“Good. That’s good.” His tone and expression told a different story. He kept a watchful eye on the door.
It was time to do what I came here for. “Kathy, would you like for me to pray now?”
“I would love that, Father.”
My prayers were concluding when Haven walked back into the room. Kathy smiled, but Kent didn’t. He eyed Haven in a scornful manner while being quiet for a moment before he commented, “So, you decided to return home, huh?”
“No, not permanently.”
“How long are you here for?” His lips curled in disgust.
“About six months.”
He rubbed his chin, as if he were thinking about that. “You got yourself a fancy gallery showing, do you?”
“That depends on what you would consider fancy.”
“I’m surprised anyone would be interested in your stuff. From what I can remember, it wasn’t much of anything.”
“You can’t remember because you destroyed everything I drew,” Haven snapped as her nostrils flared.
“Haven…Kent,” Kathy pleaded.
Kent ignored his wife. “So what’d you talk to that doctor about? You know Kathy’s health information isn’t any of your business now with those HIPPA laws.”
A tiny muscle in Haven’s cheek twitched, but she didn’t say anything reactive. “I realize that, but Aunt Kathy gave the doctor permission to speak freely to me.”
“Kent, let it go, please,” Kathy begged.
It was an awkward position for me and I thought I needed to diffuse it, but what happened next floored me.
“What’d you do with that doctor out there? Were you acting like a slut, just like your mother? Following in her footsteps?”
Haven deflated as her mouth opened and closed several times before she clamped it shut. But then it was as though a fiery ball of anger lit her from inside. She lifted herself up to her fullest height and balled her hands into fists at her sides. If I hadn’t been paying close attention, I would’ve missed the slight tremble in her lips. Then her reaction came right as I attempted to speak.
Between clenched teeth, she gritted, “How dare you speak of my mother that way? What are you going to do next? Pull off that belt and beat me bloody like you used to?” Even though her words dripped with hatred, her eyes couldn’t hide the fear she tried so hard to conceal. She reminded me of a hunted animal the way she peered about wild-eyed. As a man of the cloth, even I found it difficult to find fault with what she said, may God forgive me.
Once again I opened my mouth to interject something, but before I could utter a word, Kent stormed out of the room.
“Good riddance,” Haven muttered as she rubbed her arms.
“Haven,” I whispered. My voice caught her attention and I jerked my head toward the bed. One look at Kathy and she rushed to the bedside. Tears streamed down her aunt’s face, and Haven did her best to calm her.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that, Aunt Kathy. I swore to myself I wouldn’t do that, but damn it, look at me. I’m the worst. One minute with that man and there I go mouthing off.” Haven blinked her eyes furiously as though she were pushing back tears she didn’t want her aunt to see. I could understand why she might be so hurt with the cruel things Kent had said to her.
“It’s okay, and how can I blame you? Sometimes I wish I wasn’t married to him anymore, but what can I do? If I leave, I don’t have health insurance, and with my situation now, I could never afford my medications, much less my hospital and doctor bills. I’m too sick to work.” Then she broke down and wept.
Haven held her until her sobs quieted. It was not my place to interfere during this moment. When Kathy was done crying, Haven said, “Aunt Kathy, I can help you financially.”
“You? How can you help?”
“I have money, and you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve wanted you to leave him for years. We can hire an attorney, and maybe he or she can figure out something with the insurance. I don’t know about those things. But we can talk about this when you’re feeling better.”
Kathy shook her head. “I can’t. The church.”
“What about the church?” Haven asked.
“They don’t condone divorce.”
It was time for me to offer my assistance. “Kathy, the Catholic church allows divorce. You could go to church and take communion without a problem. Your divorce would become an issue with the church if you ever wanted to remarry,” I explained. “In that case, you would have to obtain an annulment. And it wouldn’t be a problem if extenuating circumstances existed, such as abuse.”
Haven’s head jerked around and her deep frown warned me of the impending storm. “What? So let me get this straight—she would have to have some sort of special committee or whatever put their stamp of approval on her divorce and label it an annulment in order for her to remarry? Do I have that correct?” Haven asked.
“I guess you could word it like that if you wanted to, but yes. Once that’s done, she can remarry and receive communion,” I said.
“That’s utterly ridiculous. She’s been in an abusive marriage for years. She should be able to get out and remarry and take communion if she wants. See? This is just one more reason I think religion is over-the-top crazy. All those obtuse rules and such. That makes no sense to me whatsoever.” Haven’s arms flew all over the place as she spoke.
“I can see why you might feel that way, but the church takes marriage very seriously, and that’s why they have each couple go through marriage preparation classes. It’s a way for them to come to an understanding that marriage isn’t an easy path for anyone to take.”
Haven huffed, “I find that odd.”
“Why?”
“How can an unmarried priest be knowledgeable about marriage?” she asked.
“I can certainly understand why you’d say that, and he’s not,” I assured her. “But these classes aren’t created by priests. They’re created by professionals, and priests are only the moderators, if you will. So to get back to your original argument, Holy Matrimony is one of the Seven Sacraments of the Catholic Church, and because of that, it simply can’t be voided. That’s why it must be annulled by the church. As in divorce, you have to go through a process. Am I making sense here?”
“I suppose so,” she said, though it came begrudgingly.
“I guess we’re back to the original problem then, aren’t we?” I asked.
“Yes. Aunt Kathy, if you want to leave, I’ll bend over backward to make it happen.”
Kathy fiddled with her blankets and sighed. “I know you will, but let me get through this hurdle first. Okay, honey? I need to build my strength before I do anything.”
“You’re right. What’s wrong with me? I wasn’t thinking.” Haven hugged her aunt.
Kent walked back into the room. “How long are you planning to stay?” he asked. I didn’t know if he was referring to Haven’s hospital visit or her stay in Chicago. I decided to keep my mouth shut.
Haven hugged her aunt again and it looked as though she whispered something in her ear. Then to her uncle she said, “I’d stay all day if you weren’t going to be here.” She leaned down and hugged Kathy again. “I’ll call you before I come back again, but let me know if you get out of here first.”
“I will and thank you for coming. And thank you too, Father.”
“Just call me if you need me, Kathy. I’m always available, and I mean that. You have the parish number and it goes directly to either Father Cernak’s or my phone after hours.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you.”
We headed to the elevators and as soon as the doors closed, Haven said, “The doctor says she’s actually doing a lot better and that she looks worse than she is. Her oxygen levels are coming up and the new medication they started her on seems to be doing its job. He was really pleased. He thinks she’ll be out of here within the week.”
“That’s great news. When I saw her I was shocked because last week she looked so much better.”
“Yeah, so was I. It’s been a while and I almost didn’t know what to say. I’m glad the doctor was there. But I need to get her out of that house and I hope I can do it before I kill Kent. What an asshole.” She gave me a sideways glance. “Sorry, not sorry.”
I could only shake my head at that. “Let’s take this one step at a time. We have to make sure it’s what Kathy wants after she’s feeling better. This may be one of those things she’s saying now because she’s sick.”
“I want her out of there yesterday. Canaan, he’s a devil. I know because I lived under that roof for years. If she said she’s ready, I need to act. I should start looking for a place for her to live.” Her strides were so long and fast I had to hurry to keep up, and I was a tall man.
“Let’s think about it a minute. She’s still in the hospital. Maybe you should wait for her to get out and then have this talk with her.”
She stopped and faced me. “Then what happens if she changes her mind?”
“Then she never wanted to leave him in the first place,” I answered.
“What if he hits her when she’s ill?” she snapped.
I didn’t have a satisfactory answer for that. “Do you think he’d do that?”
“Yes, I do. Matter of fact, I know he would.”
“Then I’ll talk to him. Priest to parishioner.”
“And you think that would solve everything?”
“Not necessarily. But it may set him on the right path.”
“Canaan, he’s a bully and has always been one. Worse, he’s a power hungry cop. He could cause trouble. Your little talk would be like pouring gasoline on a fire.”
“He won’t cause trouble. Not if I intervene. And it may be that I don’t even have to have that conversation.”
Her body reminded me of a steel post she was that tense. “You don’t know him. I trust Kent only as far as I can throw him. I have to get to work. Thanks for the ride.” Her clipped tone told me she didn’t have any faith in me or my abilities.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To the bus stop.”
“Let me take you to the train station. I assume you’re headed back downtown?”
“Yes,” she said, “but I’m fine.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” I didn’t give her the chance to say anything else as I lightly touched her elbow and led her to the car.
After seeing how Kent behaved around her, my guilt over what I had done grew exponentially. Kent wasn’t a nice man at all. And I had sent that defenseless young girl right back into his home where he inflicted all kinds of pain on her for years. How would I ever find a way to make amends?
As I rode the L back downtown, I thought about a lot of things, but mostly I thought about Canaan. One thing that kept bouncing around in my head was he seemed different than the picture I had painted of him in my head. He was pleasant and easy to be around. And then it hit me and I almost laughed out loud. Of course he was easy to be around. He was a fucking priest, for Christ’s sake, no pun intended. He wasn’t a threat. He didn’t want anything from me. He wasn’t trying to get in my pants. I didn’t have to worry about him beating me. Safe. That’s what he was. There was a cone of safety around him and with that came comfort.
And unfortunately, that triggered a memory. I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a card. Staring at it for a long moment, I read his credentials. They were impressive. I was surprised they could all fit on that tiny white card. Wilson A. Wallace, M.D. He said he wanted to visit the gallery and see my paintings, but my intuitions indicated there was more behind his intentions. We’d see. The way he was talking, I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in the next day or so.
By the time I got off the train, it was nearly noon and I was starving. Stopping at a deli, I grabbed a take-out lunch and went straight into work. Jonathon stopped me before I could make it to my studio.
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been texting you all morning.”
“Sorry. I was at the hospital. My aunt. She’s pretty sick.”
His demeanor instantly changed. “Is she okay?”
“Better. She has lupus.” I gave him the details on her condition.
“Haven, I’m sorry. Are you close?”
“Sort of.” I didn’t want to talk about her with him. So I didn’t offer any more information.
“Do they expect her to be in the hospital for long?”
“Hopefully not too much longer. They’re trying her out on some new medications and she seems to be responding.”
“That’s good news then. Well, I have some more good news for you. Your large painting sold.”
“My large painting?”
“Yes, the one you recently completed. The really huge one.”
“Oh.” My brain spun with this news.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he asked.
“Ask you what?”
He laughed. “You do have your mind on other things. I’m getting ready to change that. Ask me the sale price.”
“Okay, how much?”
“You ready for this?”
He gave me the price.
I scratched the side of my head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jonathon cocked his head. “That’s not quite the reaction I expected to see from someone who just sold a painting for that much.”
My brows shot up and I was pretty damned sure they almost hit my hairline. “Did you say what I think you said?”
He chuckled. “You bet your sweet ass I did.”
A couple of long moments later, Jonathon’s finger was pushing on my bottom jaw. “You’d better close your mouth Haven, or you may be catching some bugs.”
I snapped my jaws together. Then I frowned. “Who the hell would spend that kind of money on one of my paintings?”
“A very wealthy family, that’s who. Apparently the wife was in here yesterday and must’ve gone home and told her husband she wanted it. So this morning, right after the gallery opened, he called and asked if anyone else had made an offer on it. When I said that there had been a lot of inquiries on it, he offered me top dollar right on the spot and was here an hour later. Don’t forget, that’s a huge piece of art, not to mention the other one sold for not too much less. In a year or so, something like that of yours will sell for double.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“My sentiments exactly. And Haven, they are leaving it here for the duration of your stay. They also want to meet you.”
“Oh, absolutely. I want to shake the hands of the people who believe in me that much.”
Jonathon added, “Didn’t I tell you that article was going to work magic? And one other thing. Your inventory is extremely low so you need to get in your studio and paint.”
“That’s the plan.” Wrapping my mind around something this major took more effort than I possessed. I choked down my lunch, which now tasted like sawdust, and I thought about what a fucknut of a day it had been so far.
Pulling out my phone, I called Macie.
“Hey, chica. What up?”
“You know that huge painting I recently completed? The one I showed you? The picture?”
“Oh yeah.”
“It sold.”
“Woohoo! We’ll have to celebrate this weekend. I see a martini or five in our futures.”
“Cool. But guess for how much.”
“Haven, you know I suck at this.”
I filled my lungs with a cleansing breath and felt my control returning. Then I collected myself and whispered the amount.
“Wait. What? Repeat that.” Macie was clearly as shocked as I had been.
So I told her again.
“Jesus criminy jickets. Holy shit on a shingle.” Then she laughed. “You mean, like, with that many zeroes.”
“Yep, that’s what I mean.” And I started laughing again. And Macie joined in.
“Oh my God, Haven, I knew it. I just knew you had it in you. You’re famous. You’re going to be like Picasso.�
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“Hardly, but I will make a decent living, I think.”
“And if anyone deserves it, it’s you.”
“I wish I could hug you right now, because if it hadn’t been for you and your mom, I never would’ve kept drawing.” And that was the honest to God’s truth.
Then Macie shouted, “This weekend. Martunis!” That’s what she called them sometimes. And it hit me what my next painting would be. Macie—my girl who had helped me in too many ways to count.
The door to my visionary side unlocked and my brain became a Ninja blender, swirling with ideas. People asked me all the time where my inspiration came from and my answer was always the same. They usually popped into my head from something I had been thinking about. I ran to the closet and pulled out the painting clothes I kept in there. They were nothing but an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I threw on an apron I wore because I used it for the pockets in the front. They were perfect for stashing my brushes.
My excitement over this painting grew, but I couldn’t start until I had the canvas. I scanned my studio, but nothing I had was the perfect size. Before I knew it, I was running down the hall, calling for Jonathon’s assistance. Knowing how much he wanted me to produce, it wasn’t long before I was set up and working.
My palette in hand and oils mixed, I had pulled and printed some images of Macie off my phone to use. This would be a puzzle of a collage, coming together in the main focus of a central portrait of her. It was a replica of a picture I had taken when she’d visited me in Manhattan. She was standing in front of Tiffany’s with a sublime smile on her beautiful face. The other faces would represent different moods—sad, angry, introspective, and I would even add one of her sleeping. I decided I would create each face in the center of a puzzle piece and fit it into the main one, but slightly blur the edges. Some pieces would be darker than the others, giving the painting a diverse border to it.
Working all afternoon and into the evening nonstop, I was getting close to having the background established in a rudimentary fashion. Jonathon had orders not to interrupt me, so when he stuck his head in, I was surprised.
A Beautiful Sin Page 9