Insight

by Deborah Raney

  He took it with raised eyebrows and a surprised smile. “Hey, now this is dining in style. I’ll have to bring you with me more often.”

  She flushed, realizing that without thinking, she’d catered to Reed the way she always had for Derek when they ate in the car.

  She peeled the wrapper off her own sandwich, and stuffed a bite in her mouth to avoid comment.

  He pointed to the fries she’d balanced between their drinks in the cup holder. “Help yourself. I can’t eat all those.”

  She nodded her thanks. But she wasn’t the least bit hungry. In fact, her stomach was feeling a little queasy again. She choked down half of her sandwich and tucked the rest of it back in its wrapper, hoping Reed wouldn’t notice.

  She leaned her head against the window.

  “Here…” Reed produced the jacket she’d used for a pillow earlier.

  “Thanks.” She pretended to nap, but the thoughts careening through her brain wouldn’t let true sleep come. She replayed Reed’s words: I’ll help you however I can. You’ve got a job with me for as long as you need it. Could he mean that? Or would she bank on it only to have the rug pulled out from under her?

  The tires droned on the highway, lulling her into a sort of stupor. Soon she realized that soft classical music was playing over the sounds of the road. She couldn’t help but smile at that.

  Still, one prevailing notion mixed with the churning worries. Reed was pampering her, doting on her. And she liked it more than she cared to admit.

  Chapter 18

  Reed rubbed at his eyelids, then forced his hands into his lap. His eyes had been bothering him all morning, itching and burning and playing tricks on his vision. But rubbing them would only complicate things. In the beginning, right after the surgery, he’d been warned sternly that rubbing could damage the tender newly transplanted corneas. That danger was probably past, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Besides, he knew what the remedy was. He needed to put away his paints, go lie down and rest his eyes. Invariably, that did the trick.

  But he had gallery requests to fulfill, and Olivia would be here any minute. He couldn’t very well be in bed when she arrived.

  As if on cue, the door opened and he heard her moving through the front rooms. He picked up his paintbrush and went back to work, but his heartbeat ratcheted up a notch as it always did in her presence. He’d learned to push back the feelings and ignore the impulse to express his growing feelings for Olivia.

  He hadn’t pried about her pregnancy, except to ask how she was feeling and to insist she take a break each afternoon. She seemed to appreciate his concern, but she hadn’t said any more about her plans or her feelings toward the news that she was carrying her husband’s baby.

  Maybe she’d taken his words to heart…that God knew her circumstances and had everything under control. He hoped so. It killed him to think of her alone and frightened. It made him want to take her under his wing. But he couldn’t exactly do that under the circumstances.

  Why did he even torture himself thinking about her? Even if she weren’t pregnant, it would be too soon on her part for him to pursue a relationship. She was still grieving. He had to remember that. He had to be patient.

  “Good morning.” Olivia appeared in the doorway, looking cheerful and even prettier than usual in a loose robin’s egg blue t-shirt.

  He reined in the desire to simply stare at her, and turned back to his easel, forcing his voice to sound normal. “Hi.”

  She put her bag down and went back to the kitchen. They had a comfortable routine by now, and he waited for the sounds that had become his morning music over the last few weeks—the clatter of cups and saucers, the hiss of the coffeemaker. Sometimes he wondered how he’d gotten through his days without Olivia’s presence in his house.

  “Hey, where’d these come from?” she yelled from the kitchen.

  “Oh, you found the cinnamon rolls? Maggie made them. My next door neighbor,” he explained.

  “Yummy. Are you offering?”

  “Only if you bring me one, too.”

  She appeared on the top step. “Oh, so now I’m the maid?”

  He jerked around. For a split second he’d thought she was serious, but she wore a playful smirk. He played along. “Yeah, and could you do the laundry while you’re up there?”

  She gave a very unladylike harrumph and disappeared back into the kitchen, humming a tune he couldn’t identify. Probably opera.

  He smiled and picked up his paintbrush. Something had changed between them that day in St. Louis…the day she’d told him she was pregnant. They were easier with each other now. More like old friends than employer and employee. They joked around more, and she had started humming while she worked—sometimes even if there was no music on the CD player. If it had been anyone else, it probably would have driven him nuts. But he liked hearing her voice. Liked hearing her sound happier.

  She brought plates with rolls warmed in the microwave, then went back for coffee. She set his mug carefully to the side, out of range of his elbow. “Coffee on your right,” she warned.

  A few minutes later, he glanced across the room. Olivia had brought in the load of paint rags he’d put in the dryer last night. She appeared to be deep in thought as she methodically folded and stacked them on the worktable.

  He went back to painting, but a minute later, he looked up to see her watching him.

  “Are your eyes bothering you?”

  He hadn’t realized he was rubbing at his eye again. He pulled his hand away from his face. “I’m okay.” He never had explained the details of his surgery to her, but she seemed to instinctively watch out for him and sense when he was struggling. It was unsettling—and touching at the same time.

  “Do you want me to pull the blinds?”

  “I’ll get it.” He hated to sacrifice the light, but it did help to slant the blinds slightly. He slid from the stool and crossed the room. The sky outside the wide bank of windows matched Olivia’s shirt. He would rather have been outside today than stuck in the studio. Olivia probably felt the same way. If the weather was like this tomorrow, he should take advantage of it and get some photos.

  Before his surgery, he’d often loaded up his easel and scouted new scenes to paint on location, but the light that was conducive to plein air painting was too harsh for his eyes now. He’d been toying with the idea of painting from photographs. The new digital camera he’d bought did an amazing job of capturing the light. If he could shoot some new reference material, he’d be set for the winter.

  He thought about the idea again that afternoon, just before Olivia left for the day. “Hey, if the weather holds would you want to go out on a photo shoot with me tomorrow?”

  He’d issued the invitation almost without thinking, and cringed inwardly at a sudden flash of memory. He had taken Kristina on a photo shoot once. It wound up being a disastrous medley of bug bites, sunburn, snagged clothing, and a twisted ankle. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  But Olivia merely shrugged. “Sure. As long as I don’t have to run the camera.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll do that. But I could use someone to tote my extra equipment and hold the reflector, maybe help me find some good subjects. You have an eye for composition.”

  She acknowledged his compliment with a lift of one shoulder. “Where are you going to shoot?”

  “Maggie said the roses are still in bloom at the county park out west of town. I thought I might try to get some photos before everything’s done blooming for the year.”

  “Oh, I love florals. You haven’t done many of those, have you?”

  “That’s what I started out with actually, but it was the landscapes that sold first, and now the nauticals. But I’d like to get back to flowers. I’ve been wanting to try some transparent glazes.”

  “We worked with glazes a little in one of the art classes I took, but I never had much success.”

  “They can be tricky to work with. I’ve had the best luck applying them a little dee
per than I want and then softening them back with a rag or stipple brush.”

  “Maybe that’s what I was doing wrong.”

  “I’ve got a couple books on the topic that you might find interesting. I’ll try to find them and bring them when I pick you up tomorrow. If you’re agreeing to go, that is.”

  “Sure.”

  “Um…there’s only one hitch.” He gave a comical grimace.

  “Uh-oh. What did I just commit to?”

  “Well, we need to get out while the light is right. Early morning is the best for what I’m trying to capture.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “How early are we talking?”

  He ducked. “Five-thirty?”

  “You would really get a pregnant woman out of bed at five-thirty in the morning?” she groaned.

  It was the first time she’d spoken so casually about her condition. He hoped it meant she was coming to terms with the coming baby. “Okay, okay. How about we make it six?”

  “Oh, wow, thanks for that generous half-hour reprieve.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but her smile let him know she was willing.

  “I’m not making it mandatory.” He laughed, then turned serious. “Really, if that’s too early, I understand. But if we go any later, by the time I get set up the sun will be too high. I’ve done photos solo before so it’s—”

  “No. I’ll go. I’m sure I’ll survive.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll let you go home early today and take a nap…rest up.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s big of you.”

  “Tomorrow’s Friday. You’ll have the whole weekend to sleep. Do I need to give you a wake-up call?”

  “I have an alarm clock, thank you very much,” she said with a droll smile.

  “Okey-dokey.” He gave a comical salute. “I’ll pick you up at six.” He turned back to his easel, suddenly feeling more at home in his house, in his studio, than he’d felt in months.

  The blare of Reed’s horn sliced the early morning still and Olivia grabbed another saltine from the box—and a plastic “airsick” bag, just in case—before running out the door. She hadn’t thought about the morning sickness when she agreed to go with Reed this morning. The queasiness had abated somewhat over the past week, but early morning was definitely not her best time. She hoped the poor guy didn’t have to pull over to the side of the road for her again.

  She locked the front door behind her and jogged down the driveway to where Reed’s Escape was parked.

  He leaned across the seat and opened her door for her. As soon as she was buckled in, he handed her a coffee cup dressed in a cardboard sleeve.

  “Ooh, what’s this?”

  “Skinny decaf cappuccino, with whipped cream, just like you like it.”

  “Hey, you’re good.”

  “I still don’t get ordering skinny with whipped cream. That makes no sense to me.”

  “The skinny is for me, the whipped cream is for the baby.” She patted her belly, which was starting to pooch out a little.

  His eyes twinkled, bluer than ever. “Oh, that’s a good one. Wish I had such a good excuse.”

  She didn’t reply. Reed had been asking about the baby and her pregnancy recently, and while she’d shared with him some, she still wasn’t completely comfortable talking about it. The subject of her pregnancy always brought up the specter of Derek.

  Specter. She stopped short. Why had that word cropped up? Why couldn’t she find joy in memories of Derek, in the prospect of giving birth to his baby? Reed and Claire seemed to think this child was a gift, that she would have this living memorial of her husband. They didn’t realize that the good memories were few. After their first honeymoon year, the only good in her marriage to Derek had lain in the hope of a future together, something to redeem the past. But that hope had died with Derek. As long as she lived, she would never understand why God had taken him from her just when they’d begun to work things out.

  Reed rolled up to a stop light and Olivia watched out the window as two sparrows took turns dipping their beaks into a muddy puddle, their rhythmic motions like the pendulum of a clock. It was how she felt. Just going through the motions. Up one minute and in the mud the next. She couldn’t allow herself to think too deeply about her situation or she would fall apart. The only bright spot in her life was sitting beside her in the driver’s seat. She flushed at the thought. What would Reed think if he knew she felt this way about him?

  “You okay?”

  She started at the sound of his voice but nodded, groping unsuccessfully for a reply.

  The light turned green and he drove on. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  “Do you want to tell me? What you’re thinking…?”

  Had he read her thoughts? She squirmed at the mere idea. “I…I don’t really think you’d be interested.”

  “Try me.”

  She turned to study his expression. What she saw there was utter sincerity. It was all she could do not to pour out every question that plagued her. Instead she took a more generic tack. “I just wish I knew where I’d be this time next year.”

  “With the baby, you mean?”

  “I guess. The baby, the house, my job… I…I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even fair to this child for me to—” She clipped off the word. She couldn’t finish. It was the first time she’d dared to give the thought a voice.

  “Would you…could you really do that? Give your baby up?”

  She bent her head and stared at her lap. “I don’t know…” The truth was, giving her baby up for adoption was no more difficult to picture than keeping it was. Raising a child? She could not imagine.

  “Olivia…” Reed pressed his lips into a tight line, as though trying to decide whether he should say something.

  She waited for him to continue.

  Apparently he took her silence as permission, and when he finally spoke, it was like a floodgate opening. “I know this is none of my business. You didn’t ask my advice, but I can’t not say something.”

  “Okay…” As much as she wanted to shut him up, to change the subject, she also hung on every syllable. She couldn’t make this decision alone. She longed for someone to tell her what to do.

  “I know it won’t be easy to raise a child on your own. I know you’re worried about how you’ll provide for your baby. If you were fifteen years old, I’d applaud a decision to put your baby up for adoption. Heaven knows there are plenty of people who would give anything to have a child to love. But you…if you did this, I think you would regret it for the rest of your life. This is your husband’s baby, Olivia.”

  Again, her eyes found her lap. She felt like a child being chided for something she hadn’t even done.

  Reed slowed the car and turned onto a narrow county road. They bumped along in silence for a minute before he spoke. “Listen, it’s not my decision to make, but I just can’t let you do it without—”

  “Excuse me,” she huffed in exasperation. “And just how exactly are you going to stop me if I make that decision?” What had happened to the happy-go-lucky mood this morning had started with?

  He held up a hand, a look of genuine contrition in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”

  “No…I’m sorry.” She massaged her forehead. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  He reached out and touched her arm. “It’s okay. I’d probably be snapping at people, too, if I were in your shoes.”

  “It’s just…I don’t know yet what I’m going to do. It’s just all too confusing…”

  “Can I say something?”

  She shrugged. Might as well, she thought. You haven’t hesitated to say what you think so far.

  “I know I mentioned this the other day, but I just want to be sure you knew I meant it. It looks like my work is taking off, so I can give you as many hours as you need. I’ve got plenty of work that needs doing. And starting with your next paycheck, you’ll have a raise. When
I hired you I thought I’d have to do a lot more training than I did.”

  She was skeptical and must have looked it, because he went on. “You’ve been a big help in the studio, Olivia, you really have. I’m not just saying that.”

  Why was he acting this way? Was she merely some charity case to him? A way to make him feel good about himself? He always seemed so sincere, but that’s what bothered her. People didn’t just make offers like Reed had made without a reason. When she’d started to suspect Derek of running around, Jayne had accused her of being overly suspicious. Well, look how that turned out.

  Reed put a hand over hers on the edge of her seat. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here.”

  She slid her hand out from under his, resisting the urge to rub it, to rub away the conflicting emotions his nearness made her feel. “Why, Reed?” In spite of her efforts to quell it, her voice rose. “Why are you doing this? You don’t even know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

  He had turned off onto a side road several minutes earlier and now he pulled over to a rutted trail that ran parallel with the road. “I drove out here the other morning and scouted out some sites,” he explained, easing the Escape to the side of the trail and setting the parking brake. “The light is perfect this time of morning. But we need to hike into the woods a little ways. We can talk while we walk, okay?”

  “I’m done talking,” she said, opening the passenger door and sliding down from the seat.

  He grabbed his camera bag and tripod from the back seat and followed suit. He slammed the door behind him and came around to her side of the vehicle, holding out his camera bag. “Would you mind carrying this while I get my tripod set up?”

  She took the bag from him and trailed him as he led the way through the brush into the dense woods. Cars whizzed by on the highway to the north, but as they walked farther into the underbrush the sounds of motors were replaced by birdsong and the spongy squish of wet leaves beneath their tennis shoes.

  They walked a few feet in silence before Reed hooked a thumb in the general direction of where they’d parked the car. “I didn’t mean to cut you off back there. I hope you didn’t think—”