So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 3)

by Brooke St. James

  "I didn't mean to promise you amazing," I said, feeling suddenly shy. "I just said what I thought I should to get you to meet me."

  "I'm glad you did," he said.

  "Me too," I said. "Although now I'm nervous, because you've said twice now that you like my style, and I'm not even really sure what I did that made it a style. Somebody else came in here and looked at it and said they liked my style too, and now I'm like I sure hope I can replicate it. I did something else with watercolor that doesn’t look anything like the robot, and I'm curious to see what you think about it. It's more like the stuff I did back home—only better because those liquid watercolors are wonderful. Have you ever used them?"

  He stared at me with a somewhat confused expression. "First of all, who came in here, and second, where'd you use the watercolor?" He glanced at the canvas again and then back at me.

  "It was Mia. She came in to tell me you were on your way."

  Lane smiled and nodded as if wondering why he hadn't thought of that, but otherwise waited for me to explain about the watercolor.

  "I made a second painting from another one of your keepsakes," I said. "It seemed like it might be a little more personal than the robot, so I didn't show it to Mia or anything. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty to paint it."

  Lane's expression remained confused since I was referring to a painting that seemingly didn't exist. I smiled and slipped the watercolor painting out from behind the canvas.

  There was an old stuffed animal sitting on a shelf near the robot—a threadbare bunny with matted down fur and a pink satin ribbon around its neck. It was in a sitting position on his shelf, but I painted it dangling from a little girl's hand. I painted the girl from the waist down. The bunny was the central focus of the painting, but you could see enough of her body to know that she was wearing a white dress. She was standing outside. She was barefoot, and her surroundings reflected the age of the bunny. I painted a simple, outdoor scene that felt as though the girl was standing in her front yard on a sunny day. It was the image that came to me the instant I laid eyes on the bunny, and the new watercolors and brushes made it an absolute joy to paint. I had more fun with it than I did even with the robot, and that was saying a lot.

  Lane stared down at it for what must have been a full minute.

  Chapter 5

  I waited for Lane to say something for so long, and his expression was so thoughtful that I had gone from thinking he liked my watercolor to thinking he hated it three or four times by the time he spoke.

  "Where'd you get this?" he asked, finally.

  "I painted it."

  Lane stared at it again, and then glanced at the shelf where the bunny was sitting. He even inspected my workstation before looking at me. He was silent and stoic as he regarded me. I had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.

  "I could do more like the robot if you like that style better," I said, feeling self-conscious about the two paintings being so different.

  "Why'd you do this?" he asked. He still hadn't cracked a smile.

  I shook my head regretfully. "I'm sorry. I knew before I painted it that it might be special to you. I could kinda tell by the looks of it. I should have asked. I thought I might surprise you by doing two, that's all."

  Lane ran a hand through his hair like he was considering something as he stared down at it. His head shook almost imperceptibly. "How'd you get this done?" He looked so serious that his question almost felt accusatory.

  "I was working on it the same time I was working on the robot," I said. "I just kept it back behind here so I could surprise… I'm sorry. I should have probably asked you about it first."

  Lane took a deep breath as he stared at me. "It was my mother's. Her name was Hannah. She passed away. During childbirth."

  "Yours?" I asked. The question just popped right out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

  "Yes, mine."

  I was silent for several seconds, deciding whether I should tell him the same thing basically happened to me or just apologize again.

  "But this was hers when she was a little girl, and I'm just not sure why you painted it like this because I've seen old pictures of her when she was a child wearing a white dress like…" He hesitated, smiling a little as he shook his head. "I guess every little girl wore white dresses back then," he said dismissively.

  "I really should have asked," I said. I felt nervous and frustrated with myself, like maybe now I had upset him and blown my shot.

  Lane reached out and put his hand on my arm. "Did you seriously paint this?" he asked, searching my eyes for the truth. His eyes were the palest ice blue, which meant they stood out in stark contrast to his dark hair and eyebrows, even his eyelashes were almost black. Goodness, gracious, what had I gotten myself into here? He's trying to have a sincere conversation, and I can't even focus on what he's saying.

  "What?" I asked, feeling entirely distracted.

  "Did you paint this, Zoe?"

  "Yes."

  "Today?"

  I nodded and gave him a cautious smile.

  "How'd you do it?"

  "With watercolors."

  "I mean time wise."

  "In between the robot. You know, I went back and forth."

  Lane regarded me again, breathing a sigh. "My mom had an identical twin sister. She had a short marriage that ended in divorce right before my mom died, and she ended up stepping in to help my dad take care of me. They fell in love and got married, and she just took my mom's spot, raising me like I was her own. She and my dad have three kids of their own, so I have half-brothers and sisters. We all know about my mom, but we think of each other as full siblings." He paused and took a deep breath. "Anyway, my mom, or aunt technically, whatever you want to call her, would cherish this piece. If you don't mind, we'll just pretend you didn't paint this today, and I'll take it with me. We'll hang on to the robot for me to show Theo, but I'll just buy this one from you right now, and we'll pretend it had nothing to do with your application process. Is that okay? Would that work for you? I probably have about two hundred dollars on me. Does that seem fair? If not, I could get more easily."

  "I don't need any money," I said. "I'm just sorry I chose something so personal without asking you first."

  "It's not a big deal," he said. "The bigger deal that you got both of these done this afternoon." He smiled and shook his head, still looking at the painting. "Plus, it looks like it could actually be Hannah holding it. My mom's gonna trip out over this."

  "It's so funny that we have similar stories," I said, thinking about him referring to his aunt as his mom and his mom as Hannah.

  His expression grew serious as he tilted his head at me. "Did your mom die in childbirth, too?"

  I was speechless for a few seconds as I debated how to answer that. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I just couldn’t make it come out of my mouth. "Uh, sort of," I said. "It was, uh, right after I was born."

  He looked at me like he was curious, but had manners enough not to ask. I knew some people back home judged me for my mom's decision to take her own life, but it was the truth, and it felt odd avoiding it.

  "She dropped me off with her mom and dad before leaving the world on her own terms," I said. My voice quivered a little as I spoke, and I fiddled with the seam of my jeans as a distraction. "It's not the same story as yours exactly, but I was just sayin' that, uh, we, uh… You and I have probably dealt with a few of the same feelings over the years."

  A sad smile crossed his face. "Guilty feelings?"

  I nodded, and we stood there looking at each other. I knew by the expression on his face that we shared some unspoken matching bond as a result of our past. I could tell he wanted to say something more about my story, but didn't know what. I saw it in his expression when he resolved to change the topic.

  "Zoe, I know you didn't mean to do it, but you painted something that would be really special to my parents. Would you please consider letting me buy this from you?" He held it up to
the light, inspecting it closely again. "Please. I'm going up to Maine this weekend, and I'd really like to take it to my parents."

  "You don’t need to pay me for it," I said softly. "Please take it to them. I'm just glad you like it. I'm happy you want it. I have to tell you, that liquid watercolor is amazing."

  "You're a genius. But I guess you know that already. That's why you got on a bus and came up here, isn't it?"

  The manager of Shower & Shelter was standing right in front of me, saying the exact things I wanted him to say. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, and I reached out to put my hand on his arm. "You really have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that," I said. "Do you think I'll have a shot at one of those rooms in January?"

  He stared at the painting again. "I see art all day every day, Zoe, and I'm blown away by this. I can't even understand how these two paintings happened in one day and came from the same person." (Another long look at it.) "Are you sure you did this one?"

  I let out a giggle at how shocked he was.

  "I wish I would have seen you do it."

  "They just look so different because acrylic and watercolor are two completely different creatures. You have to use totally contrasting methods to steer them around. I can't wait to try some other things with that thick acrylic."

  He smiled at me. "To answer your question, Zoe, yes, you'll have a spot in January when the next one opens up. Is that gonna work out for you?"

  "Of course!" I said. "That would be amazing!"

  While still holding the painting, Lane walked toward his desk, and I followed him. "We're going to be right in the middle of shooting a documentary at that time, so it's probably gonna be unusually chaotic around here. It shouldn't be too bad, because they're stretching the film out over the period of a year. It's not like crews will be in here constantly. But we will have extra people around during that time."

  "How exciting," I said, thinking of the possibility of being there when a documentary was filmed. Fran and the ladies would lose their minds if I wound up on TV.

  "Are you gonna be okay until January?" he asked.

  "Oh, definitely," I said. "I got a dumpy little room to start me out, but now that I know what timeframe I'm on, I'll probably look around for something else and a more fulltime job. I thought about looking into women's shelters just in case."

  "It's extremely rare for a spot to open up before someone's term is over, but it has happened in the past. I promise I'll let you know if that happens."

  "I'm humbled that you'd even say that," I said. "I get it that you have a lot of people wanting a spot here. I understand now that I'm here and I see what this place is all about."

  Lane stared at me so thoughtfully that I looked away, staring at the wall.

  "I studied business at NYU," he said, causing me to look at him again. "I knew nothing about art when Theo hired me. I take care of the business end of it. I'm driven and dedicated. Theo wanted this place to run smoothly, and he hired me knowing I could make that happen." He sighed. "I'm telling you all this, Zoe, so that you understand what kind of person I am. I have to keep everything black and white to make this place what it is. I guess I just wanted you to know it's saying something for me to go out on a limb and let you come here today—let alone make you all these promises."

  I took a small step back and held my hands to my chest. "Should we have done this differently?" I asked. "You just have to tell me what to do."

  Lane let out a little laugh, shaking his head at me. "No, we don't need to do anything differently. I'm just explaining to you that everyone knows me for being pretty by the book—especially with this interview process. Maybe you shouldn't really mention to anyone that you just walked right in and I promised you a room without even talking to Theo about it." Again, he paused and stared at me like he just couldn’t figure me or this whole situation out.

  "Am I making you feel unorganized?" I asked.

  "A little, Zoe, honestly. I definitely didn't intend to make you any promises today. That's not something I'd normally do. I thought I'd just meet you, and put you on a call-back list for January, and that would be that."

  "Well, I'm sorry you're feeling unorganized, but I'm really happy that it's on account of me getting promised things. It's really such a relief to know I'm getting in."

  "I'm just sorry I don’t have anything sooner," he said.

  "I'm sorry I waltzed right in here and painted your bunny without asking."

  "I'm sorry I made you cry on the phone."

  "I'm sorry I don't have a portfolio."

  "I'm not sorry you don’t have a portfolio. I never would have gotten this if you did." He held up the painting as he walked around his desk. I sat across from him by instinct, and by the time I figured out what was going on, he was pulling cash out of his desk drawer.

  "No, no, no," I said. "Seriously, I don’t want you to pay me for it."

  "Well, I'm going to," he said. "I want to do it, and you could use the money, so it's happening. You're taking this." He reached out and handed me the cash. "I don't think it's quite two," he said regretfully.

  "That's too much."

  "No, it's not. It's not enough."

  "I sold some back home for twenty bucks that took me way longer to paint. Of course the paints weren't as nice, but still—two hundred's too much."

  "Where are they?" he asked.

  "Where are what?"

  "Your other paintings. Who's got them?"

  "A bunch of old ladies that go to Fran's, and some people from the church. I sold one to Mr. Coleman for ten bucks that took me like twenty hours to make. I had to cut bristles out of a brush until I got it thin enough for all the detail."

  "Where is this Mr. Coleman?" Lane asked. "Get him on the phone and tell him I'm interested in buying it from him."

  I giggled.

  "I'm serious, Zoe. I hate that you let your other stuff go. Ten dollars, really?"

  He seemed so disheartened that I couldn’t help but grin. "It's just a bunch of dollar store stuff."

  "Why've you been using dollar store stuff?"

  I shrugged. "I know there are better materials out there, but I wasn't really focusing on art at that time. And Crayola's not that bad, anyway. I mean, these paints were great and everything, but I have fun with the cheap stuff, too."

  Chapter 6

  Lane

  "Hello?" Lane Alexander said, putting his cell phone to his ear as he sat at his desk.

  "Thank you for picking up," his mom said.

  "You've called three times in a row. Is everything okay?"

  "I can't stop looking at this painting, Lane."

  He smiled. "I knew you'd love it," he said. "I told her that the minute I saw it."

  "I'd really like you to thank that little Zoe for me."

  "I did," he said. "I will. I'll tell her next time I see her."

  "Should I write her a 'thank you' card?"

  "You can if you want."

  "Will you get it to her?"

  "Yes, I will," he said. "I have to go, though. Somebody's here to see me."

  "Okay, well, I'm gonna send you that card, so please makes sure she gets it, okay?"

  "Okay," he said.

  Lane said goodbye to his mother and pressed the button to disconnect the call as he gestured for Lu Osborne to come into his office. She peered at him through a crack in the door, and he waved her in.

  "What's up, Lulie Osborne?"

  "The sky," she said, wiggling around in a silly way as she came inside. "What's up with you?"

  "I went to my parent's house up in Maine this weekend," he said, standing to shake her hand as she came toward his desk.

  "How was that?"

  "It was great. My little brother was there with his wife and kids."

  "My sister has a little one, too, back in New Jersey," Lu said. "I miss them. Seems like he grows so much between the times I get to see him."

  "I know," Lane said, "Maggie's four now, and it feels like she was bor
n yesterday." He took a deep breath and looked at Lu. "What brings you here, Ms. Lu?"

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head like maybe she wasn't quite ready to answer that question. Lu was the newest addition to the S&S team. She was scheduled to move in just a few weeks, and would be one of the artists who were spotlighted in the six-part documentary. Her term would start in August, and with the filming beginning in September, Lu was the newbie, thus an obvious choice for a role in the series.

  "It's happy and good for me, but I still feel really bad, like this is going to be a hassle for you. I just don't want this to be an awkward moment."

  "What moment?" he asked.

  "Oh, my gosh, I guess I should just go ahead and say it. I'm sorry, Lane, but I don't think I'm going to be able to take my spot at the collective."

  "You don't think, or are you sure?" he asked.

  Lu bit her lip regretfully. "I'm pretty sure."

  Instantly, Lane thought of Zoe. He'd been worried about her all weekend, wondering how she made it in this city that was so foreign to her.

  Lu peered at Lane with a regretful expression. "I know," she said. "I'm so sorry about the timing. I know it just gives you a few weeks to fill my spot. I'm sure we need to contact Jane and the crew with the documentary and tell them the change of plans. I really hate it if it leaves you in a bind."

  Lane's heart sped up at the thought of being able to offer Zoe Lu's spot. He wondered if she'd want to take Lu's place in the documentary. All of these thoughts took place within those split-seconds. "It's okay," Lane said. "There's a girl—" He got to the end of that statement, and couldn't decide what to say—couldn’t decide how he wanted to define Zoe.

  "There's a girl…" Lu said, waiting for him to continue.

  "There's a girl who really wants that spot," he said.

  She laughed. "There's probably fifty of them. I'm just sorry for any hassle this causes you. I know it's bad timing."

  "It's fine," Lane said. "What came up?"