The Art of My Life

by Ann Lee Miller

  “You already apologized that day you barged into my New Year’s hangover. Nobody’s perfect. I know that more than anybody.”

  She patted her stick-straight hair that she’d started wearing down on her shoulders. “I told you stories from my childhood when I visited you in jail, hoping you’d understand what shaped me—why I was so hard on you. So you would forgive me. I thought I was being a better parent than my folks were, but I just screwed up in a different way.”

  “I forgave you the first time you asked. I have too much of my own shit to worry about grudges.” But after he said the words, he wondered if they were true. Wasn’t he still expecting the worst from her? His mind flashed to Fish, and he understood how hard it was to forgive.

  When he was a kid Mom would have washed his mouth out with soap for using shit. But her gaze held only fragile hope, as though his forgiveness were the most important thing in the world.

  She ran a knuckle under one eye, and he realized he’d never seen her cry. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath and let it go. “Going to jail for my parents was a noble thing. I doubt I could have done it without blabbing to anyone who would listen.” She picked at the hem of her bright T-shirt and looked up at him. “I’m proud of you.” Her eyes glistened in the light from the spot he had trained on his canvas.

  Mom stood. “Can I hug you?” She wrapped arms around him that felt like angles and planes. “I’m going to hug you every time I see you.”

  Cal laughed. Forgiveness, the reality rather than the words, bubbled up in him. “Okay, Mom. Whatever.” And he was going to be on the cover of People magazine.

  But he felt hugged, none the less.

  He’d always performed below average on the standardized test of life. Mom was perfect, he was the failure. But the truth that Mom had been over-critical twisted inside him like a kaleidoscope, changing the landscape of who he was.

  For the first time, the question at the bottom of his being, did he have what it took, came back yes.

  A hand clamped onto Cal’s bicep, and he took his eyes off his niece and nephew playing a pre-school version of Frisbee beside the river.

  Aly’s eyes spit fire at him. “We’re going to talk. Now.”

  “Well, okay then.” He waved at Kallie to let her know he was signing off Frisbee rescuing for Jillian and Chase. “Kids, I need to talk to Aunt Aly. Go play near your Mom for a sec.”

  Aly marched him along the river away from the Edgewater Fourth of July celebration with an iron grip on his arm. She halted and dropped her hand.

  He squinted at her in the afternoon sun. Dread and anticipation churned in his gut.

  “Just when were you going to tell me you went to jail for your grandparents?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “You told your mother, and you didn’t tell me. I thought we were friends. I thought we didn’t have any secrets. You even know I have herpes.” Her eyes pooled with hurt and passion.

  “Henna left Mom a letter. I didn’t see the point in telling anyone. Look, it’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s a huge deal.”

  Sun caught the water still clinging to the tops of Cal’s toes. “They laugh at me at Narcotics Anonymous and say there’s no such thing as marijuana addiction, but when I couldn’t deal with life, I smoked. A lot.”

  He looked up at her. “I smoked everyday during our disconnected years, a lot of days, multiple times.”

  He glanced across the river and back at Aly. “I tried to quit when I got out of jail the first time, but I couldn’t do it without NA. I’m no saint.”

  Aly’s fingertips touched his forearm. “But you were a hero to Henna and Leaf. You didn’t even try to implicate them. All it would have taken was one police officer to take you seriously and search Henna’s house.”

  A lump formed in his throat.

  Aly’s fingers whispered against his skin, then tucked into the pockets of her shorts. “If you’d been stopped with your own weed, the amount would barely have earned you probation. But you did jail time without complaint to keep your grandparents out of trouble. You’re a hero to me.”

  The lump grew and he tried to swallow around it. His gaze locked with hers. A fish jumped in the water behind Aly. Breeze ruffled her hair. “Thanks for that.”

  She gave him a shaky smile.

  Behind her, the river ran with hope.

  Fish knocked on Henna’s door. Music pulsed out. Grateful Dead. Missy must be sending up Henna.

  He and Missy hadn’t communicated—other than his graduation kiss—since Henna’s funeral three months ago. Yeah, he’d decided to stop things, but Missy hadn’t contacted him either. It was weird. Before the funeral they’d texted daily, e-mailed, talked on the phone, grabbed coffee.

  Since his family had been in town, they’d run into each other a few times at barbeques, and such. It rankled that Chas always seemed to be hovering around Missy. But if he wasn’t willing to pull the trigger on marriage, he couldn’t blame Chas for going after Missy.

  And he hadn’t made any progress working through the idea of marrying Missy. Between working and spending every spare second with his family, he hadn’t even had time to sign up for law school classes yet.

  He hated the thought that out of neglect he’d done something to piss her off or hurt her. He knocked again.

  He fingered the small Killman Jewelry box in his pocket. He wasn’t screwing up her birthday this year. He rapped his knuckles on the door jamb harder this time.

  She had the music turned up too loud to hear him knock.

  He’d been inside Henna’s house dozens of times when Cal lived here. He tried the door knob. It twisted in his palm. He shrugged. At most he’d startle Missy. When he’d texted her yesterday that he’d stop by today, she’d answered K.

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Missy!”

  No answer.

  He shut the door and started across the living room.

  The bathroom door opened, and Missy halted, framed in the hall, wearing a towel turbaned on her head—and nothing else.

  Chapter 28

  July 5

  Flaws add depth, luminescence, beauty to a masterpiece. Call me self-absorbed, but my mistakes only trash me. I’m the Coors can, crumpled and kicked to the side of the road.

  Aly at www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com

  Fish halted half way across Henna’s living room, his gaze galvanized to Missy’s naked body. A lithograph engraved on his hard drive.

  Missy’s eyes popped wide with surprise. “People in civilized cultures knock before they come in.”

  “I-I did. The music—”

  Her eyes narrowed, defiance coloring them, and she stood there another full second before she turned and walked the two steps through the open bedroom doorway as though she had all the time in the world.

  If the front view had knocked the breath out of his lungs, the rear nearly asphyxiated him.

  The door shut, and the Grateful Dead muted.

  He sank into an armchair and dropped his head back against the upholstery. Oh God, he’d never get that vision out of his head. Never.

  She might as well have been tattooed with a Miss America sash that said Marriage. If he ever wanted to see that again, he’d have to put a ring on her finger, stand in front of her daddy, and promise forever.

  Marriage-kids-marriage-kids whirled around his head like the stars circling Wile E. Coyote after he got clocked. He felt like walking out the door, Craigs-listing his truck, surfboard, and laptop and hiking to Killman Jewelry Store for a diamond ring. At the moment, he’d pretty much sell his soul.

  He’d seen other girls naked. He didn’t know why he was going into cosmic meltdown over Missy.

  He’d put money on it that Missy had never been full-on naked in front of any guy. But she hadn’t streaked out of sight like his sisters would have. It was almost like she wanted him to see. That little upward thrust of her chin.

  Maybe she was comfortable with
nudity. But that seemed crazy—preacher’s kid, daughter of uptight Starr.

  Regardless, the hook was baited.

  He pulled at his hair trying to decide what to do.

  He heard Missy moving around in what used to be Cal’s room.

  The door opened, and she walked into the room in a loose T-shirt and shorts that reached almost to her knees. She stopped several feet away and folded her arms across her waist.

  His eyes welded to her finer points. He forced his gaze down to her red Converses, but his eyes boomeranged to her breasts, then skated crazily over her body. In his mind, he only saw skin—every pore in photo focus.

  He buried his head in his hands with a groan. Would he ever be able to look at her again without seeing her naked? Geez.

  “I can’t be that pathetic. I run every day.” Her voice wavered.

  His head bounced up. “Pathetic? No. Perfect? Yes.” The kind of perfection that was sealing his future behind iron-barred doors.

  “Then why do you look so bummed? And why did you want to talk to me.”

  Fish hefted himself out of the chair and edged around the room toward the door. “I can’t have this conversation right now. I need to go home. Think about mullet, socialized medicine, Corn Flakes. I’ll call you to reschedule. We’ll talk on the phone—that’s it.” His hand clamped on the door knob.

  “Don’t bother.” Her voice was strained, her eyes trying to hide her hurt.

  “Mis, it’s not like that. You make me wish I had a ring in my pocket. You’re beautiful. Perfect.”

  Her face relaxed.

  “Happy Birthday. Your gift is on the table.” He let himself out. The door clicked shut.

  River water sloshed against the hull as Aly tossed in bed, replaying her conversation with Cal last week. She should have figured out Cal had gone to jail doing a favor for Henna and Leaf. She’d never seen him carry large amounts of weed. She should have visited him in jail.

  Her mind drifted back to when Cal had been there for her.

  Three years ago she’d stood at the convenience store counter paying for a pregnancy test. Cal, newly dumped by Raine and fired from teaching art at camp, waited behind her, feigning interest in the sunflower seeds and flavored corn nuts.

  A blonde kid with a barbell through his eyebrow handed her the rest room key attached to a foot-long replica of the State of Florida—without her asking. No secrets here.

  Afterward, she burst out the glass doors waving the plastic tester in one hand and the State of Florida in the other. “It’s blue! It’s blue!” She end-zone danced around Cal where he sat on the curb under the hum of white neon.

  He stood up, laughing at her.

  She threw her arms around him, planting a loud smack on his stubbly cheek and released him. She danced on the curb, the oil-polished cement, the sidewalk. “No mini-Gar! No borderline-I.Q.ed toddler who walks around in love with his belly button!”

  Later, they sat in Cal’s car watching the waves roll in the moonlight.

  Cal stuck the plastic spoon in the almost-empty pint of Chunky Monkey and passed it to her. “You know, Al, we’re both pretty screwed up, but we’re good for each other.” He looked at her across the tattered bench seat of his mother’s old station wagon. “Why is that?”

  Aly shrugged. “But you’re right.” She shifted around to face him. “The combo of thinking I was preggers and…” she looked at the Ben and Jerry’s carton in her hands, “your turning me down for sex…” She lifted her eyes to Cal. “I’m done with sleeping with guys—until I get married, if I do.”

  She set the empty carton on the dash. “Thanks—for everything.” She couldn’t put her gratitude fully into words.

  Cal dropped his head. “The only reason I didn’t say yes was because I didn’t want to look stupid…. I’m a virgin.” He rubbed his temples. “I’m unemployed with no education. This evening while you were with me I got an idea to paint that will keep me sober for three days. That’s who I am. I can’t live up to everyone’s expectations. I’m done trying.” His tone was harsh.

  Aly laid her hand on the three-day’s growth on his jaw. Her eyes bore into his. “I love you, John Calvin Koomer.”

  Cal’s eyes had widened, then peace seemed to settle over him. “Thanks, Al.”

  He probably thought she’d meant it as a friend, and that was fine. He wouldn’t be ready for the whole truth until he got over Raine.

  The hatch slid open jarring her back to the present, and she sat up on her bunk. “Cal?”

  Cal slid the hatch shut and climbed into the Escape’s cabin. He inhaled the residue of steam and forest scent from Aly’s shower that—even after two and a half months living on the boat together—filled his head with pictures of Aly’s water-slicked skin.

  “Cal?”

  His heart skipped a beat. This was the first time in weeks Aly had been awake when he came in. “Yeah, it’s me.” He headed toward her bunk.

  She sat cross-legged on her mattress, the sheet pulled up to her waist. In the dim light from the galley, he could see the hideous football jersey that left everything to the imagination. “What’s up?”

  “I was thinking about how you stood by me when I had the pregnancy scare with Gar. You were pretty much at rock bottom yourself, but you dredged up concern for me from somewhere. You got me through it. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  His heart drummed in his chest. “It didn’t just go one way. Your needing me pulled me out of self-pity. And, I don’t think I ever told you this…. We fell asleep in Cody’s garage, and I watched you wake up. You looked so pretty all sleepy and mussed in that weird lighting. I had to get you on canvas. Painting you kept me sober for a week, pulled me out of my tailspin.”

  “You painted me then, when you were still into Raine, right before… Evie.” Her voice sounded choked. He couldn’t see her eyes in the shadows.

  He sat on her bunk. “You’ve always been a constant underneath whatever chaos went on in my life.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “I wanted to say I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you went to jail. You supported me when I needed you, but I flaked on you.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You came to tell me Henna died. That’s what really mattered.” He leaned over and scooped her into his arms. “Thanks for coming that day. I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciated it.” He pulled away and halted a whisper away from her lips, his mind skimming to what lay beneath her jersey.

  He gritted his teeth and stood, ripping himself in two. The half who wanted to make love to Aly tonight in her bunk and the half who wanted to earn her trust and yes when he proposed.

  “I love you. Sleep well.”

  He sure wouldn’t.

  Seeing Missy naked crystallized the decision in Fish’s mind—he’d move to Orlando when law school started or he’d marry Missy and commute. He was no closer to making a choice about Missy than he had been on her birthday three weeks ago. Every time he thought about her, his body lit like a roman candle. He needed to make a rational choice.

  He leaned against the hull behind his bunk and drew a line down the middle of a legal pad. In the pro column, he loved Missy. That pretty much cancelled out all the cons—that he hadn’t factored marriage into his five-year plan, they hardly had fifty bucks between them, they could have a baby by this time next year.

  At the very least it was time for him to man-up and tell the girl he loved her. That was as good a place to start as any.

  He punched in Missy’s speed dial number, held the phone in his sweaty palm, and stared at the bulkhead at the end of his bunk.

  “Fish,” she said when she picked up. And he knew he was in trouble.

  “What happened to calling me Sean?”

  “What do you want?”

  “You.” He coughed. “Go out with me, Mis. On a date—dinner, a walk on the beach. We need to talk.”

  “No. Just, no, Sean.” Her voice sounded tight like she was barely holding it togethe
r.

  “This is about my screwing up another birthday, isn’t it? I know birthdays are important to you.”

  “That was an accident. I don’t blame you.” She sighed, and he could almost see her shoulders slump. “I’m moving to Peru next month.”

  He felt kicked in the stomach. “You’re what?”

  “I told you a long time ago I was thinking about it.”

  “To visit.” He groaned. “You’re messing with my abandonment issues.”

  “We’re friends. Not dating, married, nothing.”

  “I just asked you out. We could be dating.”

  “What we need is to chill. Hopefully, for the rest of our lives. Move on. I am.”

  “Are you seeing someone else?” Please, God, not Chas.

  “I’m not seeing you. You’ve been jerking me around for a year, and I can’t do it anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t be asking you out if I weren’t serious.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  Her breathing came through the connection while he scrambled to absorb the finality he’d heard in her voice.

  “We can keep in touch online,” she said.

  “Great. Now I can read your e-mails on New Year’s Eve with my family’s.” His mind jumped back into kissing Missy on New Year’s Eve, the feel of her in his arms, his necklace around her neck, the scent of orange blossoms.

  “You need to deal with your issues.”

  “That everyone bails on me? My folks, God, Cal, you.”

  “What if you’re the one who does the rejecting? Your parents begged you to visit in every e-mail. Cal wants your friendship back. God? Like He’s going anywhere. Get a grip, Sean.”

  What was she saying? That he was the one pushing her away?

  “But you’re the one who’s leaving.”

  “I’m not unfriending you. I’ll always care about you. We’ve had a bond all our lives. I’m just going somewhere to make myself useful. The orphans need a teacher. I need a life.”