Mr. Elliott Finds a Family

by Susan Floyd

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice rough with her dismay. “I didn’t realize I was bleeding. I don’t usually break down like that.”

  “Iris sure popped you one,” he said, tilting up her chin to examine her eye. “Your eye’s not that bad. It’s mostly cosmetic.”

  Beth Ann touched her eye again and turned to search for a clean washcloth.

  “You should wash the blood out of your shirt, or it will stain,” she said hurriedly. “We should soak it. You should have told me.”

  “I think you had more pressing things on your mind.” He smiled kindly at her. Beth Ann looked away, her throat swelling at the thought that he would be gone by Sunday. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Beth Ann felt around her wound.

  “We should take care of your eye.”

  “Your shirt.”

  “I have others,” he observed and then dampened the washcloth, under the running the water. “Why don’t you sit down?” He pointed to the chair.

  Beth Ann sat because an aftershock of trembles kept her from standing.

  “What did you give Iris?” Christian asked curiously as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, putting a bowl of water on the table. He experimentally touched the corner of her eye with the wet cloth.

  Beth Ann flinched.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly.

  “I know,” Beth Ann replied. She did know. “It stings.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he promised and tried again.

  This time she could barely feel the brush of the cloth, but when she looked down she could see her blood stain the water as he rinsed out the cloth.

  They sat that way for a long time, Christian tending her wound, Beth Ann savoring his attention.

  “A sedative,” she said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “A sedative. I gave Iris a sedative. I bet she’s asleep now.”

  “Does this happen a lot?”

  Beth Ann shook her head. “You’ve been here for a while now. How often have you seen this?”

  “Since the fried egg episode this is the first.”

  “They used to be further apart. Months. I’d actually forget. Sometimes they’ll happen in a bunch. Other times they’re isolated incidents. The sedatives seem to work pretty well.”

  “What happens if she gets worse?”

  It seemed like an innocent enough question, but Beth Ann felt her throat tighten. She didn’t want to think about Iris getting worse. She couldn’t think about this. She stood up abruptly and took the washcloth away from him.

  “Thanks so much for helping out,” she said hurriedly. “You should really soak that shirt.”

  “Beth Ann,” Christian asked insistently, his voice all business. “That wasn’t a polite, disinterested question. What happens if your grandmother gets worse? What if you’re alone?”

  Beth Ann didn’t want to think about being alone, about how much easier life had been the past month, about the fact she had painted more since Christian had come to stay than she had in the past year. She wanted to continue to paint, to let Bernie enjoy the first everyday father she had ever known. Most of all, she wanted him.

  “I don’t know!” She wrung her hands and fell silent. She finally ventured a glance his way and saw that his gaze hadn’t wavered.

  “Do you want me to get you some permanent help?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want permanent help. She shook her head.

  “You need someone,” he persisted. “To help. So you don’t have to deal with Iris alone.”

  “I don’t need someone. I need you.”

  Christian’s heart jumped at her words, spoken so softly that he had to lean toward her to hear them.

  She didn’t look at him but spoke rapidly, “I reacted badly to your, er, gifts.” She waved in the direction of the stove. “I don’t want you to leave because of that.” Her words came out in a rush, “and I want you to know that if you’d like to stay longer then I would more than appreciate it. I can’t pay—”

  Christian cut her off. “It’s not about pay.”

  Beth Ann nodded. “I know. But I’d like some way to pay you back for all that you’ve done for us these past few weeks. I don’t know many people who would have taken on the responsibilities you have and not gone stark raving mad. The television was a stroke of genius....” Her voice drifted off.

  Well, it wasn’t a declaration of undying love, but Christian was willing to take what he could get.

  “You can do something to pay me back,” Christian said, adopting a deal-making voice. He put an arm on her shoulder and had her sit down again so he could apply a Band-Aid.

  Beth Ann looked at him warily. Christian gently taped up the broadest part of the cut with a bright bandage. Her eye was already turning a dark shade of purple. “You’re going to have one hell of a shiner there,” he remarked.

  “So how can we pay you back?” Beth Ann asked.

  “Not we, you.”

  Beth Ann suddenly looked very vulnerable and Christian resisted the temptation to kiss her. Instead, with his hand tangled in her hair, he gently placed his mouth over her swelling eye. But when she turned to him, her mouth parted, he couldn’t resist and settled his mouth on hers, his hand tightening on the nape of her neck. She tasted like toothpaste and smelled like paint. Her sigh caused his insides to tighten, his heart to pound in his ears. Reluctantly he pulled away.

  “Was that how I can pay you back?” she asked, her head tilted provocatively. Even with a black eye, she was sexy. Beth Ann put her small hand over his. It was rough, stained with color. He picked it up and examined it. This hand had probably never seen a professional manicure in its entire life.

  “No,” he answered slowly as he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

  Her good eye widened.

  Christian chuckled. “No. Not that. Though the thought has kept me awake many a night.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want to see your studio.”

  She pulled her hand away. “My studio?” Her voice squeaked.

  He nodded.

  “When?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to share that part of you as well.”

  “If I show you my studio, then you’ll stay?”

  Christian gave a single nod. “Yes. If you show me your studio, then I’ll stay.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BETH ANN STARED at him for a long time, trying to ignore the throb in her eye, trying even more to ignore the tingle in the palm of her hand where he had kissed her. He was staying. She felt like shouting with joy from the top of the house. She got up and pushed open the swinging door to the living room.

  “Grans is out like a light,” she whispered, excitement welling through her. She quietly walked down the hall and gestured for Christian to follow her.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  She stopped. “My studio.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “What?” Disappointment flooded through her. Perhaps she had been wrong about why he wanted to stay. “You don’t want to see what I’ve been working on?”

  “No, it’s not that.” He stopped halfway down the hall.

  “What then?”

  “I didn’t mean you had to show me now. I know it’s very personal. You can show me when you’re ready.”

  Beth Ann thought about what he was saying and then shrugged. “I’m ready now.” She held out her hand to him and pleasure wafted through her when he took it.

  Christian entered the attic cautiously. It had the smell of a studio. He saw paper and paint. Three easels. And color. Lots and lots of color. Beth Ann didn’t use the subtle pastels he often associated with the medium. Instead she favored dramatic, tropical colors. Vivid blues and greens. Fuchsias, teals. He was immediately captivated by what he saw. He walked around the edge of the studio, his hand behind his back as he studie
d what she had done over the past month, feeling very much as if he were in a gallery. He was awed by her talent, the world she saw. How lovely it was. Optimistic, cheerful.

  “These are great,” he said quietly.

  She looked pleased. “Well, it’s coming. Slowly, but surely. The time you’ve given me has helped a lot.”

  “No, I’m serious. These are wonderful.” He smiled as he saw one of Bernie trying to catch a purple fluorescent beetle the size of her hand. Beth Ann had captured the fearlessness of the little girl’s reach. He walked toward another set and then flushed with self-consciousness, as he stared at a series of pencil sketches.

  “These are of me.” A shiver passed through him.

  They were pages of eyes—his eyes. Wary eyes, pain-filled eyes, then laughing eyes, teasing eyes, intense eyes. The last few made him bite his lip. Beth Ann had caught his eyes when he looked at her, when he’d thought she wasn’t watching him. She had captured the eyes of a man clearly in love.

  He turned to Beth Ann who was blushing up to the very roots of her hair. “I’m flattered,” he said with a quick smile, and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart.

  “You’re a good model,” she said roughly and fiddled with an envelope.

  “Are those the slides of the ones that you’re going to submit?” Changing the topic was good. For her and for him. He had signed for the envelope when it was delivered earlier in the week.

  She nodded.

  “They’re due soon, right?”

  “Next Tuesday.”

  Christian looked at her in surprise. “Tuesday? Don’t you think they should be in the mail? Saturday’s just a few days away.”

  “They’re only going up the road. If I mail them on Saturday, they’ll get there by the deadline.”

  “Isn’t that cutting it a little close?”

  Beth Ann took a deep breath, then exhaled and said quickly, “I’m having second thoughts. This is a new style for me and I don’t—”

  “Send them,” Christian said.

  “But—”

  “Don’t nothing beat a miss but a try.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t nothing beat a miss but a try. It means you’ve got nothing to lose. Trying is what it’s all about. And you might be pleasantly surprised.” He moved away from the pencil sketches and continued to walk around the perimeter of the attic, pausing at another full watercolor.

  “I didn’t know you saw this,” Christian said.

  Beth Ann put her hands behind her back, completely silent, letting him study the painting before him. Naptime, she’d labeled it. It was a precious piece of Bernie and him napping under the large oak. The painting was so well rendered Christian swore he could actually see a wayward butterfly weaving its awkward pattern across the two of them. And the slight rise and fall of their chests. She had caught Bernie’s small mouth in a round yawn, her head propped on his shoulder, her own shoulders tucked protectively under his arm as he wedged her next to his chest.

  Christian was overwhelmed and stiffened his spine, trying to dampen the emotion that threatened the back of his throat. Beth Ann had painted him as an ordinary subject. He could be any man. Any man. More significantly, she had made him a father.

  Beth Ann motioned to the round window. “You’d be surprised at what I manage to see.”

  “Glenn was right.” Christian sat on a stool and wondered how she kept all this color locked in the attic. Her work needed to be out in public, enjoyed, bought, hung in places of honor.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You have tremendous talent.”

  She smiled. “Lots of people have tremendous talent. It’s all about those who are dedicated enough to work at it.”

  “You don’t look as if you’re afraid of hard work.”

  Beth Ann shook her head. “I’m not. I just haven’t felt like painting for a while.”

  “I don’t think anyone can blame you. After all, you became a mom.” He cleared his throat. “You took on Bernie when Caroline wouldn’t.”

  “Of course, I did,” Beth Ann said simply. “Who couldn’t care for such an itty-bitty thing? Though—” she paused “—I never expected Carrie to leave. After about a week, I thought she was adjusting. She even spent time with Bernie, changing her, feeding her. Carrie loved sleep and that was what I think bothered her most. That and being confined. And having nowhere to spend money. And being fat.” Beth Ann laughed as the list grew longer.

  Christian found himself laughing, too, and felt a little bad. Everything Beth Ann said was absolutely true. Caroline hated all of those things.

  “I guess she did show some early signs of stress,” Beth Ann conceded.

  He didn’t want to talk about Caroline anymore. He just wanted to be with Beth Ann. He had missed their talks and since the television had arrived, this was the first time they’d had to recover their old camaraderie. “Your work is wonderful,” he said sincerely.

  Beth Ann felt a rush of pleasure at his words. “Well, you’re responsible for them.”

  Christian shook his head. “No, I’m not. The work is all yours.”

  Beth Ann smiled. “Yes, you are.”

  “All I did—”

  “All you did was give me time. Peace and security knowing my two favorite people were being taken care of by someone who truly cares about them. I think that’s what’s made me able to paint.”

  “It wasn’t anything,” Christian mumbled.

  “It was everything.”

  They fell silent.

  “Beth Ann?” His voice was oddly strained. He got up and crossed the room toward her.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  She knew it was coming, she could feel it coming, but when it happened, the softness of his lips startled her. This kiss was a gentle, intimate caress. And she didn’t back away. She couldn’t have backed away to save her life. Instead, she pressed herself against him as her mouth opened to his subtle pressure.

  Her breathing became shallow. He groaned and deepened the kiss as he pulled her close. She could feel his control and strength, and the solidness of his body made her dizzy. She moaned and he moved away suddenly.

  “Is it your eye?” he asked.

  Her eye? She had forgotten about her eye.

  “No,” Beth Ann said with a small smile. “You’re a pretty good kisser.”

  Christian stared at Beth Ann, her good eye glowing with an emotion that filled him with warmth. He gave her a hug.

  “So I showed you my studio,” she said as she touched his face. “Now, you need to stick to your side of the bargain.”

  Christian couldn’t speak. He just held Beth Ann tightly in his arms. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  CHRISTIAN SAT on the antique cherry bed and called Max the next morning, the memory of Beth Ann’s kiss still imprinted on his lips. He’d slept more soundly than he could ever recall, not even disturbed by the physical ache caused by an intense wanting. He could be patient. If her kiss was any indication, her lovemaking would be as earthy and wonderful as she was. He’d fallen asleep half-speculating whether she would recycle condoms and woke with a deep sense of peace. He was in love, a love that burst with joy and renewal, with all the vivid hues of Beth Ann’s watercolors.

  “My friend!” Max exclaimed. “Are you enjoying the wine and women of the beautiful Napa Valley?”

  “Not yet,” Christian said and then continued. “I’ve decided to stay for a while.”

  “Where?”

  “Mercy Springs.”

  “You’re still there? It’s been what two, three weeks?”

  A month. “About that,” Christian said.

  “So what’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know where I’ll be.”

  “You’re kidding.” Max didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping you there. Have you been scouting new investment opportunities?”

  With Max, it was always about money.

  “No,” Christ
ian replied. “I’m just enjoying the scenery. I like spending time with Caroline’s family.”

  “What are they like?” Max asked curiously.

  “Normal people.”

  “Normal how?”

  “Just normal, normal.” Christian didn’t feel like explaining. “I’m going to call Mrs. Murphy next. I just wanted to give you an alternative number in case of emergencies.”

  “No emergencies, remember. Doctor’s orders,” Max said, then he added more seriously, “Are you okay? You’re not being held hostage or anything? I don’t have to collect a ransom, do I?”

  Max’s mind worked in strange ways.

  Christian laughed. “No, Max. I’m not being held hostage.”

  “Did they tell you to say that?”

  “No, Max.”

  There was silence on the other end. Christian felt his friend thinking. They had known each other for far too long.

  “Just to be sure, maybe I’ll fly up this weekend,” Max said.

  “No need for all that.” Christian tried to make his voice casual.

  “I’ve been meaning to take the Cessna out anyway. This town got an airfield?”

  Christian should have said no, but admitted, “Yes.”

  “Fine. Expect me about noon on Saturday.”

  “Max. I don’t need you to check up on me. This really isn’t necessary.”

  “Consider it a favor. It’s not a bad idea for me to be out of town this weekend.”

  “It’s hot here.”

  “Then it’ll be that much more interesting to see what’s keeping you there.”

  Christian disconnected his cell phone with a feeling of dread. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Max to come, but it was. He hit the redial button.

  “Yes?” Max asked in a clipped tone.

  “It’s me.”

  “What’d you forget?”

  “Don’t come.”

  “Don’t come?” Max laughed. “Now, I really want to come. I’ll be there by noon so don’t leave me hanging. I bet I won’t be able to get a taxi to save my life.”

  Max hung up. Christian shook his head. Max was like a small terrier that never let go if something was interesting, even if it was better for everyone if he would. Come to think of it, whenever he and Caroline had got in a disagreement when Max was around, Max had seemed to egg it on, siding with whoever was about to capitulate.