She looked out the small attic window and saw her neglected yard below. That was something she could do, she thought. Discover her outdoor space. She could walk around, get a feel for it. Maybe even take pictures. Then later this week she could ask Wade if he knew a landscaper who could help her get it in shape. Or get the name of the person Boston had mentioned.
She quickly slathered on sunblock, plopped a hat on her head, picked up her small, digital camera and headed outside.
The Pacific Northwest might have rainy, miserable weather in the winter months, but once the sun came out, there was nowhere as beautiful on earth. Andi took in the brilliant blue sky, the island below and the water beyond. She would swear she could almost see to the Pacific. There was a light breeze and warm temperatures. Summer had truly come to the island.
She walked around to the backyard and began taking pictures. There were already plant beds in place, although they were overgrown with a lot of tall, scraggly bush-tree things she didn’t recognize. The grass was bare in patches. The only lush sections of lawn were the weeds. She took more pictures and wondered if she had anything like a sprinkler system. Or gardening tools. There was a shed in the far corner, but it looked ready to collapse and she was reasonably confident it was a well-populated spider condo.
After snapping more pictures of the side yard, she walked around front and continued to take photos. Looking through a lens brought home how truly hideous her yard was. She had to talk to Wade pretty soon about suggestions for landscaping. At the end of the day she walked inside and could pretend all was well. Her neighbors had to stare at her yard from their windows.
“Hi, Andi.”
She turned and saw Lucy walking toward her, the family’s faithful cat cradled in the girl’s arms. Two smaller girls were with her. Identical twins, Andi thought, taking in the pale blond hair and big blue eyes.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. “Nice to see you again.”
“These are my baby sisters. Sydney and Savannah. Don’t worry. You won’t be able to tell them apart the next time you see them.”
Andi laughed, then dropped to her knees and held out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you both.”
Sydney and Savannah both shook her hand; then they looked at each other and giggled.
All three girls wore T-shirts and shorts. The twins had on identical shirts with ruffles on the hem. One was pink, the other yellow.
“I’m Sydney,” the girl in yellow said.
Lucy settled on the grass and released Pickles, who immediately collapsed in a patch of sun and began to groom his fur. The twins sat next to their sister.
“What are you doing?” Lucy asked.
“Taking pictures of my yard. I’m going to talk to someone about fixing it up. It looks pretty bad right now.”
Savannah nodded vigorously. “Mommy hates your house. She says it’s a bly...” She glanced at Lucy, who shrugged.
“Blight?” Andi offered.
“Right. A blight.”
Not exactly friendly words, despite their truth.
“The poor house had been empty a long time,” Andi said. “I guess it was sad before, but it should be happy now.”
“Houses can’t be happy,” Sydney told her.
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not real.”
Andi tilted her head as she studied her place. “It looks real to me.”
“She means the house isn’t alive,” Lucy added. “But I know what you mean. I always thought your house was sad, too.”
Sydney inched a little closer and gave her a big smile. “Did you want to offer us a cookie?”
“What?” Andi stared at her. Right. Refreshments. That’s what the hostess did. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much food in the house. I have an apple. We could share that.”
“No, thank you.”
Andi groaned. “I’ll have cookies next time.”
Sydney looked hopeful. “And lemonade?”
“Sure.”
“That would be nice.”
“We could have a pretend tea party now,” Lucy offered. “We do it all the time. Pretend. Although Sydney always tells us there isn’t really tea in our cups.”
“She doesn’t get pretend,” Savannah said with a grin.
“I do,” Sydney told her. “But pretend isn’t real.”
“It’s still fun,” Lucy said.
Sydney inched even closer to Andi. “Mommy wanted a boy, but she got us instead.”
Andi suspected the comment was true. After three girls, wanting a boy was hardly a surprise. But she was sorry the twins had heard their parents discussing the subject. That sort of information didn’t need to be passed along.
“I think you’re lovely,” she said warmly. “I would be very lucky to have three girls like you.”
She received three smiles in return. Lucy then took charge of their tea and passed out cups on saucers and an assortment of very fancy pretend cookies.
* * *
Boston caught sight of the girls as she dusted the living room. Zeke and Wade had driven into Seattle to catch a Mariners game, so she was on her own and restless. For once, her studio had seemed confining and she’d been unable to lose herself in her artwork. Housework had seemed like a cheerful alternative, which only showed how bad things were. No one she knew enjoyed cleaning—with the possible exception of Deanna, and Lord knew Deanna prided herself on being just a little better than everyone else.
Boston stopped dusting long enough to remind herself to be careful with her judgments. Not only wouldn’t they make her feel better, but she was a big believer in karma. Better to remind herself that Deanna did her best to be a perfect mother and try to remember her good qualities. Although at the moment, she couldn’t quite remember what they were.
She walked to the window and watched as three of Deanna’s daughters sat in Andi’s front yard, having what looked like a pretend tea. They were in a circle, the family cat in the middle of their group. Sunlight seemed to embrace them, both blessing and protecting the innocence of the moment.
The golds and yellows and hints of creamy white that made up the blond of the girls’ hair, the flash of pink of Pickles’s tongue as he meticulously washed his face. There were sharp angles of bony elbows and knees, the spiral of Andi’s curls, the serrated edges of the grass.
An energy bubbled up inside Boston, then spilled over, filling her. She could see the picture and felt it, too. Knowing it was futile, yet unable to resist the need, she dropped the dust cloth onto the table, then hurried back to her studio. Once there, she grabbed a box of pastels and a small pad of paper, then detoured through the kitchen to collect a plate of chocolate mini-muffins. The latter was made with white flour and sugar, which would cause Deanna to have a seizure if she discovered her children indulging, but Boston didn’t care. She needed the girls to stay in place for a few minutes longer, and muffins seemed the easiest bribe.
She tucked three juice packs into her shorts pockets, then hurried out front.
The quartet was still there. Pickles had finished his ablutions and lay stretched out on his side, his feline eyes closed as he dozed in the sun.
“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting,” Boston said as she approached. “I saw you having a tea party out here and couldn’t resist inviting myself.”
“You’re more than welcome. I’m a terrible hostess, a flaw I will fix by next weekend, I promise.”
The sisters quickly shifted to make room for her. Three pairs of blue eyes focused on the treats.
“Are those chocolate?” Lucy asked, her voice low and reverent.
“Yes. I made them myself.”
“Mommy says homemade is best,” Sydney offered.
Boston held out the plate. “I know how she feels about premade snack
s, so you don’t have to worry.”
The twins glanced at Lucy, who pressed her lips together, then slowly reached out to take a mini-muffin. The second her fingers closed around it, the twins each grabbed one. Boston handed Andi the juice boxes to pass out, then picked up her pad of paper.
She hesitated before choosing a color, then picked the yellow, already seeing the seemingly random lines that would be their hair. Fear bubbled up inside her, making her tremble, but she ignored the slight tremor in her fingers and made the first stroke.
The second went more easily, as did the third. She dropped the yellow and reached for pale pink to outline their faces. Her hand moved faster and faster. She was aware of conversation flowing around her, of the girls giggling and the slurp of the last ounce being sucked from the juice boxes, but she could only see the outlines, the forms, the colors.
Pickles obliged and stayed still. She drew in the black of him and let the paper provide the white. Andi’s long legs took shape, as did her curly hair. Boston’s arm started to ache and she felt the telltale twinge of a cramp in her fingers but worked on. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and trickled down her back. She would swear she could hear the roar of the sea, or maybe it was simply the sound of her blood rushing through her ears.
She drew in the tree, then the front of the house. The pad dropped onto her lap and she looked up to realize the girls and the cat were gone and she and Andi were alone.
It was like waking up after an intense dream. She wasn’t completely sure what was real and what wasn’t. Or if she’d drooled or said something she shouldn’t. For her, creating was personal. Intimate. She hadn’t meant to get so...lost.
Yet the proof she had was in front of her. The sketch was primitive at best, unfinished, sloppy, but it captured the girls together. There was life, movement. And it wasn’t Liam.
Confusion made her even more uncomfortable. She wanted to collect her supplies and run into her house. Only she couldn’t seem to move.
“You okay?” Andi asked, her voice low and gentle.
Boston nodded. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
“That was intense, but impressive. I can’t believe how you did that so fast.” She leaned over the drawing, her finger lightly tracing the curve of Lucy’s cheek. “I can’t conquer stick figures. Look at Pickles’s ear and the house. It’s what? Five or six lines and yet it’s my house. I’d know it anywhere.”
Boston felt emotion rush up inside her. Embarrassment. Pleasure. Uncertainty.
“I wish I had a tenth of your ability,” Andi admitted. “I’m dreading picking out paint colors and fixtures. You have a real talent.”
Boston flushed, then rubbed the color from her fingers. “It’s a gift. I can’t take credit for it.”
“I think you get a lot of the credit. You’ve worked hard to perfect what you have. We’re all born with something. Look what you did with yours.”
Boston pressed her lips together, then looked at Andi and managed a smile. “You’re very sweet and I appreciate it. This isn’t very good,” she said, motioning to the drawing. “But I’m glad you like it. I’ve been stuck for a while now and this...”
“If it’s the mural, don’t worry about it. I knew you were an artist, but I didn’t realize how brilliant you are. That project is obviously beneath you.”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s not that at all. I really want to work on some designs for you. But I haven’t been able to. I haven’t been able to do anything.” She paused, then squared her shoulders. “Zeke and I had a baby a year ago. Liam. He was beautiful. So happy and bright and...” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Tightness, not tears. Never tears.
“He died nearly seven months ago. A heart defect. They said it was just one of those things. He’d been born that way and it was just a matter of time. It wasn’t genetic or detectable. One day his heart simply stopped.” She stared at the grass. “I was holding him. One second he was smiling at me and the next, he was gone.”
Andi squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry. Losing a child is a pain beyond description.”
She probably did know, Boston thought, appreciating the kindness. In her work as a pediatrician, Andi would have suffered through a patient’s death, through the parents’ pain.
“I draw him,” Boston whispered. “Over and over again. I draw him and it comforts me.”
“I’m sure it’s like he’s with you. You created him in your body and now you re-create him in your heart.”
Boston stared at her. “Yes. That’s it. That’s what I do.” Something Zeke couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. “I haven’t been able to do any other work since he died, so this—” She pointed to the drawing. “This was something of a breakthrough.”
“I’m glad.” Andi squeezed her fingers, then released them.
Boston knew she was far from cured, but she felt as if she’d taken a first step. After months of merely stumbling, moving forward seemed a miracle.
“Maybe now I can get going on your mural.”
“No rush and you can still turn down the job. I feel like I asked Picasso to help me paint the bathroom.”
Boston laughed. The sound was a little rusty, but it felt good. “I would be happy to help you paint the bathroom.”
“I’m going to let Wade and his men handle that.” Andi paused. “Wade seems like a nice guy.”
“He is. Have you met his daughter yet?”
“No.”
“She’s great. Twelve, which is supposed to be a difficult age. So far she’s the same sweet kid she always was. I’m sure you’ll meet her soon. She’s best friends with Deanna’s oldest.”
Her gaze fell on the remaining mini-muffins. “I’d better get these inside before Deanna sees them and attacks me with a rake.” She grinned. “She doesn’t allow her children sugar.”
“Seriously?”
“No sugar, nothing processed, very little she doesn’t make herself.”
“That’s devotion.”
“No one could deny that she’s a devoted mother.”
A mother who had five children, Boston thought, feeling the grayness return. How was that fair?
She scrambled to her feet. “Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Andi told her. “I’m going to be prepared for company next time. Cookies and lemonade.”
“The girls will like that. Just make sure Deanna doesn’t see.”
“She kind of scares me,” Andi admitted.
“Me, too.”
Boston picked up her things and started back toward her house. Her gaze fell on the picture. On the faces and the colors. What had seemed so healing just a few minutes ago was suddenly a betrayal. She rushed inside, dumped everything on the counter, then pulled the sheet of paper from the pad and carefully tore it into two pieces. Then four, then sixteen. When it was little more than confetti, she swept it into the trash.
Five minutes later, she was in her studio, pencil in hand. She drew without thinking, the side view of the sleeping baby quickly taking shape.
Chapter Ten
ANGER TURNED OUT to be more of a companion than Deanna had expected. Colin had been on the road most of the past two weeks, and last weekend they’d barely spoken at all. She told herself she was getting used to what life would be like when they divorced, but knew it was a lie. She had the protection a husband offered, the paycheck. Should they split up, she would be truly on her own, damn him.
So she’d stayed mad. It wasn’t difficult and was actually starting to make her feel better. As she let the rage build inside her, she realized she’d been angry for a long time. Years, certainly. Not just at Colin, but he was a comfortable target. He deserved it.
“I like her hair,” Lucy was saying as she set the table. “She says she was
born with curly hair. I wish my hair was curly.”
Deanna had no idea what her daughter was talking about. Or who. Some friend at school, most likely. At least Lucy was making friends. That was something. Lucy had always been difficult. Quieter and those glasses. Still, she was too young for contacts and when Deanna had asked about Lasik surgery, Lucy’s doctor had stared at her as if she’d suggested leeches.
No one understood, she thought as she checked on the two chickens she had roasting in the oven. Five children. What had she been thinking? Who had five children these days? Of course she’d only wanted two. One of each. But with each girl, she’d been determined to have a boy. Because that was what people did. Then the twins had come along and she’d given up.
She loved her girls. All of them. But now she had five, and every day she was more and more overwhelmed.
She reached for the glass of chardonnay she’d poured earlier. It was from a bottle she’d opened a few nights ago. She would finish it before Colin got home, then open a fresh one before dinner.
She took a sip and set down the glass, then glanced over at the sink. She desperately wanted to wash her hands, to feel the slick soap, the warm water. To wash away all the pain and uncertainty she had to deal with. Only her skin was already raw in patches, and her knuckles were cracked. Telltale signs, she thought. She had to be strong. She couldn’t give Colin an excuse to take more than he already had taken.
Footsteps thundered on the stairs.
“Daddy’s home!” Madison shrieked as she raced toward the front door. Her bedroom faced the front of the house, so she was always the first to know.
Lucy abandoned the flatware and raced after her sister. The other girls came from wherever they had been, bent on being out in the driveway first.
Deanna stood alone in the kitchen and reached for the wine. Her stomach was in knots, but she drank anyway. She drank because she couldn’t do what she really wanted and wash her hands and because her daughters never came running for her.
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