by Gun Brooke
“If you mean chronologically, there.” Hayden pointed at the far left corner. “Go clockwise.”
So I did. It didn’t take me long to realize these paintings and sketches were Hayden’s diary of sorts. The first painting was that of an open window with billowing curtains. Sun shone in on flowerpots and a small female child made of china. The figurine had begun to crack at the bottom, or perhaps the sun was healing it—I could only guess. I kept looking at each painting, and the next that really caught my eye was of a little girl covering her eyes. Her mouth was open as if attempting to scream, and at her feet was that broken, torn ragdoll I’d seen in another of Hayden’s paintings.
After I had looked at half of the paintings, I had to take a break. My mind was filled with images of despair and of exuberant hope, and I was reeling from them. Not thinking about how I might startle Hayden, I turned and hugged her close. “Oh, God.” I needed to hold her, mainly because I wanted to make sure she was here, that she had survived all the things that had happened to her.
Hayden slowly wrapped her arms around me. “Are you crying?”
“No. Well, a little, maybe. Your paintings are so strong that they bring all kinds of feelings to the surface. And that’s a good thing,” I added. “I imagine myself feeling what you went through. You have an extraordinary gift for showing the viewer such things.”
“I see.” Her voice indicated that she took my word for it, but also that she didn’t quite understand what I meant.
“Normally, I ask my artists what they mean or were thinking regarding a certain art piece, but in your case, that’s redundant. You’ve already shown me with each brushstroke.”
Hayden pressed her lips to my cheek. I was so full of emotions that I turned my head and captured her lips. Lacing my fingers in her hair, the passion that filled me whenever I was around her took over. Sliding the tip of my tongue whisper-light against her lower lip, I coaxed her to open her mouth for me. Her tongue met mine, willing and eager, and then we were truly kissing. Holding her closer to me, I felt the outline of her slender, yet curvaceous body. I moaned as I explored her mouth; it tasted sweet and slightly of coffee, and I caressed her back with my hands. Her soft breasts pressed against mine, making my nipples harden and burn where they rubbed against the fabric of my sports bra.
Eventually it wasn’t enough to breathe just through my nose, and I ended the kiss, gasping for air. Hayden seemed just as out of breath and clung to my upper arms. Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink, and her full lips were damp and swollen.
As it turned out, I couldn’t let go of Hayden quite yet. I had to hold her and slowly pulled her closer again, looking for signs of potential discomfort on her part. Instead, Hayden willingly wrapped her arms around my neck and buried her face in my hair.
“You feel so good,” I murmured. “I love holding you. Kissing you.” This was the first time I’d voiced anything about our physical closeness.
“I like kissing and holding you also, Greer.” Now kissing my hair, Hayden inhaled deeply. “And you smell very nice.”
I had to chuckle. Suddenly so happy, I tipped my head back and ran my fingertips along her jawline. “I guess I should look at the rest so we don’t let Isabella sit alone in the garden for too long.”
“Okay.”
I kept holding her as I gazed at the rest of her paintings. A recurring theme was the ragdoll, either broken or torn, or looking healthy and glowing. It didn’t escape me how much pink and other pastels were displayed in the background when the doll looked raggedy. A subtle way to hint at her mother, I guessed. The average spectator would never see the connection, of course, but even so, the bright pastels behind the doll were enough to create interest and conflicting emotions.
The very last paintings, two acrylics, radiated something I interpreted as panic. Swirls, not pretty or decorative, but rather harsh and dizzying, surrounded a small unicorn. The animal was up on its hind legs, swerving its hoofs against the vortices, its eyes wild, with the whites glaring brightly. In an accompanying piece, the unicorn was down on its side against complete darkness. To the sides I could see light, perhaps stars, but ahead, yellow, dried tufts of grass, broken up in places by sharp-edged stones, led to only a blue-black darkness. The unicorn’s half-closed eyes looked right at me, and that’s when I saw its irises were icy gray.
“The next day I moved into the school gym hall,” Hayden said quietly. “I left all these paintings here, as well as some bigger ones in Nana’s garage. I took two suitcases with me and began buying paints and more easels. Until then I’d worked over there.” She pointed at the part of the room where light came in through two corner windows. “I haven’t been back here since—until today.”
“I’m glad we came. We’ll have to do it again soon. Summer will be here, and we should make sure Isabella can visit more often.” I kissed her lightly.
“Yes.” Hayden kissed me back. “Thank you.”
As we walked back to Isabella, I thought of a multitude of ways I could help these women in the future. Even if it was a simple thing such as having coffee in the sun—when you couldn’t manage that on your own, it meant a lot.
*
“Come up to the studio.” That same evening, Hayden stood in the doorway to my office. “Please,” she added belatedly, making me smile.
“All right. Have something to show me?”
“Yes.”
We walked up the stairs. The setting sun painted the sky a stunning pink and purple. This was usually when Hayden quit painting for the day, and I figured I should put up daylight light fixtures for her if she wanted to work later. I knew many artists who swore by them. I could always suggest it, anyway.
“I have the second painting for Chicago ready,” Hayden said, her voice casual as usual.
I stopped walking so abruptly that she walked into my right side. “You do? You’re done?”
“Yes.” Smiling faintly, Hayden took my hand. “Come.” She pulled me through the door to the studio and then let go. I rounded the easel closest to me, having no idea what I would see.
A field of sunflowers created the background for a statuesque woman, backlit by the sunlight and seen from the right. Her hands reached straight up, palms almost together, and her dark hair ran down her back to her waist. I sat down on a stool and kept looking at it with Hayden standing patiently by my side.
The woman’s clothes, lacy and frilly, lay in shreds at her feet. Instead she wore sewn-together pieces of sunflowers. They followed the outline of her body, accentuating her breasts and pubic area. In the dark shadows among the roots of the flowers, small furry animals—I couldn’t tell quite what they were, but they looked like fantasy creatures to me—scurried and peeked through.
“Oh, Hayden.” I often found myself emotional and taken with a work of art, but now, as this was so brilliantly executed and was Hayden’s painting, I had to blink away tears. “It’s absolutely show-worthy. It’s more than that. It’s amazing.”
“Good.” Hayden took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She placed two brushes on the bench in the corner behind us, and only now did I realize she’d been clutching them. So, she’d been nervous about what my verdict would be?
“No,” I said in response to her words. “Thank you. I’m not sure you realize what a privilege it is for anyone, me included, to see something like this. Every detail is exquisite, no brushstroke is redundant, and the emotions you evoke in me with this…I’m sure others will feel similarly.”
“It’s hard for me to judge my own work. Nana says I go into a zone when I work. I’m not sure what she means, but I know I’m focused and don’t hear or see what goes on around me.”
“That’s exactly what she means. That’s your own private zone where you create what matters to you.”
Hayden tilted her head. “I’m in the same zone when we kiss.”
My heart skipped several beats and then rushed on in painfully quick contractions. “Me too,” I said quietly. “It’s far too easy for me t
o lose myself in you.”
“You don’t lose anything, or yourself, in me.” Hayden frowned now. “When we kiss, I know exactly where you are, and you are complete.”
I smiled wistfully. “Yes, of course. What I meant was, I lose sight of everything else but you.”
Looking uncertain now, Hayden reached for a brush. I wanted to kick myself for managing to make my explanation sound negative, so I placed a calming hand on hers.
“I love being in the zone with you.” I hoped she’d understand what I meant. Slowly the hand beneath mine let go of the brush but still hovered above it. “I’m attracted to you, to everything about you.”
The light reignited in Hayden’s eyes. This was such a gift. No pretense, no lies, and no games. I could take at face value what Hayden said and her response to my words and my kisses.
“You’re beautiful, Greer,” Hayden whispered and let go of the brush completely as she held me close. “I like how you look at my art. You take your time and see it…like in the zone.”
“It’s impossible not to. I think you’ll find others reacting the same way when we show it in Chicago.” Something dawned on me. “Have you flown before?”
“Yes.”
Oh, thank God. I’d worried about that ever since India ordered our tickets to Chicago. It was a direct flight, but those commuter airplanes were still often crowded. “Good. Great.” I tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Where did you go?”
“I’ve flown to my grandmother’s summer house on Martha’s Vineyard in the company helicopter many times.”
Of course. Wanting to thud my head against one of the windowpanes, I had to smile in spite of everything. Taking Hayden to Logan airport, then onto a flight, and, oh God, guiding her through O’Hare airport. One of the most crowded, busiest airports in the world. I just couldn’t do that to her. I decided to text India as soon as possible. We needed to arrange for special service so as not to have to sedate Hayden. I could hear India in my mind. “When all else fails, double dose of Benadryl.”
We stood there together for a while, until it was impossible to make out any details of the paintings as the sun slowly set. Walking inside, I let go of Hayden, but she kept my hand in hers. At the door of my study, she let go after kissing the back of my hand. I came close to pulling her in for another soul-searing kiss, but I knew taking it slowly was better, if more frustrating. I didn’t doubt Hayden would welcome me into her bed, but it was too soon.
Sitting down at my desk, I thought of her newest painting and compared it to the ones I’d seen in her old room earlier. I hadn’t seen all of the paintings there, as some of them were put up in several layers in some places. Her earliest work had lacked the technique she now possessed, but the ability to induce emotions had always been there. Now, she painted like a much older person, like someone who’d spent a lifetime observing the world with its inhabitants.
I gripped the computer mouse tightly as it dawned on me what I was about to do. I was going to show the art world and the general public this young woman’s extraordinary talent. By doing so, I would help set her free. But once she was flying solo out in the world on the wings of her art and her talent, buoyed by her right to her own life, she might move farther and farther away from me.
Swallowing hard, I vowed to be selfless if that happened. It would no doubt kill me, but so many people had stood in her way, and I sure as hell didn’t intend to be one of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Another week passed, consisting of Hayden going over to Penelope’s to work on her portrait, of us cohabitating, and, of course, the dreaded Thursday when we taught the master class. I actually offered Hayden a way out of the teaching part, but her response was so frantic, I dropped it instantly. She took all promises very seriously, and, for her, it seemed a mortal sin to go back on her word. This made me think such things might have happened a lot to Hayden when she was a little girl.
We spent the evenings, after sunset when it was impossible for her to paint, together. They were getting increasingly warmer and we both enjoyed the roof a lot. Hayden would arrange a tray of cheeses and grapes, and wine—for me—plus mineral water—for her.
Of course we sat on the couch together, and it didn’t take us long to find our way into each other’s arms. This was where we sat now, indoors this time, as it was raining. I had a TV room on the second floor, and, after the kitchen, this was Hayden’s favorite indoor place. She seemed to relish making all kinds of treats, and, if I was home, she used the stove and the oven to create a variety of food. She followed recipes meticulously, and if one ingredient was missing, she simply threw out the whole dish. I tried to convince her it was okay to improvise but soon realized this wasn’t going to happen.
My cell phone buzzed and I saw India’s name on the display. Answering “Hello,” I heard her laugh.
“I’m still hoping to hear you one day answer with ‘Greer here,’” she said.
“Funny.” I shook my head but had to laugh with her.
“Anyway, I’m calling because I finally have confirmation that you and Hayden will have a special escort through the airports. Eventually I got a hold of this terrific woman who turned out to have an autistic son, and she knew exactly what I was asking for. So, she’ll take care of you in person, and she’s communicated with O’Hare as well. I’ll drive you to Logan here, and you’ll have limo service in Chicago.” She drew a deep breath after her long and fast speech.
“You’re amazing.” I didn’t often praise her like that, but without India’s ability to carry out these things, I wouldn’t be nearly as efficient or successful. “Just so you know, an extra summer bonus is heading your way.”
“Wh-what? No. I mean cool, absolutely, but you pay me well, Greer.”
“You deserve that, and more. No arguing.”
“All right. Now, how’s Hayden feeling about the trip and flying commercially?” India lowered her voice as if she thought Hayden might overhear.
“I don’t see any special signs of stress. She’s in the kitchen right now, making dinner.”
“Again? Wow, she sure likes to cook.”
“Yeah, who knew? As long as it makes her happy, I’m all for it.” And this was true. I thought this might be yet another creative outlet for her.
“Okay, I’ll let you go since it turns out dinner’s ready here too. Mac and cheese à la Erica. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“Thank you, India. Enjoy your dinner.”
“Oh, I will,” India said, sounding so dreamy I wondered if she was indeed thinking of the mac and cheese. “Ciao.”
I wandered into the kitchen, where I found Hayden in the last stages of setting the table. She’d folded the napkins into perfect bishop’s hats and even placed two tall, white candles in pewter holders. Everything looked lovely, and my heart did yet another twirl in my chest.
“Candlelit dinner, I see?”
“Yes. I read it’s considered romantic.” Hayden looked pleased. “I knew I should wait to light the candles until you got here, since I think the same rules apply to fire as to cooking with the stove and oven.”
“Good thinking. Why don’t I light them now?” I didn’t wait for her to reply but took the large lighter I used for the outdoor charcoal grill and lit the candles. “Very cozy. I don’t think we need the overhead light.” I switched it off, and the candlelight cast a soft glow around the breakfast nook. “See?”
“Beautiful. Now sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I winked at her and sat down at the table.
“I’m turning off the last burner now and shutting off the oven,” Hayden said.
“Good.”
Hayden busied herself with our plates, and after a minute, she brought me gravlax on toast with lettuce and a dill-mustard sauce. I ate with enthusiasm and hummed around each bite. “Very good.”
“A Swedish delicacy.” Hayden’s eyes shone in the candlelight. She had never looked more beautiful, and I wanted to s
low down time and sit here and look at her forever.
The main course turned out to be a Thai dish with large shrimp, vegetables, and egg noodles. By now I was getting almost too full, but the flavors made it hard to stop eating. “Goodness, we might just have to make you apply to Master Chef, given you can cook like this.” I didn’t look up as I said it, but her tiny gasp proved my attempt at a joke had crashed and burned.
“You wish to send me away?” Hayden’s eyes grew huge.
“No, no. I was joking. I meant it as a compliment since you spoil me by cooking so well.”
Hayden had gripped her utensils hard for a second but now visibly relaxed, her expression softening. “I like it.”
“So do I. And just so we’re clear, I don’t want to send you away, anywhere.” I raised my glass to her. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Clinking our glasses gently, Hayden sipped her mineral water.
“You all packed for tomorrow?” I eyed her for signs of stress or worry.
“Yes. Five outfits, three pairs of shoes, pajamas—”
“I believe you.” I held up my hand, gently interrupting the list. “I’m glad we thought of bringing more clothes from your closet at the house. You have some beautiful things.”
“Nana insisted I go shopping every fall and spring. She said I had an image as a Calthorpe to uphold, and even if I didn’t attend the functions with the rest of the family, when I was out in public she wanted me to ‘look the part.’ I often asked her what part she meant, but she just said ‘my part.’ I still don’t understand.” Shrugging, Hayden leaned back. “The few functions I did attend didn’t end well. Mother kept introducing me to people even though Nana told her it wasn’t a good idea.”
“A lot of people will be at the gallery in Chicago, but I have several ideas how we can minimize how many approach you at a time. I won’t leave your side, as the young man showing his paintings next to yours is fully capable of doing his own thing with his agent.”
“Agent?” Hayden’s eyebrows went up. “Will I need an agent?”