Soul Unique

by Gun Brooke

  *

  At the house, Hayden waited patiently while I put my briefcase away and fetched us two bottles of mineral water. I was getting hooked on it too. I took Hayden’s hand in mine as we walked up the stairs to the roof. It was a cloudy day, but the light was still bright enough for me to peruse a painting in her studio.

  The canvas was covered, and Hayden slowly removed the fabric and stepped back. She held the water bottle in one hand and three brushes in the other. Before I even glanced at the painting, I crossed the floor to her and cupped her cheeks. Kissing her gently, but with emphasis, I hummed into the caress. Then I let go and looked into her eyes, wanting her to see how honest I was.

  “I love you, Hayden. With all my heart and soul, I love you. I’ve never said that to another woman before. There was actually a time when I thought I’d never love anyone—ever. You’re a miracle to me, Hayden. Not only because I love you, but because you care about me too. You mean everything to me.”

  Hayden looked into my eyes for a good ten seconds, not saying a word. The silence should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. I wondered if she was trying to put words to her feelings. I knew she felt everything like everybody else, but it was hard for her to identify her emotions.

  “Greer. Look.” She took me gently by the shoulders and turned me around, facing the painting.

  I found myself looking at a portrait of me. As I let my eyes dart all over the painting, they welled up with irrepressible tears. Pressing my fingertips to my lips, I tried to take in all the details.

  The canvas was large, fifty by thirty-five inches. Hayden had placed me in the center of a meadow, mountains to the left and a big city to the right. In the far background was a forest. She had extended some locks of my blond hair, making them reach the clouds and disappear into the sunlight. Flowers and grass wound themselves up along my legs, morphing into my long shirt. My shadow touched the mountains, and when I leaned closer, I saw one mountaintop was shaved flat. On it was a set of wicker patio furniture and a very familiar studio. The city was, of course, Boston. I recognized the skyline from the Financial District. Here, two people who bore a striking resemblance to India and Erica were enjoying a picnic on the roof of one of the high-rises. On yet another one, I recognized Luke and some of the other students.

  Between me and the forest, slightly to the side, I saw Penelope at her desk, writing. Next to her stood a transparent portrait of Edward, looking stronger and younger, and cupping the back of Penelope’s head. To my other side, I saw Isabella. Standing up proudly, she held on to Oliver.

  My gaze returned to how Hayden had painted me. She hadn’t made me prettier, or more beautiful, or painted me into something I was not. She’d used oil, with tiny brushes, and painted me like she saw me. My eyes glowed with love for her. My hands reached for her, palms forward. A faint smile played on my lips, and across my body she’d even painted in my signature messenger bag.

  I pivoted and hugged Hayden so hard, she gave a muted whimper. “Oh, God, darling. You’re amazing. This painting is…is…” I couldn’t find the word. “I love it. I love you.”

  “It’s yours. We won’t ever sell it.” She pulled back some to look at me. “You see?”

  And I did. As I held her close, I managed to murmur, “I do.” And I did. Perhaps Hayden would never say “I love you,” but this was more than that. Way beyond anything I ever could’ve wished for or expected, Hayden had showed me I was the center of her world.

  I vowed to make sure she knew she was the axis mine revolved around.

  Epilogue

  The sun shone through the vines in the ceiling of Penelope Moore’s conservatory. In early September, it was nearly too warm to be out here, but Penelope had opened two of the large sliding doors, and a cool breeze made it perfect.

  “I was close to speechless,” Penelope Moore said, and squeezed my hand. “Can you believe how long the line was to your gallery?”

  I couldn’t. The opening of Hayden’s showing at my Boston gallery had superseded any expectation. The few promotion opportunities I’d managed to convince Hayden to participate in had paid off tenfold. The interesting part was how many of the younger demographic were interested in Hayden’s art. I even thought I saw kids as young as preteens in line to get in.

  “Penelope’s portrait was one of the highlights,” Isabella said. She maneuvered her wheelchair with her good hand. “I’d seen most of her earlier work already, of course, but the way you displayed them, Greer, made them feel brand-new.”

  “We debated whether to hang her paintings chronologically, as she wanted to do initially, but when we talked about it, it seemed better to go by the mood rather than the date.” I held my arm around Hayden’s shoulders, where we sat on a wooden bench together.

  “I had to make Greer put up a not-for-sale sign next to Penelope’s portrait.” Hayden looked serious. “Some people were very persistent. I told them over and over, but they seemed to think if they offered more money, I’d change my mind. I told them I was richer than them and didn’t need it.”

  I guffawed at the memory. One art collector in particular had stared at Hayden as if she’d sprouted wings and smacked him over the head with the tips.

  “I noticed you didn’t show Greer’s portrait,” Isabella said. “Why’s that? It’s one of your most amazing pieces, my girl.”

  Hayden looked at me and smiled. We’d both been in total agreement not to display that particular painting, which hung over the fireplace in our home. Turning back to Isabella, Hayden said, “It’s too private, Nana. It’s how I revealed my true feelings for Greer the first time. Showing family and friends at our house is fine. Displaying to total strangers what’s in my heart, how Greer is everything to me, is not fine.”

  “I see.” Isabella’s eyes softened. “I won’t argue with that—far from it. I think it proves how far you’ve come, not only with your painting, but also in the way you express your emotions. I’m so very proud of you, Hayden.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but coffee and tea are ready in the dining room.” Tina, the caregiver Penelope still employed, showed up in the doorway. “Also, India and Erica are here, as well as Oliver and his date.”

  “Excellent. You are joining us, aren’t you, Tina?” Penelope asked as she stood. She took the handles of Isabella’s wheelchair and pushed her back into the house.

  “Sure. Thank you.” Tina took over the wheelchair and helped Isabella maneuver it close to the table. Isabella had lived in Penelope’s house for almost two months now. The two of them had found each other through Hayden and me. It didn’t take long for Penelope to suggest that Isabella move in with her. She argued the fact that she already had all the equipment needed for the practical side of Isabella’s care.

  Isabella had agonized over the decision, but when Hayden stated how lonely Penelope must be, she relented. Penelope had spent a week having painters and decorators turn Edward’s very male bedroom into a lovely room fit for a flower-loving woman. Hayden brought a painting she’d done of her grandparents when she was fifteen, which brought tears to both older ladies’ eyes.

  Isabella thrived. Hayden and I visited several times a week—Hayden actually popped over almost every day—just to talk and have coffee together. Even Isabella’s physician was amazed at her improvement. The day she moved her left hand for the first time since her stroke, Hayden actually hugged Tina, whom she’d taken a long time to warm up to.

  I wondered if Hayden and Oliver missed not having their parents take part in this celebration of Hayden’s success and Isabella’s improved situation. I knew Oliver had made progress with his father over the last months. Hayden showed no interest in reconciling—not yet. Leyla kept her distance, and I thought that proved the woman wasn’t completely unintelligent. I simply couldn’t see how Hayden, so honest and without deceit, could ever have a true exchange with her mother, the born narcissist. Leyla would never own up to how much she traumatized her daughter, and Hayden would never accept anything but the nake
d truth.

  Now as we sat around the table, chatting over homemade scones, I tried to think back to the day before I went to the Rowe Art School. I’d been successful and busy, had good friends. I hadn’t really missed not having someone in my life—or I’d convinced myself having a partner was more trouble than it was worth.

  One day later all that had changed. I’d nearly turned and left, but agreed to at least see some of the students’ work. If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have seen the painting of the little girl inside the window looking out. Who would’ve guessed that painting had held the key to my happiness?

  I ran my hands up and down Hayden’s thigh under the tablecloth. “Congratulations, darling,” I murmured. “India just told me you’ve sold over ninety percent of your paintings. The remaining paintings will be sold too, as several people are bidding on them.”

  Hayden gave me a smile, her real one, and squeezed my hand. “So they like my paintings?”

  “They adore them. When we get back to the house, I’ll show you some of the reviews. And if you hear a buzzing sound, it’s India’s phone, hidden in Erica’s pocket, set to vibrate. People keep ringing about you, and Erica wants to have her scones in peace. They want to interview you, have you on their TV show—”

  “TV show?” Hayden actually looked interested. “Which one?”

  “Oh, my. I’d say all of them. Why don’t you ask India for a list later, and you can decide what you want to do?”

  “Okay.” Her eyes gleaming, Hayden gazed around the table and then locked her gaze on me. “This is wonderful. I’m happy.”

  I swallowed against the sudden burning sensation in my throat. I’d never heard Hayden speak of an emotion like that before. It had to be really strong for her to identify it with words. I held her hand and raised it to my lips, kissing her knuckles. “That makes two of us, darling. I’m so very happy too.”

  About the Author

  Gun Brooke resides in the countryside in Sweden with her very patient family. A retired neonatal intensive care nurse, she now writes full time, only rarely taking a break to create websites for herself or others and to do computer graphics. Gun writes both romances and sci-fi.

  Follow Gun Brooke on the web at gbrooke-fiction.com, or on social media:

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/gunbach

  Twitter:@redheadgrrl1960

  Tumblr: gunbrooke.tumblr.com

  LiveJournal: redheadgrrl1960.livejournal.com

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