Unfinished Muse

by R. L. Naquin

  “Are you cold?” He rubbed the palm of his hand over my back. “I have another blanket in the car.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I squinted up at the sky. “I should probably be getting back, though.” I reached for my sandals and slipped them on.

  “Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was thick. “Alright.” He reached for the empty water bottles and placed them in the carrier he’d brought.

  “I’m sorry.” I really was. I was torn between wanting to jump on him and wanting to back away. Backing away was usually my go-to position whenever I was in doubt. I’d have to work on that. “It’s kind of a drive back, and then I have to get my own car. I’ve really had a good time, though.”

  He stood and helped me to my feet, then bent to grab the blanket. “I’m glad. I had fun, too.” His tone was a little stiff.

  I touched his sleeve. “Really. It was perfect.”

  His smile was slow, but it reached his eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?” He didn’t look at me as he folded the blanket.

  I couldn’t believe a guy like this could be so unsure of himself. “Absolutely. We’ll do it on a day when I’m not supposed to be at work. I can relax better that way.”

  He frowned and faced me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this on your first week. Next time, we’ll do it legally. No shenanigans.”

  I looped my arm through his as we walked back to the car. “Well, don’t get rid of all the shenanigans. There can be some shenanigans.”

  He held up two fingers and pinched them close together without touching. “A little shenanigans, then.”

  I laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  ~*~

  I was still a little freaked out by the time we got to my car, although I was pretty sure my freaked-outedness was totally due to Wynter-itis—the inability to commit to anyone or anything. Freddy had been too recent a reminder of my inability to get out of my own way.

  Hopefully, Rick would be patient with me. I wasn’t ready for Mr. Perfect to swoop in out of nowhere. I was a work in progress and he wasn’t. Slight razor burn and a tiny eyebrow scar were not enough to bring him down to my level of screwed up.

  I nearly explained that to him when I gave him the cheek slide. He’d tried to kiss me goodbye, and I sort of panicked again. The hurt in his eyes wasn’t lost on me. But I didn’t have the words to explain it.

  All the way home in my car, I mentally and verbally beat myself up. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s awesome. He’s gorgeous. He anticipates your needs.” I pulled into my parking space and glared at myself in the rearview mirror. “Get. A. Grip.”

  When I burst through the door, I slammed it behind myself, and threw my purse on the counter.

  Phyllis sounded startled. “Wynter? What on Earth is wrong, sweetheart? You nearly scared the leaves off me.” She wasn’t exaggerating. Several dry leaves had fluttered into the sink below the windowsill.

  “I’m sorry.” I gathered the leaves and tossed them in the trash, then poked a finger at her dirt. “Are you thirsty? You’re a little dry.”

  “I could use a drink. Thank you. But first tell me what happened.”

  I ran the faucet and adjusted it until it was the lukewarm temperature Phyllis preferred. “I’m an idiot. I’m broken. You can’t fix me.”

  “Oh, honey. It can’t be that bad. Did something happen at work?”

  I shook my head and trickled water into her dirt. “I didn’t go to work. I went on a picnic with a gorgeous guy. Then I freaked out and made him take me home because he’s too perfect and I’m not.” I shut off the water and burst into tears, still holding the potted plant.

  “Oh, Wynter, no. Don’t be silly.” A leafy branch stroked the back of my hand. “Nobody’s perfect. Any man would be lucky to spend time with you.”

  Her words and tone, combined with the surprisingly soft leaves stroking my hand calmed me. I wiped away my tears. “You think so?”

  She patted my hand. “I know so.” The soothing branch pulled back and whacked me where it had been petting me a second before.

  “Ouch!”

  “I cannot believe you spent the day with a boy instead of going to work. Are you trying to end up in the Underworld?”

  I set her in the sink to drain, then rubbed the welt rising on my skin. “I’ve got it under control. It’s only the first week, and two of my clients are well on their way.”

  If she’d had eyes, I wouldn’t have been able to meet them. As it was, I looked away. She was sure to read the guilt on my face. I felt terrible enough already.

  She tutted and shook her leaves. “Two. Two are on their way.” One of her branches wagged in the direction of the window. “And what about poor Mark out there? He’s running out of time. So what if you figured out he’s trying to design a playground? Knowing what it’s supposed to be isn’t even halfway there. The poor boy needs an idea, Wynter.”

  I was getting lectured by a houseplant. And I was dangerously close to bursting into tears again because she was absolutely right. “I tried. He won’t listen to me.”

  Her voice grew quiet. “Then you must make him listen. Not because it’s your job and you don’t want to fail. You must do it because you are a Muse, and he needs you. Without you, he will fail.”

  Chapter 15

  Phyllis was right, of course. I’d lost sight of the purpose to all this. It wasn’t about whether I failed or not. This was about getting Alex to the competition so he’d feel more in control of his life and less under his mother’s thumb. It was about Missy giving her parents the perfect gift for their fiftieth anniversary.

  And it was about Mark creating something truly special for some really lucky kid.

  I washed the tears from my face and fixed my hair. It was time to get serious. Mark was getting my help in whatever capacity he needed it.

  The ridiculous note from Mrs. Terwilliger was still in the trash. I rescued it and flicked half a grape off the edge.

  “Wynter, what are you doing?” Phyllis sat draining in the sink, straining her branches to reach over the edge as if she couldn’t quite see what I had.

  I smoothed the page against the counter. “I’m going to see Mark about this stupid note.”

  “You can’t go talk to him in person. Are you crazy? Where’s your belt?”

  I waved a dismissive hand in her direction. “It’s in the other room. So far, it hasn’t done me a hell of a lot of good.”

  “This can’t turn out well. Isn’t there a rule against it? What will your boss say?”

  My hand was on the doorknob, and I stopped. “My boss hasn’t had anything important to say to me all week. I’m doing this my way, now.” I walked outside and shut the door before Phyllis could say anything else.

  I stood in front of Mark’s apartment and ran my sweaty palms over my dress. The memo in my hand slipped and dropped to the ground. I bent to pick it up, and when I stood straight again, Mark stood in front of me in his doorway.

  “Hi.” His eyes flicked to the bright note in my hand. “Are you here to complain about me, too? Don’t worry. I’m done trying to build anything.”

  “No!” I blurted the single word a little too loudly. I made an effort to take it down a notch. “No. I don’t want to complain. Well, I mean, I do. But not about you.” I held up the note. “What the hell is her problem?”

  He relaxed and smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe she stole some of my spray paint and was huffing it.”

  I smirked. “That might actually improve her personality.”

  “That it might.” He laughed and stuck his hand out. “I don’t think we’ve really met. I’m Mark.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought we had met and I felt terrible that I’d forgotten your name. I’m Wynter.” I took his offered hand, and he gave mine a warm squeeze rather than a shake.

  “Would you…” He rubbed the back of his neck, as if he were nervous. “Would you like to come in for
a drink or something?”

  “I would love to.” I wadded up Terwilliger’s note and tossed it over my shoulder. “Oops. Don’t you hate when people leave their stuff in public areas?”

  He smiled and stepped aside to let me in. “I have no idea why we haven’t been friends this whole time.”

  I walked past him, trying not to let him see my smile falter. I knew why we hadn’t been friends before. I didn’t have friends. I always thought friends were too much work.

  Mark pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge, opened one and handed it to me.

  I took a sip. “I’ve seen you out there building stuff. What is it you’re working on?” I tried to sound casual, like it didn’t matter to me. Like my entire world wasn’t focused on it right at that moment. Like my future didn’t depend on it.

  He sighed and gestured toward the living room with his bottle. “I’ve been commissioned to build some pieces for a little girl’s fifth birthday.”

  “That sounds fun.” I followed him into the living room and sat in a squeaky leather chair.

  “Fun. Sure. I’m running out of time, and I haven’t come up with a theme yet.” He sighed and took a sip. “Her name is Carry. She’s got leukemia. I want to make it perfect for her.”

  I frowned. No wonder he was so stressed out. “What does she like? It’s for her backyard, right?”

  He froze with his bottle halfway to his mouth. “How did you know that?”

  Shit. “I guessed. It looked like you were building a sandbox earlier in the week.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Well, I took it apart.”

  “What was wrong with it?” I felt like I was approaching an antelope on the Savannah. I had to move slowly so as not to spook him. “I’m sure she would have loved it.”

  “It was all wrong. Too small. Too boring. I don’t know.” He sounded so defeated. “I want it to be something fantastic. She’s been through so much. I want to give her back some of her childhood, you know?”

  He really was sweet. I wanted to hug him and tell him it would all work out. “What about the tires you spray painted last week. Was that part of it?”

  He shrugged and stared at his hands. “I was experimenting with the idea of doing an outer space theme. It didn’t work.” He shook himself and sat straight, looking right at me. “But I’ll get it, right? I’ve got time.” He snorted, then took a long swallow. “What about you? I see you come and go a lot lately during the day. What do you do?”

  The question startled me. “Me?” I did a mental flail, trying to think of an answer that didn’t sound like I’d had a psychotic break. Telling him I was a Muse was out of the question. “I’m a…consultant.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What do you consult about?”

  “Uh. Projects. Aesthetics. I’m a project manager. Consultant. An aesthetics project manager consultant.” I wasn’t sure there was such a thing. I was tanking in this conversation. If this had been a talk show, I’d have been begging them to cut to a commercial. I forced a smile and went all in. “For the government. I can’t really talk about it.”

  “Okay.” His expression was doubtful. “I won’t ask.”

  The awkward silence that followed was broken only by the sound of each of us swallowing our beer. I lasted probably a full minute before I broke.

  “So. What’s got you frozen up? Why haven’t you settled on a big idea, yet?” I tried to give him an encouraging expression, but it felt more like a thin film of desperation spread across my face.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong. But time is running out.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “If I don’t come up with something, we won’t be able to get it built in time for her birthday.”

  I put my bottle on the table and strode over to him. “Come on.” I stuck my hand out.

  He looked at my hand, then up at me. “Where are we going?”

  I gave my hand an impatient shake. “You need to remember what kinds of things kids like.”

  “I know what kids like. I don’t need to go anywhere.” Despite his protest, he took my hand and let me tug him to his feet. “Kids like video games and television marathons.”

  I led him into the kitchen and deposited my empty bottle on the counter. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  He frowned and grabbed his keys. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

  I grinned and shoved him through the door. “We’re going to a toy store.”

  ~*~

  I’d been right not to attempt to hop into Mark’s truck and follow him when I was invisible. The inside of the cab was small and crammed with blueprints, loose tools, and notebooks. If I tried to sit on top of it all in stealth mode, I’d have ended up with a screwdriver poking me in the butt at the very least.

  “So, this is why your apartment is so tidy.” I shoved an atlas and a map of Topeka to the floor. “You keep all your crap in here. Very clever.”

  “I wasn’t expecting a passenger.” He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “This was all your idea.”

  I grinned. “It’s a fabulous idea. You can thank me later.”

  He grunted and pulled out of the parking lot. “For someone who used to avoid talking to everybody, you sure are chatty.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Hey, I wasn’t avoiding anybody.”

  “Uh huh. And you didn’t duck behind your counter when I tried to wave at you through your window.”

  I’d really hoped he hadn’t seen that. Apparently I wasn’t as smooth as I thought. I grimaced at him and remained silent until we arrived at the store.

  The store he chose was a family-owned place with all kinds of old-school games and timeless toys like hula hoops and yo-yos. We stuck together for a while, and I tried to help.

  “How about this?” I held up a pair of hats, one with cat ears and one shaped like what a court jester would wear. “The whole playground could be done in giant hats.”

  He reached out and took the jester hat, frowning in concentration. “Maybe.” He shook it and the tiny bells rang.

  “The curly ends could be double slides.” I gave him a hopeful smile.

  “Let’s keep looking.” He handed it back.

  After my third suggestion, I could see I was hurting his concentration more than helping. I wandered off and left him perusing the stuffed animals. I was sure the answer he was looking for could be found inside that store. He only needed to find it.

  A few aisles over I found a woman about my age wearing a nametag and an apron covered in buttons. In one hand, she held a pink, plastic bottle. In the other, she held a stick with a hole on the end.

  She was blowing bubbles.

  Or at least, she was trying. As I came around the corner, she pursed her lips and blew. The liquid splattered everywhere. She dipped her wand in the solution and tried again with the same result.

  At first, I was amused. Who doesn’t know how to blow bubbles? She blew again, and the thin film almost formed a bubble, then sprayed backward into her mouth instead. I didn’t know how that could even happen. She sputtered, stomped her foot, then tried again.

  I approached with caution, not wanting an eyeful of liquid soap. “You know, if you lift your arm a little closer and a little higher.” I moved her elbow into position. “There. Now try blowing more softly. If you blow too hard, it doesn’t give the bubble a chance to form.”

  She tried again, and a perfect, medium-sized bubble drifted into the aisle. “Hey, thanks!” She tried again, and a stream of smaller ones pattered out of the plastic loop. Grinning, she dropped her wand into the bottle. “I’ve been trying to do that for days. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong.”

  I smiled. “Well, I’m glad I could help.” What a weird skill to have to pass on to a stranger.

  “I’m Amy.” She tapped her nametag. “What can I help you find today?”

  I started to tell her I was just looking. It’s always the automatic response to that question.
But I glanced at the shelves in the aisle where we were standing and gasped. “Are all these for bubbles?”

  “Sure. Big ones. Little ones. Colored ones. Ones that land on you without popping.” She touched the different wands of varying sizes as she spoke, her expression as animated as her hands. “We’ve got these trays so you can pour a bunch of solution into it and dip the really big wands. The bubbles are bigger than a person if you do it right.” She shrugged. “Not that I could get them to work.”

  I was enchanted. There were so many choices dangling from pegs, taunting me. Inviting me. “I’m going to buy them.”

  “Cool. Which ones?”

  I touched a bright green one with a flower-shaped loop on the end. “All of them.”

  She blinked at me. “How about I get you a shopping basket.”

  By the time she came back, I had an armful of wands, two industrial-sized bottles of bubble solution, and a book on the art of bubbles. Amy grabbed two of the smallest plastic wands as they slid off the book on their way to the floor, and we wrestled everything into the basket she’d brought me. As an afterthought, I added a green and yellow bubble gun that shot bubbles at the touch of a trigger.

  “You really like bubbles,” she said. “No wonder you knew how to help me.”

  I shrugged. “Everybody likes bubbles.” I eyed the giant trays and grabbed one, then picked up a contraption that resembled a jump rope—two handles and a length of rope—but was far too short for anybody to jump. “What’s this?”

  “I watched a video of that, once. You hold the handles together and drag it through the solution, then sort of wave it with handles apart.” She chuckled. “I tried it once. You can imagine the cosmic fail I experienced.”

  I dropped it in the basket, along with one last wand that was more hoop than handle. The circle was nearly the size of my head. “Okay. I think that’s enough damage. Let’s ring this up before I can’t make my rent.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Try working here. If I’m not careful, I spend more than I make.” With her free hand, Amy waved me to follow while she carried my basket to the counter.

  The total wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d expected. Turns out, bits of brightly colored plastic in weird geometric shapes were pretty cheap. The rope thing and the book were the most expensive items, and they weren’t too bad, either.