His voice jarred her away from her work, the pencil dragging across the paper in an unbidden direction, a thick dark line upsetting the tranquility and airiness of the picture. Charisma clamped her jaw down in displeasure. To make matters even worse, Jared completely ignored her, fawned over the dog and then walked back out into the store. Presumably to do something useful, though Charisma couldn’t imagine what. Charisma’s frown deepened. As if a man like that ever did something useful. He was probably too busy seducing all the women in town. Or, if what Bill had said was true, being seduced by all the women in the town.
Charisma tossed the pencil aside. The primer was dry anyway. She skimmed her sketches. Bowls of fruit, paper bags brimming with fruit… she frowned. There was a strong fruit theme happening in her pictures. With a shrug, she let it go. Was she supposed to paint hunks of raw meat instead? Cans of tuna fish? After a moment of half-hearted deliberation Charisma decided the fruit really wasn’t that bad and it would look nice on the sign. It wouldn’t look like the apple.
She hummed to herself as she ran a nice, neutral beige over the sign. She checked her watch when she was finished. Another frown pulled at her eyebrows. This wasn’t going to be the day project she had imagined. It had taken much longer than she had anticipated to completely cover that awful apple, and now she had to wait for the background paint to dry before she could even consider working on the painting itself. She sighed and gathered her brushes. She would tell Bill she’d be back the following morning. She had a nice lull in work, but suspected that once her agent called she would be holed up in the house again, working to meet what seemed like impossible deadlines. Impossible, she thought wryly, but somehow she always made them. She shut the light off on her way out, bathing the room in inky darkness, hiding her work-in-progress. The opened door let in a rush of sweet, fresh air. Charisma took a deep breath. She hadn’t noticed the heavy, chemical small of paint in the small room until she was greeted with the welcoming air of the day.
“Hey, Bill,” she called, searching the comparable gloom of the store for any sign of him. He wasn’t at his usual place behind the counter, although his ever-present newspaper was folded up and tossed carelessly on the wood surface, and Charisma suspected he hadn’t ventured too far out of his domain.
Through the shop window Charisma could see that darkness had begun to settle around the town. Or at least, what could be counted as darkness in this part of Arizona. Time had passed quickly as she worked on the sign; the sweep of her brushes and the development of her art pulled her away from reality, left her ungrounded and lost in the moment, in her images. She hadn’t realized how late it had become. The sun had sunk low in the sky, pinks and purples mingling together and bleeding outward, erasing the vibrant blues of day. Charisma took a deep breath and, for once, truly enjoyed where she was. She knew that when she got home the songs of evening insects, and the occasional sound of some mammal scurrying around would surround her, soft and melodic, and more hypnotic than any traffic she had ever heard living off the Garden State Parkway.
She frowned just thinking about New Jersey. It had been a long time since she’d heard from anyone back there. It had been a long time since she’d thought about them really. Of course, it didn’t help that she hadn’t left a phone number or address; that she had packed her car and left one day, had arranged her apartment to be packed and shipped from some truck stop in Illinois. It wasn’t as if she suspected someone would be able to track her down, she just knew it was an inevitable part of running away from what you didn’t like.
Charisma was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t hear Bill until he was directly behind her. The irritation in his expression let her know he’d already spoken to her several times. “Sorry, Bill,” she said automatically. “I was just thinking.”
He harrumphed at her, but looked less annoyed. “You on your way home now?”
She nodded, “I did as much as I can today, but I’ll be back tomorrow to start the bulk of the painting.” Charisma smiled. This was the first time in a long time she had found a reason to paint outside of her illustrating career, and she found she had missed it terribly. She should have remembered the difference between creating art for money’s sake and creating art for one’s own sake.
“Okay, then. I’ll look for you tomorrow. I’ll be here.”
She smiled at the dry joke, as if he didn’t know he was being funny, as if he weren’t trying. But she could tell from the littlest of twinkles in the depths of his blue eyes that he was kidding. “I know you will.”
The air was cooler now, and Scruffy had settled herself down outside the shop door to enjoy the breeze and the sounds of the town. Not that there were many sounds in this town, but from the way the dark ears were pricked upwards and her eyes were open just enough so she could survey the area around her, Charisma knew the dog was enjoying the change in scenery.
“Let’s get home, you mutt, you,” Charisma said as she swung the passenger side door open. Scruffy bounded in and quickly sat facing the windshield, as if she might miss something important. Charisma chuckled to herself. “Been a long day for you, huh? Don’t worry, there’s some good dinner for you at home and maybe we can watch some television before we go to bed. Oh yes,” she added as an afterthought, “my life has definitely hit pathetic.” Charisma looked sidelong at the dog and mumbled under her breath, “And then some.”
~*~
Jared tried not to roll his eyes at Mary Anne Billings as she held the perturbed cat out toward him. Her unnaturally blonde eyebrows were knitted together in what looked like genuine concern, but he’d grown up with Mary Anne, back when she had been stick-legged and had dark eyebrows, and knew that looks were, with Mary Anne, very deceiving. And, he was familiar with that expression on her face, the one that said, ‘Oh please, I just don’t know what I would do without you and I really need your help and if you don’t do this for me, I’ll just die.’ Intimately familiar, as a matter of fact.
He finally cleared his throat. Several times, actually, before she paused to take a breath. He took advantage of the moment. “Mary Anne, there’s really nothing wrong with Schnookums,” he almost winced as he said the name. If ever he’d heard a misnomer, that would be it. The peach and grey long haired cat always had a sour expression on his face and never missed an opportunity to bite or claw at Jared. Or, anyone really, who wasn’t Mary Anne. “I’m sure it’s just a little hairball and by tomorrow he’ll be fine.”
“Oh, but really, Jared,” her eyelashes went a flutter, just like he’d anticipated. Of course, knowing it was coming and being completely prepared for it were two very different things. The glimpse of green beneath the sooty lashes could be a man’s undoing, and if there was one thing Jared knew, it was that Mary Anne was entirely aware of this. She never missed an opportunity to bat her eyelashes at him. “I would be so much more comfortable if you would come over for a little while, just to watch him. We could have dinner. Rent a movie. At the end of the night we can see how he is.”
Her eyes were so genuine and earnest. It was amazing how a women lying so thoroughly through her teeth could look so honest and endearing at the same time. He almost scoffed. Like he’d make that mistake twice. Okay, he confessed, like he’d make that mistake again. “I actually really need to get back home,” Jared said, determined not to get suckered in by her big green eyes, and stepped away from the squirming cat. Even from where Jared stood he could see the venom in its golden eyes, as if Schnookums were already planning his next painful attack on Jared.
“I did an extremely thorough exam here, and I’m just sure there’s nothing the matter.” Jared explained, hoping his voice possessed an understanding mixed in with the firmness he heard.
“Well,” for the first time Mary Anne floundered. “I suppose we could go back with you, if that would make things easier.”
There was something to be said about perseverance, or was it desperation? Jared wasn’t sure exactly what that something was, but he was sure there
was something to be said about it. “Not tonight,” he tried his best to plaster on a smile, but Mary Anne was seriously pushing her luck. “I really have some paperwork I need to get back to.” Before she could make any more ridiculous requests, Jared waves a casual goodbye and walked off, leaving Mary Anne with her arms outstretched, still holding the wriggling, unpleasant, animal.
It wasn’t until after the door of his car was firmly closed, the key was in the ignition, and he could see a dejected Mary Anne lowering the cat in his rear view mirror, that Jared relaxed. In all his years, he had never met a woman as determined as Mary Anne. He’d found that most of the time, try as he might, he couldn’t get away from her. He knew himself well enough to know that, had he been out there with Mary Anne a few more minutes he would have tossed his hands in the air, followed her shapely little body up the stairs to her apartment and neither one of them would have talked about the cat for the rest of the night. A grin quirked at his lips. For a moment, just the tiniest of moments, he thought about ringing her doorbell and letting himself up there, but the reality of what the following morning would bring quickly erased all the positive benefits of having really good sex, okay really great sex, for one night. The next morning she would be talking about him moving in, about his wardrobe, about bridesmaids. It was enough to make him cringe. Even if he had spent all his summers and vacations home from college with her, holed up in whatever room they could find or in someone’s empty car, that did not mean he was going to do that again. For Christ’s sake, he was thirty-four and he had to stop sleeping with Mary Anne.
With new resolve, and a twinge of regret, he pulled out of the parking space and headed home.
~*~
Charisma couldn’t stand to wake up in the middle of the night. Especially nights like this, where the darkness is thick and heavy. It settled around her like a heavy winter blanket, threatening to suffocate her. She tried to catch her breath, and waited for her heart to stop racing quite so quickly. The sound of the thudding echoed in her ears until she couldn’t hear anything else. By the time her eyes had adjusted, the sound of her heartbeat had softened to the dullest roar, and she could hear the rhythmic sound of Scruffy’s breathing from the other side of the bed, where she lay stretched out, hogging the mattress.
I told you, she chastised herself, there’s nothing to worry about. There’s nothing here anymore to hurt you.
She reached out a hand that still shook and ran it over Scruffy’s side, looking for some comfort from the heavy, furry, mass, and she congratulated herself again on her decision to keep Scruffy.
But even though Scruffy slept soundly and the night was dark and soothing, sleep evaded Charisma, and it wasn’t until early morning dawn had begun to streak the sky with its colors that she finally slipped into a fitful, restless, sleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Charisma took a step back from the sign to admire her work. The cornucopia spread upward from one corner, stretching out toward the center and overflowing with ripe fruit. Even though she’d painted it herself, the sign left Charisma’s stomach rumbling, reminding her that it had been hours since the last time she’d had anything to eat. Following the last piece of fruit, an apple that was a soft shade of green, but still reminiscent of the well-known Apple Sign, as she’d come to think of it, was Ross’ in pretty, bold, script. If she did say so herself, this was a vast improvement over what the store had previously used to advocate its groceries.
She wiped her hands on a paint-stained towel, one of many she had stashed away in the back of her linen closet at home for just such occasions. If she were lucky, maybe she could scrounge up some sort of dinner. If she were really lucky, some half-way decent restaurant would open in Carlton, so that when she was really hot and hungry and tired, she wouldn’t have to go home and struggle to find something palatable to make. Of course, it had been a long time since luck had been on her side, and Charisma more or less chalked it up to fate that, between her cooking skills and the lack of restaurants, she would never again have anything resembling a real meal. She sighed and tossed the brushes she held back into her box full of supplies and hoisted them into her arms. As she turned out the light and called for Scruffy, she took one last look at the back room and the finished sign. By tomorrow it would be dry, and Bill would be able to snap back on the heavy plastic cover – she would suggest only after a good cleaning – and hang the sign back above the store. This had been the most relaxing week she’d had since moving to Arizona and, although the back room of Bill Ross’ grocery store was far from prime working space, she was sad to see the job end. By next week it would be back to the same old routine, the same routine she’d had since she moved into her little, run-down house. When she had left New Jersey, and the only thing she’d had in mind had been holing herself up and never speaking to another person again, when she would have given everything she owned for a quiet night that passed by peacefully, she had thought this was just the kind of life she wanted – needed. Now, more than ever, she realized how lonely it had become, talking to herself in the house while she worked on art she was never able to promote or publicize, trying to make enough to support herself and pay the mortgage without doing tours or talks or ever traveling to see her agent. Charisma sighed, a heavy sigh that seemed to seep from the very bottom of her being. A wry little grin pulled at the corner of her mouth. They always said you should watch what you wish for.
Bill met her at the door, reached down to pat Scruffy’s head, and was rewarded with a gentle lick. “All finished with that sign, there?”
She nodded. “It’s just drying. You can put it up tomorrow.”
Bill nodded. “Good, good. I’m sure Jared will be around to help. He doesn’t seem to have much else to do these days. Just mills around town like he has all the time in the world to do nothing. Oh you know, every now and then he finds something to occupy his self with, like the Doorman foal. Course now, Jenny’s calling all the time, asking him to come over and look at the foal. What’s wrong with the foal? How come it’s sleeping? Goodness, you would never think she grew up around horses. And that Jared, he always was one who couldn’t say no.”
Bill paused for a breath, but Charisma knew him well enough by now to know he was far from finished with his little story. She hadn’t figured it out yet, exactly, but she was sure each story he told her had some sort of significance, and she was just supposed to figure it out, somehow. And anyway, if she’d ever met a man who seemed capable of saying no to someone, it was Jared Williams.
“You know how those young boys are today,” Bill continued, “a pretty face and they just lose all of their ability to talk, let alone think right. They don’t seem to get that all the good stuff is the stuff you can’t see.” Bill reached out to pat Charisma on the shoulder reassuringly and she had the vague suspicion Bill was telling her it was okay she was ugly. “You ask me, that’s why there’s all these pretty people running around getting divorces left and right.” There was a long pause as he thought over his words. “Well, goodnight. Don’t be a stranger. Just because you’re finished painting doesn’t mean you can’t come out to the store just to say hi, now. I’m sure we can find something to talk about. If not Jenny then maybe that little Mary Anne who likes to watch people from her window.” He gestured in the general direction of the street where Charisma could see neat rows of apartments above the ancient shoe repair shop, what passed as the town’s coffee shop, the quaint little boutiques that, at the very least, added some kind of charm to Carlton. Then Bill turned and headed back toward the counter, scooping up his paper, and Charisma knew he was waiting for her to ask about this Mary Anne, knew she would be back before long to hear what other little tidbit of information he was going to share with her. She rolled her eyes. This was pathetic. Her best friend in Arizona was an old man with a grocery store and too much time on his hands. She sighed again and headed out to the truck.
The ride home was quiet. Scruffy pressed her face to the dirty window of the truck, smearing nose pr
ints all over the window, but enjoying herself nonetheless. The truck rattled as she pulled onto the dirt of the driveway, and Scruffy stood up, her tail swinging back and forth, hitting Charisma in the face as she put the truck in park.
She spit out dog hair. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered as she swung open the door and headed toward the house. It was nice to come home to it, for once, instead of spending all day inside of it. Instead of looking worn down and unloved, the way she’d seen it that day with Jared, it looked welcoming and warm.
Scruffy followed her into the kitchen and sat in her favorite spot, right in front of the refrigerator. Charisma rolled her eyes and retrieved a piece of cheese from the fridge taking a bite, then sharing it with the dog. “That better hold you over until dinner is ready.”
The potatoes were safely in the oven, baking away, when Charisma went to get the mail. She had long since stopped thinking there would be anything in there meant for her. There were no postcards, or letters, or announcements, but that didn’t bother her. It was better than it used to be, when she had held her breath looking through the mail, hoping there was nothing, hoping that this time she had moved unnoticed, hoping…. Charisma shook her head, chastising herself for getting caught up in what had once been, and commanded her heart to slow down. She tried to look on the bright side; now she had flyers and coupons and magazines and missing people reports to look through instead. That was an improvement, of sorts.
She sifted through the brightly colored pieces of mail. There was a sale at the local department store. Of course, the local department store was more than an hour’s drive away. Shopping was a full day event here. The women around town would talk about trips to the mall weeks in advance. Where they would eat, if they would see a movie, the whole damn thing was scheduled down to the minute. At least, that was what Bill had told her earlier that week as she had blended in the golds and browns in the cornucopia. She tossed the mail as she skimmed through it, and was once again thankful for online shopping. She snorted. As if there were a reason for her to buy anything new anyway.
Misplaced Innocence Page 3