by J. A. Cooper
“Can you answer one or two questions about your experiences here today?” he’d asked.
The kid had looked genuinely interested, and Nathan had figured answering a question or two for the kid would be fine.
“Then he wanted a picture.” Nathan sighs. “He told me that he’d pull one photo from those he was taking that day. He even showed me pictures he had already taken of a couple of items. I should’ve never agreed to the photo, because the painting ended up being printed. Then William picked up his daughter’s high school paper and read about me.”
“So that’s how he found out? Did you know him before?”
Nathan shakes his head. “No.” He laughs dryly. “The funny thing is that his call was so jarring, I called my father right away, because I knew he knew art appraisers. He got me in contact with one. Imagine my shock when the appraiser said, after testing its authenticity that the painting was worth three million dollars.”
I let out a long whistle.
“I’m still not sure how he got my number,” Nathan says.
“He had your name from the story. A phone number was probably easy enough to get with today’s technology. Is your name listed in the White Pages?”
Nathan shakes his head. “But I guess you’re right.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I was going to loan it to a museum in New York, but then I changed my mind.”
“Okay, so now what?”
“Well, the painting is the prize, isn’t it?” Nathan sighs. “I’ve decided to carry it to someone.”
I examine Nathan’s face, looking for clues.
He glances at me then gazes out the window. “That’s all I can say about it.” His voice is matter-of-fact and his face stern.
In a way, I don’t want to know any more. Heat trickles in since the windows are down and the AC is off. I nod and gather my loose hair in one hand before releasing it back over my shoulders. I only hope that Nathan can keep William from bothering him too much.
Chapter 5
I get a call from the agency asking if I’ll participate in a magazine photo shoot at the end of August. I haven’t done a lot of shoots, and I’m way excited about the offer. For some reason, Nathan crosses my mind. Why are you thinking about him now? I tell the agency representative that I’ll do the shoot.
“Are you positive?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say.
I plug the date in my cell phone, but for some reason, I’m rethinking my plans. It’s because of him. Don’t tell me you’re falling for Nathan already, Shayna? I shake off the thought and sigh, but in a way, the fact that my feelings for Nathan have become stronger is welcome. Who doesn’t like falling in love?
I’m presented with a dilemma I didn’t expect to face when I left New York City—wanting to stay in Missouri past the summer. I have enough money to live off of for a while, and I could always find a job flipping burgers or something. I chuckle. I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to work in a restaurant or flip burgers at a fast-food joint. Life is a funny thing. I’m sure a girl somewhere would love to walk in my shoes, and I daydream about flipping burgers.
I’ll do the shoot. I can always come back to Missouri. Or not. I guess I’ll just have to see how things go with Nathan until August. Living with my dad and stepmom is great. I help around the house, spend time with Dad, and enjoy Linda’s home-cooked meals. I don’t think Mom will mind too much if I decide to come back since she was prepared for me to leave for college.
Magazine work will be a great opportunity, and the shoot will pay enough for a one-week vacation in the UK. I traveled there with my sister a year ago, and I’ve wanted to go back ever since. This time, I’ll visit all the tourist attractions, like the London Eye and O2, instead of work.
Right now, I really want to make the right choices in my life. I know that coming to Missouri was the right choice. I’m comfortable in my hometown, and I’m getting to know more about my dad, as well as my stepmom. I don’t want to look back at my life someday and feel as though I could’ve made better choices.
When Nathan calls me later in the evening, I share the good news with him. He’s excited for me and offers his congratulations.
“I hope you come back,” he says.
My heart pounds. He wants me here. I look at my feet as I sit on my bed.
“Well, I guess it’s been an interesting day for both of us,” Nathan says.
I shake my head. Where’re my manners? “How was your day?”
“It’s been good overall,” he says. “But I got the strangest call today.”
I straighten up.
“This guy named Russell Montclair, he says he’s an art collector, called me. He offered me a million dollars for the painting.”
I laugh, because the offer’s almost comical. “Does this Russell guy know you know the real value of the painting?”
“Apparently not,” Nathan deadpans. “I told him thanks for the offer―but no thanks.”
I sigh loudly and shake my head. “These people, man. I hope you sell it fast, if that’s what you really want to do.”
“I do.” Nathan sneezes. “I just got to wait a couple more weeks. My dad’s in Amsterdam on business. Even though we aren’t close, it’s his contact who’s buying the painting, so I’d feel more comfortable making the transaction with him here.”
“I understand.” I wonder about Nathan’s relationship with his dad. Should I broach the subject? I decide to dip a toe in this area of his life. If he opens up, I’ll take it as a good sign. It means he’s willing to let me in, even if only a little at a time. “How come your dad and you are so distant?”
Nathan doesn’t answer at first, then he sighs. “My parents had a bad split. Lots of cussing and my mom throwing things. My dad left home in the morning for work, came home to eat dinner, then promptly left again until the wee hours of the morning. He said he just couldn’t deal with her nagging anymore. Every day, it was the same old shitty routine, replayed over and over again.”
“Wow,” I say.
“I always felt that that was no way for a man, a real man, to treat his family. I didn’t have to be an adult to know that. Then when my mom died, my world crashed.”
I hear pain in Nathan’s voice. His words drop slowly like heavy rocks. “When did your mom pass?” I furrow my eyebrows, concentrating on what he’s about to say and hoping, in a strange way, that her death wasn’t too recent. In middle school, a close friend of mine died, and I remember the confusion and the raw sadness I felt at the time. My parents even considered putting me on short-term medication, but they chose not to. I got better, little by little, with the passing of time. But that was middle school and a different situation. This is his mother.
“Eight years ago,” Nathan says softly. “I think my anger over how my dad treated her before they went their separate ways always remained in me. It didn’t boil to the surface until after she was gone.”
I sigh and cross my legs. It’s hard hearing what he went through.
“It’s so hard to forgive him. And he was busy.” Nathan snorts. “He became more successful after he left us.” I don’t know what to say to him. I try to think of something, but then he talks. “It’s only now that I’m trying to work through things with him and move on f. After all, how things went down can’t be changed.”
Chapter 6
I sit on the ottoman in my dad’s office, leafing through a clothing catalogue from last Christmas. Dad sits behind his desk; his glasses perched on his nose, looking at documents. His office is pretty organized. One wall is all book shelves with various business books. He has a desk, a sofa, and a fan.
Dad picks up a stack of files and taps them on his desk to even out the bundle. He sighs. “I’m behind on my work.”
His eyes fall on a box to the right of the telephone. Inside the box is a stack of envelopes. I’m not sure if there’s anything in them.
“I normally send out a letter to my clients each summ
er around this time,” Dad says. “But as you can see, I still need to mail them off. Do you mind going to the post office and dropping them off for me? I’ll give you the money for the proper postage.”
“No problem.” I bend a page in the catalogue to mark a beautiful red dress, then I get up and put the catalogue back inside the ottoman. I point at my resting spot. “I’ve got to get one of these things.”
Dad nods. “Yes, the handy ottoman. Great to sit on and to store stuff in. That’s what I’ll call efficient furniture.”
I chuckle and pick up the box of envelopes. “I’ll be back.”
“Thanks, Shayna.”
At the post office, I sigh and stand in line, estimating that about eleven people are ahead of me. I huff again. This is really snail mail. I consider going across the street to grab a donut. For some reason, I’ve been craving them. Since my next modeling gig isn’t for a few weeks, I’m determined to treat myself. I usually eat a combination of healthy food and what I want on the weekends—in moderation. Since I got to Missouri, I’ve thrown in an extra splurge item on a weekday too. I peek behind me, tempted to go for the donut and orange juice, but two more people have joined the line, so I stay put.
The line moves quickly despite my initial fear of waiting for a long time. Soon enough, I’ve handed the envelopes to a postal worker, taken the receipt, and finished my errand. I stuff the receipt in my purse and look through it for some breath mints before I hear what sounds like a cat call.
Someone is whistling at me.
I frown and look up for the source of this animal behavior. William leans against a counter at the back of the post office. He smiles at me. He’s wearing another baseball hat. This one’s red. He must have a bald spot.
“It’s nice to see you, Shayna.” He leans forward, but his eyes remain steady on my face, before he stands tall.
I nod.
“Can I have a minute of your time please?”
What for? I scrunch my eyebrows.
He holds his pointer finger and thumb apart a little. “Just a minute or two, please.”
I hesitate to talk to him. What does he want from me? But I walk toward him, slightly curious about what he’ll say.
“How’s it going so far?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles and scratches behind his ear. “I know you’re new to the area. People in Pier Park tend to know each other, even if it’s only by face.”
“Actually, I’m originally from here,” I say defensively. The second the words are out of my mouth, I wonder why I’m explaining myself to a stranger.
“Oh, is that right?” William chuckles. “Well, I guess I made the right call the first time I saw you. You seem like a nice enough young lady.”
What does he want? My stomach rumbles, and I put on a serious expression. Modeling’s taught me how to take on many personas, and William’s small talk seems like a waste of time.
“I’ve caught glances of Nathan and you about town,” William says. “I’ve kept my distance though. But I’m hoping maybe he’ll listen to you.”
“To me?” I’m a bit confused. I press my lips a little more firmly together. I’m not sure I should be having this conversation with William.
“Yes. Maybe you can talk to Nathan about selling me back the painting.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. This man has actually stopped me about the art piece. “Listen”—I stick out my hands—“I know nothing about the painting. I’ve never even seen it.”
That seems like news to William. “Really? Nathan hasn’t shown it to you?”
I wipe sweat from my forehead. The door to the post office is open, inviting the humidity of the hot summer day inside. I shake my head. “I don’t have to see it.”
“Of course you do,” William declares.
I look away and clear my throat. “I’m sure I could see it if I wanted to, but it’s Nathan’s property. He can show it to me whenever he wants.”
William looks at me squarely. “Well... maybe I read you wrong.”
I’m ready to go. “Well, take care.” I start walking away.
William steps in my path and stretches out his hand. “Wait, that didn’t come across right. I apologize.” He gives me a slight bow just like he did the day I met him. His eyes stay averted. “I’m just becoming worn out asking Nathan for this painting. It’s rightfully mine anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
William smiles. “Nathan bought the painting from my ex-wife. We hadn’t been divorced for that long―maybe about four months—when she had that tacky garage sale.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Let’s get real here; no one who lives on Cascadia Avenue has a yard sale.” William shakes his head at the thought. “But she did it, and sold my mother’s painting.”
“Hmmm.”
“My mom gave me that painting as a high school graduation gift. I had no clue what it was worth, and I put it away in a box. How am I supposed to function knowing that her present was given away?”
“I’m sorry to hear this.”
“Don’t be sorry. Convince him to sell it.”
If this man couldn’t convince Nathan, how did he expect me to do it? I want to get him off my back though, so I say, “Sure,” and nod. I move away again, and William walks with me, his smile wide. We step into the sunlight.
“Thanks. It’ll be really nice to get my family heirloom back.”
“Sure.” I’m already worried about how I’ll approach the subject with Nathan. I hope he doesn’t get upset that I’ve talked to William. I feel a tinge of regret that I even agreed to talk to Nathan about it. “Well, I have to go.”
“Sure, no problem.” William smiles at me.
“Well later.” I give him a wave.
I will ask Nathan. Maybe he’ll show me what all this fuss was about. I want to know more about the painting. But no matter my thoughts, my stomach feels mushy. I don’t know if it’s nerves or if it’s because I haven’t eaten breakfast. I do know that I really have to get something to eat, preferably something sweet. For some reason, I feel as though I’ve caved in.
Chapter 7
Nathan calls to ask me if I want to drive to Canoe Park and chill for a bit. It’s a gorgeous sunny day, so of course I say yes. I enjoy being around him more and more.
“I’ve never been there,” I say after he invites me.
“It’s on the outskirts of Picaldy,” Nathan says, referring to a city about twenty minutes away. “I’ll pick you up in a hour. Will you be ready?”
I like his take-charge attitude. “Sure.”
I get ready for our date, putting on blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and white sneakers. Nathan comes five minutes early, and we head for the park. On the way there, I tell him a bit more about my modeling days and how much I enjoyed England.
“I like England too,” he says.
Maybe we can go there together someday. As I’m smiling at this secret hope, I see the sign for Canoe Bay Park. Nathan drives past the sign and parks.
He exhales loudly. “I come here when I want to get away and relax.”
“I see that it’s got a bike trail.” I point off in the distance.
Nathan nods. “There’s also a little pond farther in. You ready? We can go for a stroll.”
I nod, and Nathan puts up the windows before we get out of the car. We walk across luscious green grass. It rained again last night. I hear birds chirping, hidden away in the trees and bushes.
Nathan takes my hand. “Your hands are so soft.”
“Thanks.”
We move off the grass onto the bike trail, and I inhale a huge gulp of air, which smells much cleaner than New York City’s.
“When we get farther in, I’ll show you the pond,” Nathan says. “You can see parts of it through the leaves here.”
“We should walk over to it.”
“Okay.” Nathan rubs his thumb over my hand, which tickles me and makes me giggle. “This park’s the perfect escape. You can’t
really hear cars driving by.”
The park’s larger than I expected, and the grounds are well maintained. We pass a children’s playground and a couple of picnic tables.
“Here we are.” Nathan points at a man-made foot trail that leads to the pond.
I smile at him. “Let’s go.”
We take our time, and I duck my head at one point to not hit a branch.
“Tall-y,” Nathan teases. “I forgot to tell you to watch your head.”
The pond’s actually a decent size. The water at our end seems somewhat shallow, but I’m not sure if I can gauge how deep the pond goes. The birds are chirping more noisily here.
“Look, Nathan!” I point at a swan. “Wow.”
“Let me take a picture.” Nathan dips his hand in his pocket and pulls out his keys as well as his phone. He snaps two shots of the graceful bird.
“I’m going to take a picture of you.” I smile as I take my phone out of my pocket.
I’m truly enjoying the moment. Nathan is so different from any other boyfriend I’ve had, though there were only two. I didn’t exactly have time for relationships when I had to focus on modeling.
The ambiance of the park calms me. “You’re right, Nate. This park is terrific.”
Nathan stretches out his neck and steps back to lean against the black rails that prevent visitors from going in the water. “Nate?” He smiles. “My mom used to call me that.”
“Oh—”
“It’s okay.” Nathan waves it off. His phone’s still in his right hand, and he jingles his keys in his left hand. He perches his left arm over the rail.
“Here we go. Smile for the camera.”
The man’s smile dazzles me. I take his picture—ten different ones. I make him change his pose occasionally, and I even the swan in the background in two shots. I bite my lips, wanting to kiss him. I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. Nathan straightens up and puts his phone and keys back into his pocket.
“You know what’s funny? Dad has, like, a thousand keys on his keychain. You have, like, two,” I say.