Mending Walls With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 3)
Page 3
Since she couldn’t buy the paint in the United States and fly it down, she would have to work with the paint she could purchase there. Hopefully they had lead laws in Haiti. Since all the walls were cement, a household interior paint was her best option. An online search produced a couple of lumber and paint stores in Port-au-Prince. They did carry water-based paints. She opened another tab and studied the flat, stylized works of Préfète Duffaut.
Including the children in the painting process would be a challenge. What if she set up a paint-by-number-type thing? Several of the muralists she’d read about or watched on YouTube used chalk to sketch out the mural on the wall before beginning. The younger children would need help to paint in the lines. Then she could go back over the top and add in the details. If there were a couple of budding artists among the older children, they could help.
Araceli started some sketch ideas. Since she couldn’t find enough similar words in Haitian Creole and French for the alphabet illustrations she ditched the alphabet idea in favor of zoo animals.
A chime sounded on her computer, and soon her screen was filled with video boxes of her parents’ kitchen, her sister Amelia’s dorm room, and her brother, Greg, and his wife and three-year-old, Max, at their home in New Hampshire. The usual greetings were exchanged, and updates were given. Araceli hoped she didn’t look like her mind was wandering as Amelia detailed her experiments in chemistry. She saw something as she focused in on her mother’s refrigerator. She then looked closely at the kitchen behind Greg. His fridge had it too. Araceli grew impatient for her turn. So what if Amelia’s new formula burned three times longer? Apparently everyone but Araceli was enthralled. Finally, the spotlight moved to Araceli.
“Mom, what is hanging on your fridge?”
Terri got up and walked across the room. “A couple of wedding announcements, a picture you drew for Mother’s Day when you were twelve, and Max’s latest artwork from his visit last week. The usual, why?”
“Just a minute, Mom. Greg, what is on your fridge?”
Greg turned in his seat. “Alphabet magnets, Max’s paper from preschool, and a drawing he claims is me but I think may really be an octopus.”
“I think I know what the orphans in Haiti need—a refrigerator!”
Amelia sat forward. “Don’t they have refrigerators in Haiti?”
“Yes, but that isn’t what I mean. The children at the orphanage need a place to show off their work like we do on a refrigerator.”
Greg’s wife leaned toward the screen. “When I was little, my mom painted our playroom with all sorts of fun things. On one wall she made an art gallery where she painted picture frames with a white center the size of a piece of paper. We would hang all our masterpieces up.” She turned to her husband. “I should do one for Max.”
Hearing his name, Max ran over to the computer and commandeered the remainder of the family call.
Araceli wanted to ask how her sister-in-law had hung pictures in their playroom, but Greg signed off first, then Amelia.
“Dad, how would you make it so children could temporarily hang things on a wall?”
Rich Williams rubbed his goatee. “You could screw some bulldog clips to the wall. Or maybe glue some of the plastic sign holders to the wall so they could slip the drawings in and out.”
“Thanks, Dad. Have a good week. Love you.”
Araceli returned to looking at photos of the orphanage. How hard would it be to put one hundred or so screws in a cement wall?
four
Zoe hooked her messenger bag over the chair next to Araceli. “What are you smiling at?”
“Mrs. Evans loves my idea of an art gallery for the children. I was worried because in the group chat, Jade, who has been on two other trips, said it wouldn’t work. She kept going on and on about how they’d done that already. I think she may have even called me stupid in one of those ‘bless your heart’ Southern belle ways. So I thought there was no way my project would be approved. Not only was it approved, but it was picked for this trip.”
“Now I need to find some way to hang the art. I looked at the plastic sign holders, but then all the artwork would have to be in the same direction, and who does everything landscape when you can choose portrait?”
Zoe pulled out her clipboard case, extracted some paper, and went into brainstorming mode. She fastened the paper under the clip. “What are your limitations?”
“The cement walls are the biggest, followed by size and transportability. I don’t know what I am going to be able to buy down there. The Evanses are sending me two huge suitcases to fill with diapers, formula, and whatever I need for the murals.”
1. Cement Walls
2. Weight
3. Size
4. Multiple sizes and orientations
5. Child safety
Zoe’s neat handwriting resembled one of the architect type fonts. “What else?”
“That’s about it. I didn’t even think about child safety.”
“What have you ruled out and why?”
“Bulldog clips, as they would have to be screwed into the wall and that’s a lot of cement drilling. And I don’t know how well they would stay. I have tried to come up with something magnetic, but everything is either too expensive or too bulky.”
6. No screws
7. Magnetic?
Zoe tapped her pen against her chin. “What about those metal strips with the rollers in them? Dr. Christensen has some in his classroom where he puts up artwork for critiques.”
“That is one idea. Do you know what they are called?”
Zoe shrugged. “Things they used to use to hold X-rays when they still used film?”
“Solid search terms.” Araceli rolled her eyes and typed for a moment. “Nothing.”
As Zoe pulled the paper off the clipboard, the clip on it snapped loudly. “Sorry, I don’t think I helped much.”
Araceli caught Zoe’s wrist. “That’s it! You’re brilliant. Clipboards! They could be glued to the walls, and the children could even decorate them!”
“Glad I could help, even if it was the clipboard you all tease me about.”
“Never again, Zoe!” Araceli searched office-supply websites.
“I’ll give you a choice—take Marci dress shopping or lead the discussion with the spring-break group.”
“It’s a formal dance, isn’t it?” Kyle tried to say the words without grimacing. At least Mom couldn’t see his face through the phone.
“Don’t make it sound like I’m sending you to the guillotine. It isn’t Marci’s fault that boy waited until the week before to ask her.”
How many hundreds of shops would she have to go to? And the Galleria? No way was he going to hang around there watching his sister search for the perfect dress. “Just a video conference?”
“Like you’ve done before. Basic precautions, explanations, and answer questions.”
“What time?”
“Five. I know some of the sorority girls have complained about how early the meeting is, but the part of Indiana Araceli Williams lives in is the eastern time zone. Thanks!”
“Hey, was that a siren I heard in the background? Are you and Marci already out shopping?” He should have realized it from the sound of engine noise when he first answered.
His sister’s voice came over the phone. “You are the best, Kyle. Love you!”
The call disconnected.
He’d been played again.
He took his laptop over to the table he used for video conferences. The blank wall behind it served to keep people from being more interested in his choices of art than in his words.
He opened the conference program and was gratified to find the prerecorded presentation he usually used was queued and ready to go. The computer beeped as the participants
logged on, their video feeds popping up in little boxes along the bottom of his screen. Other than Jade and Marci’s friend EmilyAnne, he didn’t recognize any of the group.
“It looks like everyone is here. I’m Kyle Evans. Deah asked that I conduct this video conference as she has an unexpected appointment. I’m assuming you have all read the information posted on the website, but there are a few things we need to cover. I’ll take questions after the presentation. Please type them in the chat box.” Once Kyle had switched the screen to display the prerecorded video, he studied the group’s faces as it played. The woman listed as Chelsea turned green during a portion where they showed food vendors selling their wares only feet from a garbage pile covering nearly a quarter acre of land. A couple of the men looked squeamish during the segment on scabies. Only one of the volunteers appeared to be taking notes.
Kyle double-checked the screen. Araceli. Interesting. Mother told him he’d met her years ago, but the tiny face on the screen didn’t match anything in his memory. But then, he only remembered befriending Greg. When the video presentation concluded, the questions were precisely what he expected. Unfortunately, Araceli didn’t ask any, so her video screen remained the tiny thumbnail at the bottom of his screen. Shame. All he could discern of her was clear skin and a few dark curls escaping a ponytail or messy bun.
If he were conducting the service trip, he would turn it around and ask each of the volunteers a few questions himself. Then he could get a full-screen view of Araceli. As it was, Jade managed to commandeer the screen, not really asking a question at all.
“Jade, did you have a question? If not, I need to close the presentation.”
“Oh no. Sorry, Kyle.”
“If any of you have further questions, feel free to contact my mother. Good night.”
Kyle clicked off the conference screen, opened the folder containing the volunteer applications, and found Araceli’s.
As the screen went blank, Araceli released the first full breath she’d taken in the last half hour. At least she wouldn’t have to see him again. Why did he have to grow up handsome? And his voice so confident, it was deeper than when they first met. His looks had sucked her in then too. But his unkindness had made her teen years so difficult. How was it possible to loathe and crush on the same person?
The doorbell rang, Araceli looked out the window to see a familiar brown delivery truck idling in the street in front of the house.
“Must be the last delivery of the night. Better than Santa.” Candace opened the door and inspected the boxes. “Unless they aren’t for me. Here, Araceli.”
The first box contained two collapsible duffels for Haiti. The college group at her church had collected more than enough diapers and formula to fill both. Whatever wouldn’t fit in the bags would be donated to the local women’s crisis center.
The second box was from Grandma Williams. Araceli pulled out a package wrapped in paper decorated with candles and streamers.
“Did I goof? I thought your birthday was next month.” Tessa pulled her phone out of her pocket.
“You didn’t miss it. Grandma likes to send us early or late birthday gifts if she finds something she thinks we can use now rather than later.”
Zoe perched on the corner of the couch. “So what did she get you?”
Araceli unwrapped the paper slowly, mostly to annoy her roommates, who watched her with the intensity of a Patriot’s fan watching the Super Bowl. She held a fanny pack. “It has the RFID protection companies are putting in all the wallets now to keep people from electronically stealing passport and credit card information. The one she got me four years ago didn’t have that feature. Only two and a half more weeks!”
“We know.” Her roommates answered in unison.
five
Marci jumped out of the chair she was sitting in and ran to Kyle’s side as he rushed into the emergency room.
“Are you okay? Where is Mom?” Kyle studied her head to toe, looking for any signs of injury. The call his sister had made more than a half hour ago had been garbled. Accident, police, ambulance, and Mom had been the only discernable words. He had to ask her twice to repeat the name of the hospital before hopping in his car.
“I’m fine. I wasn’t in the car yet. Mom was coming to pick me up. I heard the crash but didn’t see it. She is back with the doctors. I haven’t seen her since the ambulance brought her here.” The wobble in her voice belied her insistence that she was okay.
Kyle drew his youngest sister into a hug.
Marci pushed back. “You can let go now.”
Kyle took a step back.
Marci checked her phone. “I called Cassie. I figured I would wait to call Mark until we knew what was going on. Mom will have a fit if he hops a flight and misses class for her.”
“He is at MIT, after all.” Kyle smiled. “Is Cassie coming?”
“She said she would come downstairs as soon as another board member could fill in for the tour. Apparently she has some specialists in from Bombay.”
The theme song to a sitcom played on the lobby TV. Kyle checked his watch.
Marci laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ve been here for almost an hour. When is Dad coming out?”
“Sorry I wasn’t here earlier. The LBJ freeway was a parking lot.” He rechecked his watch to see that only a minute had passed.
“Maybe we could find a quiet place to say a prayer. I have been praying in my mind, but it is so noisy.”
Kyle took his sister by the hand and led her to the stairwell. “Is this good enough?”
When they returned, Cassie stood in the center of the ER waiting room with her hands on her hips. “Where have you two been?”
“We stepped out for a moment to pray.” Marci’s quiet answer took the impatience out of Cassie’s face.
“They’re taking Mom up for surgery. Dad asked me to show you where to go.”
Kyle started to follow his sister. “When did you see Dad?”
“The assistant VP came in to relieve me about twenty minutes ago. I have been back with Mom and Dad ever since.”
Marci slowed. “How did you get past us? We should have seen you.”
Cassie swiped her hospital ID badge against a magnetic reader. “All-access pass. Hurry. If we go this way, we should be able to see Mom before they take her to the OR.”
This sterile elevator was not the one Kyle had used the few times he’d visited the hospital. “Are we supposed to be here?”
“All-access pass, remember? If you are with me, no one will question it. I wouldn’t take you any place y’all shouldn’t be.”
The elevator doors whooshed open, and Cassie led her siblings through a maze of halls to the back door of the surgery waiting room. They should bring Mom through here.”
The bell on a different elevator pinged and their parents emerged, Mom on a gurney. Cassie gave Kyle the tiniest of superior nods. Dad looked haggard, but Mom wore a tired smile—the kind mothers used to reassure their families that a crisis was not insurmountable. From the raccoon-shaped bruises on her face, she’d been wearing sunglasses when the airbag deployed. Raising the hand with the IV in it, she gave them a small wave. Kyle barely heard her whispered “I love you.”
Cassie ushered everyone into the waiting room.
Kyle fell in step behind his father. “What is the surgery for?”
“Let’s all sit first, and I’ll explain.”
They found seats in the center of the room since the more desirable corners were already filled. “First, the good news. The doctors don’t believe your mom has any internal injuries. The seat belt and airbags did their job. However, the impact crushed Mom’s left clavicle and humerus. The clavicle fracture is compound, which is why they are not waiting for surgery.”
“How long will she be in surgery?”
They all gave a courtesy laugh.
“I know you kids have probably been praying since you got here, but let’s have a family prayer before I call Mark.”
Cassie jumped up. “Let me check if we can use one of the consultation rooms for a few minutes.”
Dad turned to Kyle. “As you may guess, your mom was most worried about the trip to Haiti. With less than two weeks before departure, she doesn’t want to cancel it.”
Marci raised her head. “I don’t know if I want to go without mom.”
“Hey, squirt, I am not that bad of a guide, and you know you’ll miss Marlissa if you don’t go. Not to mention how much she will miss you.”
Marci bit her lip. She’d sponsored Marlissa for the last four years. Most of the money she earned at her part-time job at the foundation went to pay for her special school for children with disabilities. Marlissa’s vocabulary had grown by leaps and bounds. And last week’s email hinted she had something exciting to show Marci. “As long as Mom is okay, I’ll go. I really want to show EmilyAnne what we do down there. She’s been learning some French and Haitian sayings so we can talk to the younger children.”
Cassie returned. “We can use room three.”
Kyle pondered the appropriateness of praying for a super-speedy recovery so he wouldn’t have to lead the trip.
Packing for a week in a carry-on wasn’t the easiest thing. Today’s trip to the sporting-goods store supplied the clothing pretreatment to keep away the mosquitoes. The nurse at the county health department had recommended the spray when Araceli had visited to make sure she had all the necessary shots. Between Malaria and Zika virus, mosquitoes were among the most significant dangers. She also found a pack of repellant wipes. Any preventative that wasn’t liquid and subject to TSA rules, especially if the item didn’t take much space, was added to her list.