you gave me back my art.”
Mel released her held breath when Pam finally touched her.
Simply rested her palms on Mel’s hips, against her worn cotton sweatpants. And it felt suddenly, explosively right. Pam was touching her like she was supposed to do, like she was meant to do. No chasing after an attraction that wasn’t there from the first moment. No one else’s hands should be where Pam’s were. Where they belonged. Just as suddenly, Mel felt all her regrets vanish. Lingering regrets about her past, the choices she’d made, the way she’d lived her life. She wouldn’t change any of her past decisions even if she had the chance because they suddenly had a meaning, a purpose. Because they had brought her here, into this house, into Pam’s arms.
“I love you, too,” Mel said, turning to face Pam without pulling away. The words were too simple to convey the gratitude, the happiness, the elation she felt. She slid her thumb along Pam’s jawline, her hand into Pam’s hair, pulling her close and kissing her.
Pam had to use her art to say things she couldn’t put into words. Mel knew her kiss would do the same thing. Would tell Pam everything she needed to know.
Pam pulled Mel’s hips against her as they kissed. She was torn between arousal and an overwhelming urge to weep in relief. The journey had been so long, so lonely, so exhausting. But Pam needed to stop looking back at the past. She slipped her hands under the waistband of Mel’s paint-smeared sweatpants and felt the much more fascinating texture of her lace panties. A tantalizing promise, a hint of passion. She pushed Mel backward, not breaking their kiss, until they bumped into the sofa. Pam stripped off Mel’s sweatpants and nudged her into a seated position. She straddled Mel’s hips.
“I want you,” Pam said, taking Mel’s chin in her hands. “All of you. I want to listen to you talk about your inn every night. What you repaired, what you painted, how much laundry you did. I want Danny to be best man when we have our wedding in the garden we made.
I even want your damned guests to wander through my studio while I’m painting.”
Mel laughed. A perfect song. Relaxed and happy. Pam slid off Mel’s lap and knelt between her knees.
“I want…you, too,” Mel said, her voice catching as she lifted her hips so Pam could pull off her panties. “I want to trip over your easels and hunt for sea glass with you and—oh, yes, that’s nice—have your paintings covering all my walls.”
Pam heard Mel’s voice falter to a stop as her fingers gently wound through Pam’s hair. No more words were necessary. Pam had been so afraid to trust another person with her heart and her emotions and her creativity. But Mel would take care of them, cherish them.
And Pam would do the same for Mel. Simple as that. Their future was a blank canvas, but Pam wasn’t scared of it anymore. She and Mel would paint it together.
Mel struggled to control her breathing, determined to make this moment last a lifetime. Pam’s mouth on her, their bodies and souls connected. Mel had fought against losing herself in a relationship, losing her identity again. She glanced at Pam’s mosaic. This painting represented everything strong and beautiful about Pam. Her talent, her sensitivity, her honesty. But it didn’t overshadow the wall Mel had painted, the fireplace she had tiled, the wainscoting she had stained. The mosaic didn’t eclipse Mel’s more practical expressions of creativity. It enhanced them. Mel turned her attention back to Pam and her increasingly insistent tongue. She closed her eyes and gave in to the irresistible force of her orgasm. Finally, after so many years, she was home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pam turned her sketch pad so it was horizontal and separated the large page into several panels with light strokes of her pencil. She drew an outline of the cove in each square. The pine-covered bluff, the distant lighthouse, the jagged basalt formations.
“I guess I shouldn’t have been so worried about him drowning,” Mel said.
Pam glanced at Mel. She sat low in her folding chair, one long leg draped over its canvas arm. An interior design magazine was propped open on her lap, and her mouth curved in a half smile. Pam reached out and rubbed her hand along Mel’s thigh. She loved the lack of interruption between desire and action. Loved being able to touch Mel, hold her hand, kiss her so freely, with no need to hide or suppress her desire. Loved the way Mel’s smile deepened at her caress.
With effort, Pam shifted her attention to the beach in front of them. Danny lay on his stomach on the hard-packed sand. He braced his arms and swung up to a crouched position on the surfboard and then stood with his knees bent.
“He’ll be in the water soon enough,” Pam said as Danny repeated the motion several times. She felt a pleasant rush of pride as she watched how fluid his movements were. “He’s a natural. See? There they go.”
Dann
y turned and waved before he picked up the surfboard and waded into the water with his instructor. Mel waved back and then took hold of Pam’s hand where it rested on her leg.
“Ouch,” Pam said. Mel appeared at ease, but she tightened her grip on Pam’s hand as they watched Danny visibly struggle against the incoming waves. “Honey, I can either hold your hand or draw Danny’s lesson. Not both.”
Mel hesitated. “Draw,” she said, releasing Pam. “But tell me again how safe this is.”
Pam shook her fingers to get the blood flowing again. “It’s very safe. Danny is an excellent swimmer, and Jeff is a great instructor.
I’ve known him for years, and I wouldn’t have recommended this if I didn’t believe Danny would be okay.” Pam wanted to reassure herself as much as Mel. She had grown so close to Danny over the past months, since she and Mel had told him they were together. Pam already felt like part of their family. No, she already was part of their family. She watched Danny paddle toward the shore with a wave.
“Besides, look how much fun he’s…oh, well, everyone falls a few times before they figure out how to balance.”
Mel gave a small gasp, but it turned into a relieved-sounding laugh as Danny’s head resurfaced behind the wave. “Be sure you draw a picture of him falling, but don’t you dare tell him I laughed.”
Pam looked at the paper in front of her. She still felt a brief hesitation before each new drawing or painting. A moment of worry, followed by a breath of relief and wonder as the picture in her mind poured onto the page or canvas. Maybe she’d always feel this way, with each new creation. She didn’t mind. Somehow it seemed right, seemed fitting to appreciate what it meant to paint because she knew what it meant when the painting stopped. Art had been effortless when she was younger, and she had hoped to find her way back to that place of ease and simplicity. But the moment of struggle only added dimension and depth to the process.
Today was meant to be fun, though. No deep artistic con templation necessary. Mel laughed as Danny flipped off his surfboard again. He popped back to the surface and waved at them with no sign of embarrassment or concern before he climbed on the board once more. Pam quickly filled in each panel with a picture of him, in the style of the graphic novels he loved. She drew him practicing on the beach, lying prone as he paddled through the waves, toppling off the board when he met his first wave. And, because he was his mother’s son and wouldn’t give up until he succeeded, a picture of him riding a wave all the way to shore.
Mel cheered as Danny returned to sea for another ride, a big grin on his face. “See?” Mel said, leaning over to give Pam a kiss. “I told you everything would be all right.”
THE END