by Nicole Deese
Vivian’s regal pivot had me checking for any specks of crumble on my mouth. How did this woman always look as if she were ready to teach etiquette school? Her chin-length bob was perfectly layered and hair-sprayed in place, the same way her teal slacks and cream blouse were free of wrinkles. Glittery accessories dangled from her ears, neck, and wrists, catching the sunlight just right as she clasped her hands near her waistline.
And then there was me, going on day four in my crusty painter’s overalls.
“Actually, Callie, I came to see you.” She smiled prettily and gestured to the wall like a game-show model. “And your mural, of course. Brandon said you asked him to sign it today.”
“Yes, he earned a signature spot for sure. He’s been a wonderful assistant.” I pointed to the place on the wall where Brandon had scribed his name in navy paint. Right below mine. The moment had felt far more monumental that I’d expected it would.
My first Lenox mural had been completed with Davis’s son—a memory I’d cherish.
“Davis wasn’t wrong about you.” Her heels clicked against the rough pavement as she approached the wall. “Your talent really is quite remarkable. The details you’ve included are so . . . full of expression.”
“Thank you.” At her words, something surfaced from the back of my mind, something Davis had told me the first night we’d talked about Stephanie. “Didn’t you pursue painting for a while, too? I know Stephanie was an art history major, but I feel like I remember Davis telling me that you also had an interest in the arts.” The second I spoke her daughter’s name aloud, I wished I could take it back. This was Vivian. It was one thing to feel comfortable speaking to Davis about Stephanie, but I’d yet to have a single comfortable conversation with her mother in the entire week she’d been in Lenox.
“Oh? Davis told you that?” She sounded flattered.
“Yes, he did.” I could recall almost every detail of that particular conversation. That was the night I learned Davis had willingly married a woman with a terminal illness. What kind of man did that?
I could think of only one.
Unblinking, she continued to examine the mural. “I did enjoy painting in my youth. Though, sadly, nothing ever came of it—not like what you’ve created for yourself.” She peered at me from the corner of her eyes as something like a chuckle escaped her throat. “But that’s the price of marriage and kids, I suppose. Hobby time becomes family time. You’re lucky you’ve been able to work so freely—coming and going as you please. You must go a bit stir-crazy when you stay in one place too long.”
“Well, sometimes . . . although, there are a lot of disadvantages to traveling so much, of course.” Disadvantages I’d only begun to uncover this summer. Along with the loneliness I’d never given a name before.
“Oh, of course, but you seem to manage it all so well. On the drive to the lake last weekend, the kids filled me in on all your accolades. Impressive.” She cocked her head to the side. “Amazing, isn’t it, how we’re all equipped so differently in life?”
Whatever she must have seen in my expression encouraged her to keep going. “Take Stephanie, for instance. That girl had a brain for learning and recalling historical facts like nobody I’ve ever known. She could read a textbook from front to back, and by the time she was done telling us about it, we’d all felt as if we’d read it right alongside her.”
“I’m sure that ability must have come in handy during her school studies,” I offered.
“Oh, it did.” She patted the back of her hair, sculpting it with her palm. “It also came in handy during her cardiology appointments.” Again with her light laugh. “My daughter was sweet as sugar when she wanted to be, but goodness, she was stubborn. Every time those doctors told her something couldn’t be done, she was obsessed with proving them wrong.”
What had they told her couldn’t be done? I wondered. “She sounds like a very courageous woman. I’m sure you miss her very much.”
“I do.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip before turning back to me. “We’ve managed to create a wonderful foundation in her honor, which has helped ease the sting on the hardest days, watching donors give and auction off items to sell for the purpose of helping other patients with her condition. But I’ll be honest with you, we struggled when she told us the choice she’d made.”
“The choice?”
“Yes.” Vivian touched the post of her pearl earring and dropped her arm to her side. “Above and beyond my daughter’s love of history, she desired nothing more than becoming a mother. It was her greatest wish in this life, to have a baby of her own.”
Her words rattled inside my rib cage.
Mural forgotten, she narrowed the four-foot gap between us, her focus fixed on me. “I spent most of Stephanie’s childhood wishing I could give her my healthy heart, give my life in exchange for hers. But in the end, it was Stephanie who gave her life for her son’s.”
Air whooshed from my lungs in a hard exhale, my mind too stunned to formulate a reply.
Vivian splayed a hand over her heart. “Forgive me. I assumed with how close you and Davis had become that he would have told you that part of the story. It’s been a sore subject between us for quite some time.”
Confusion swirled inside me, causing me to sway on my feet. “No, I . . . I didn’t know.”
“When she was in her teens, the doctors told her she should never get pregnant. It would weaken her heart and very likely shorten her life. But after she married Davis, she fought those worst-case scenarios with trial studies and research, unbeknownst to anyone else.”
Completely enraptured, a small whisper escaped me. “What happened?”
“She showed up at our house one Tuesday morning with a blueberry muffin in one hand and Davis following behind her. And she just . . . made the announcement. She said, ‘Mom and Dad, I’m pregnant. And it wasn’t an accident.’”
Compassion pricked behind my eyes, and I found myself gripping her hand in my own, wanting to console her. “Oh, Vivian . . .” I wasn’t a mother. Might not ever be a mother. But my heart ached for the fear she must have felt in that moment just the same.
“Her cardiologist was beside himself with worry—told her that if she kept the pregnancy she’d cut fifteen or twenty years off her life. She wouldn’t hear any of that, though. And neither would Davis. Their decision had been made. She died five years later.”
Throat clogged with tears, I couldn’t speak. Not a single word. It felt wrong to apologize when I loved Brandon so much, and I couldn’t begin to imagine Davis without him, but Vivian’s loss . . . it was nothing short of heartbreaking. “I don’t know what to say.”
Her face was unflinching as she said, “Please say you’ll think long and hard before taking on a role as my grandson’s stepmother.”
“What?” It was a cry more than a question, and my hand dropped away from hers. “Vivian, that’s not even in—”
She halted my protest with a shake of her head. “I realize he hasn’t proposed to you yet, but he will soon enough. And when he does, you’ll be making a decision not only for you and him but also for my only grandson as well.”
“Vivian.” Nausea rolled within me as my body flushed hot. Was the alley getting smaller? The walls closer? “I think we’re still a long way off from—”
“My daughter gave her life for her son. She made the ultimate sacrifice. And I would hope that if you had even the slightest reservation about becoming a wife and mother to Davis and Brandon, that you would walk away now before it’s too late.” Vivian shot one final glance at the mural. “You really are extremely talented, Callie. I’d hate to see that go to waste.”
After she drove away, I pressed my back to the brick wall and slid all the way down to the asphalt, unable to stop the memory her words had provoked.
My father knelt before me, wrapping my arms in his rough potter’s hands. “You and me—we’re the same. We’re the dreamers. We weren’t created to be boxed in or limited by anyone o
r anything. That kind of life will only bring unhappiness in the end—for us, and for everyone we love.”
His gaze flickered back to our front porch where, only a few doors in, my mother sobbed on their bed.
“I know it will be hard when I’m gone. But you are brave, little Fire Dancer, braver than I’ve ever been. You must do everything your heart yearns for, okay? You explore and create and try a million new things. And never, ever limit yourself.” He tapped a pointed finger to the center of my chest. “And remember this—always remember this: For us, there is nothing more important than our freedom. Not even love.”
With glossy eyes, he kissed my forehead, his rusty beard rough against my skin. And then he stood to leave.
“Wait! Daddy, please, you don’t have to leave.”
Tears glistened on his cheeks, and for one long second, his gaze held our house—the only home we’d ever known as a family. His eyes spoke a silent goodbye before turning to me one last time. “Don’t ever forget what I told you, Fire Dancer.”
When he climbed into the driver’s seat of his car, I darted after him, not caring how childish I looked as I clung to his door handle and beat on his window with a hard fist. “No, Daddy! You can’t go!”
If not for Clementine bursting out of the house to restrain me, I would have run alongside his car, thrown myself on the hood, done whatever I could to stop him. I thrashed against my sister’s hold on me. “No! Don’t go!” Wild with fear, I turned to Clem. “We can’t let him leave! He can’t just leave us!”
Tears streamed down her face as she cradled me in her arms.
When fatigue had finally weakened my cries, I buried my face in Clem’s denim jacket, the wholeness of my heart gone forever.
Just like my father.
And no matter where I lived or who I loved . . . I would never be able to outrun the truth about myself.
Chapter Thirty-Three
DAVIS
Callie glanced up from her sister’s handwritten directions, her knee bobbing up and down like the hind end of a jackrabbit. “Turn here.”
I reached over the drive column and clasped her hand in mine. “You okay?” For being such a knockout tonight, she was certainly jumpier than usual.
“Yeah, I just don’t want to get us lost.”
Navigating the road, I followed her secret directions, having a good idea of where they would lead us in the end. There were only so many options out this way. I glanced down again at the tissue-stuffed gift bag between her feet. Did that have something to do with why she was wound so tight tonight?
I stroked her knuckles with my thumb. “You didn’t tell me about what happened at the mural today.”
Her leg stopped bouncing. “What do you mean?”
“How you finished it. Maybe that’s not a big deal for a muralist, but for us small-town folk . . .” I squeezed her fingers gently and laughed. “You should have seen Brandon’s smile when he came into the clinic to tell me you let him sign it. He was pretty proud of what you both accomplished. I am, too.” I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her smooth skin. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for him this summer, Callie. He’s not the same kid I knew a few months ago.”
“I’ve enjoyed my time with him.” She blinked and directed her gaze out the window. “Clem said it’s just up that hill right there.” She tapped on the glass and pointed east to the single-lane road at the crest of the hill.
“Ah, yes. The Japanese Gardens.”
“You’ve been up here before?” Disappointment laced her voice.
“Years ago, yes. As a chaperone for Brandon’s third-grade class.” I veered up the incline to the parking lot. “But if you’ve ever been on a field trip with a bunch of elementary students, you’d know I didn’t actually get to enjoy the scenery. I think I spent most of that afternoon trekking kids back and forth to the restroom.”
She nodded absently. “No, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been a parent chaperone on a field trip.”
“Well, you’re not missing much.” I pulled into an empty slot and hit the unlock button.
She didn’t respond.
“What’s wrong with you, Callie?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She pushed a tight smile on her mouth. “I think I’m just relieved to be finished with the mural. And the Children’s Corner in the library, too. I guess I didn’t realize what a busy week it’s been until now.”
“I know, I’ve missed you. But I’m glad your immediate projects are finished.” I hadn’t seen her much over the last week, but I couldn’t blame her in the slightest for keeping her distance during the Lockwoods’ visit. In truth, I didn’t want Callie anywhere near Vivian after the conversation I’d had with her at the lake. Things between us were too new, too fragile, to add Vivian’s bitterness into the mix.
Callie hooked her fingers around the door handle, and the glow of her skin pulled my eyes to her face. She’d taken extra care with her makeup tonight—her lashes stained dark, her cheeks and lips brushed with something shimmery and soft. I touched the cascade of loose curls spilling from the top of her head. “Your hair looks really nice.”
“Thank you. Clem fixed it. Between me and Corrianna, she’s had a lot of practice.”
“She did a good job; although, I might be partial to the paint-splattered, wild look.” The way she looked the first time I saw her.
Callie’s eyes found mine, and for the first time since I’d knocked on her door that night, she seemed to exist here. With me. And not some distant, unreachable place inside her head.
“You mean that day in the studio?” she asked.
“Yeah. You’d just had some kind of family bonding moment with your niece and nephew.”
Her lips twisted into a smile that caused her eyes to soften. “I almost forgot about that day.”
“I haven’t.” I pecked her cheek and opened my door. “Ready to see the gardens?”
“Yes,” she said. “Are you?” Something like mischief snuck into her voice. “Because I have a surprise for you.” She raised the gift bag and pushed out her door, her melancholy mood lifting as quickly as it had come.
“That’s for me?”
She chuckled lightly. “Of course it is. Who else would it be for?”
“My birthday’s in October.”
She laced her fingers through mine. “Not every gift is meant to be given on a special occasion.”
We entered the garden through a heavily foliaged trellis, passing several couples with strollers and what looked to be a group of foreign exchange students taking pictures near an Asian-inspired arbor. Japanese maples lined each visible walkway, overlapping mini waterfalls and stone water basins.
Callie tugged my hand to a stop and scanned the area as if looking for something specific. “There.”
She led us to a bridge, a mature cherry blooming overhead and a koi pond underneath. Setting the gift down, she gripped the railing and tipped her face heavenward, breathing deeply through her nose.
“Is that your Zen breathing?”
She peeked at me. “Shh.”
When she closed her eyes again, I brushed a kiss on her exposed neck.
“You’re disturbing the serenity,” she scolded.
“Happily.”
She shook her head and reached for my hand again. “Come on, let’s cross over and get closer to the water.”
The moment we were on the other side of the bridge, she handed me the gift bag. “Okay, go ahead, open it.”
Removing the tissue paper, I slid out a slender white box and untucked the edges while Callie bounced on her heels.
A glasses case. “You bought me a pair of . . . sunglasses?”
She popped the case open for me.
And then it clicked. She was replacing the ones she’d borrowed last weekend, the ones that had fallen out of our kayak into the lake. Only these aviators weren’t purchased from a gas station display carousel. These looked to be ten times the quality and price. “Thank yo
u, but you really didn’t need to do this.”
She brushed my comment away and bit her lip, toying with the hem of her tunic dress. “Go ahead and try them on.”
“Okay . . .” Eyeing her suspiciously, I did as she asked and slid the glasses on.
I blinked. And took them off.
Blinked. And slid them back on again. “What the . . .”
“What do you see?” she asked, her tone a breathless sort of giddy I couldn’t quite interpret.
I opened my mouth, and my voice failed.
These lenses had brought neither shade nor shadow to block out the sunshine; they’d brought . . . color. Like I’d never seen it.
Without thought, I strode down the mossy bank—green? Bright, crisp, and unmistakable, this sharp color was everywhere. In a hundred shades. And I could see every single one of them. Every gradient. The grass. The trees. Even the lily pads.
Rotating, I scanned the perimeter of the pond, awed and disoriented by a mosaic of colorful shades with names I tried to filter and categorize. A smear of brightness darted from one end of the canal to the other.
A koi fish.
Orange.
My gaze drew upward, to the rainbow of leaves overhead. Reds. Pinks. Yellows. My brain assigned the words to what I was experiencing, although I wasn’t sure I had them in the right order. And it didn’t matter.
“Can you see them?” The hopefulness in Callie’s voice turned my head, and my throat went dry at the intensity of color surrounding her.
Callie.
“Say something,” she whispered. “I’m dying over here.”
“You’re . . .” I skimmed her face with my fingers, overwhelmed by the arresting depth of her eyes. Shep had mentioned once that they were blue, but I had no understanding of just how gorgeous they were. But it was the shocking shade of her hair that captured me so completely. “You’re just . . . stunning, Callie. I had no idea your hair was so . . . vibrant.” Fire Dancer. The meaning of her name, and the truth behind it, hit me at full force. While her father had misunderstood so much about his daughter, he’d been right about the riotous passion that burned inside her. Leo Quinn would never fully know the treasure he walked away from that day.