The Genius and the Muse

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “What do you want, Kate? Why are you here?” Her questions tumbled out in a rush. “You want to know how I feel about Reed?”

  “Yes,” Kate breathed out.

  Sam cleared her throat. Shaking her head and setting the wine bottle down, she crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the lake for a moment. Then she glanced around the kitchen, her gaze finally coming to rest on the old refrigerator covered by black and white snapshots.

  “Fine. Come on then. It’s sort of hard to put into words for me,” Sam said quietly before she walked down the hall.

  As they walked toward the living room, Kate looked at the art lining the walls. “Do you have any of Reed’s photographs?”

  Sam paused when she got near the front door. “Sure I do,” she murmured. “He still sends me flowers.” She nodded toward a small reading corner Kate hadn’t looked into. It was tucked into the corner of the room and set off by floor to ceiling bookcases. When she walked around the corner, she gasped.

  Lining the back wall was a series of framed black and white prints. There were at least a dozen, maybe more, and each picture showed a large familiar hand holding a palmful of flowers. Roses, pansies, a single lily. Every picture held a different flower, but every hand was the same.

  Kate’s breath caught in her throat. “How many?”

  “Fifteen,” Sam said quietly. “I was surprised the first time I got one. It was on my birthday. I’d heard he was dating some dancer, but he sent a picture anyway.” She blinked tears away and swallowed. “It was nice of him to remember.”

  “Sam, I really think—”

  “The studio’s upstairs. There’s good light up there. Just…” Kate heard Sam pause then laugh a little. “Just give me a second, okay?”

  “Okay, sure.”

  “Just—give me a minute,” Sam said. “I’ll call when it’s ready.”

  She walked up the stairs and Kate felt her phone vibrate in her pocket; looking at the screen, she answered with a smile.

  “Hey.” She walked back toward the wall of flowers. “Yeah, I’m here now… no she’s been nice.” Kate paused again to listen. “I should be home by then.”

  She walked back toward the front door and stared out the window at the sun reflecting off the lake. “Yeah, tell Mari I’ll be there.”

  Kate heard Sam call from upstairs. “Come on up, Kate.”

  She moved toward the staircase. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I’m heading down the mountain.” She paused and a grin spread across her face. “Yeah? Well, I’ll look forward to that, handsome. Bye!” She clicked off the phone when she heard the loud grumble start on the other end of the line. Kate chuckled and started up the stairs.

  At the top, she stepped into a large, open room Sam used as a studio. Large windows were open to the surrounding trees, and it smelled faintly of acrylic paint and lemon. Small metal paint tubes were tossed in a colorful heap on a work table in the corner; brushes dried in bunches, stuffed into mason jars which decorated work tables and windowsills, reminding Kate of odd, prickly flower arrangements. She noticed that drop-cloths and sheets covered a number of the canvases, and several others were propped backward against the walls.

  “So, here it is.”

  The paintings she could see were a combination of colorful landscapes Sam must have been working on, and canvas after canvas of Reed O’Connor.

  There were portraits and vignettes in various stages of completion. She saw one of Reed smiling and holding a camera in a park. A picture of the photographer sleeping in a corner of their studio in New York. Still another was a painting of him in bed, grinning with one arm thrown over his eyes. Kate also saw numerous anatomy studies: an arm, a brilliant blue eye, or the muscles of a defined back.

  “These are amazing.” Kate nodded toward one of the draped canvases. “Are these unfinished or something?”

  Sam smirked. “Well, I figured there might be a few pictures of Reed you didn’t want to see.”

  “Oh?” Understanding dawned. “Oh! Yeah, that’s okay.” Kate blushed.

  “Let’s just say, if you want to ever be able to look at him the same way…” Sam winked. “I mean, if you want a peek—”

  “No! No, that’s okay. Really.”

  “Are you sure? He’s pretty spectacular. I’m sure Javi won’t mind. It’s art, you know.” Sam winked and moved her hand to one particularly large canvas covered by a white sheet. “Research and all that.”

  Kate knew she was beet-red. “No! Really, thanks anyway.”

  Sam chuckled before turning around to survey her work.

  “Wow,” Kate whispered as she looked around.

  Reed was right. Sam Rhodes’s portrait work was stunning. Kate wandered among the canvases.

  “Are these all from memory?”

  Sam nodded. “I left all my sketch books in New York. I think I’ve done pretty well. I…” She paused, taking a deep breath and blinking rapidly. “When I left, I destroyed all my paintings of him. I regretted it immediately. I wasn’t well. And I had such an erratic temper. I’ve been trying to recreate some of them over the past year or so. I want to try doing portraits again, so I thought I'd start with him.” Sam smiled gently and traced a finger over the length of Reed’s arm on the canvas in front of her. “It’s kind of like my own personal therapy.”

  Kate saw Sam bite her lip as she tried to control her emotions. “You see, that night—the night I left—was when I really messed things up. I’d been depressed before, but that night I said a lot of really horrible things to him.” Sam cleared her throat, and Kate saw a tear slip down her cheek.

  “Is that—”

  “That’s why we’re not together anymore, Kate. It’s not really anything he did, it’s because I was messed up. And no matter how much he loved me, Reed couldn’t fix me. And however much you might wish for one, there’s no rewind button on your mouth.”

  Kate frowned. “But, you can apologize, can’t you?”

  “Yeah, I can.” Sam wiped her cheek. “But by the time I was better—really better—he was pretty angry with me, and I can’t blame him for that.”

  “But don’t you think—”

  “He’s got his own life now.” Sam shook her head. “I don’t want to mess it up again.”

  Kate sighed. “You know, I really think he would still listen.”

  Sam shrugged. “It's a little like watercolors, isn't it? One wrong stroke… those brush marks don’t go away. You can try to cover them up, but once that paint is down, it’s not like you can erase it, is it? Those words can’t be unsaid.” She shook her head. “I’m sure he’s forgiven me in his own way, and I forgave him for anything he might have done to me a long time ago, but he’s moved on. And that’s good. He deserves that.”

  “Sam—”

  “I know you don’t want to think this at age twenty-four,” Sam squared her shoulders and faced her. “But some things can’t be fixed.” She shook her head with tears in her eyes. “It just doesn’t work that way. Not everything broken can be put back together, and sometimes the best you can do is treasure your memories and try to move on.”

  Sam looked around the studio with tears sliding down her face, and Kate glared at her, frustration finally bubbling to the surface.

  “Are you serious?” she hissed. “Do you really believe that? You just let go of a love like that and let him ‘move on?’ Reed hasn’t ‘moved on’ any more than you have.” She looked around the room littered with ghosts.

  “He lives in that studio by himself like a damn hermit, Sam. He’s still hung up on you, and then I come here, and find out you’re completely hung up on him, too.”

  Kate thought about the last five months of her life and the cluster of miscommunication she’d stepped into. She almost had the urge to stomp her foot. She glared at Sam. “Don’t you people talk to each other? I’m barely twenty-four, and I know you need to talk to each other. You were all willing to talk to me like I’m some sort of confessor, but none of you are talk
ing to each other. It’s ridiculous!”

  Sam sat stunned, staring at the young woman in front of her, whose anger was growing by the minute. “You mean—”

  “And you say that love is like… what? A watercolor painting? ‘The brushstrokes don’t disappear?’ Well, I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. Life isn’t a painting.”

  Sam just stared at her, her eyes narrowed as she watched the young woman. “I think you need to tell me—”

  “But you know what?” Kate’s eyes darted around the room full of canvases. ”If it was a painting, it wouldn’t be a watercolor, that’s for sure. It would be like a—an oil painting. You can fix those, right?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, you—”

  “You layer them and correct the mistakes.” Kate nodded and pointed at one partially finished painting of Reed in profile. ”Then the brushstrokes become part of the work, not a mistake. And sure, they take forever to dry, but once they do, they last forever.”

  “I guess that’s—”

  “That’s the kind of love I want; and that’s the kind of love you guys could have. Because you still love him. And I know he still loves you. So, just… just fix it.” Kate walked over and stood in front of Sam. Tears filled the painter’s eyes, and Kate looked at her with pleading expression.

  “Sam, the man practically has a shrine to you in his studio. Not a creepy one, more of a ‘I’m totally in love with this woman’ one. And for heaven’s sake…” Kate walked over, pointing to one of the canvases of a young Reed clothed only in a pair of blue jeans and holding a camera with a passionate look on his face. “Look at him! He’s gorgeous. And brilliant and—and thinks you walk on water! I mean… are you nuts?”

  Sam cracked a sharp laugh, then immediately covered her mouth in shock. Kate stared back, suddenly realizing her word choice may have not been ideal. “That may have not been the best way to phrase it.”

  Sam stared at her with wide eyes and a hand still covering her mouth.

  Kate felt horrible. “Listen, Sam, I’m sorry, I just—”

  “What do you mean, ‘he has a shrine?’”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Pomona, California

  September 2010

  Javi traced the line of Kate’s side as she slept next to him. His fingers slid along the dip of her waist before rising gently at her hip, finally drifting off along her narrow thigh. He marveled at the juxtaposition of her pale skin against his brightly colored arms, and scowled at the calluses on his hands, frustrated he often marked her without meaning to.

  If she was awake, she would smooth the line between his eyebrows and tease him about worrying too much. If she was awake, she would say something outrageous to make him laugh. If she was awake, she would kiss him as she lay across his chest, stealing his breath and reminding Javi that, despite appearances, he was the breakable one.

  “Javi…” she murmured in her sleep. Her waves of red-gold hair lay spread along his shoulder, and he brushed away a piece that was tickling her nose. The early morning light poured into the bedroom and made her skin glow.

  “Yeah?” he whispered.

  “There’s no cat in the warehouse,” she mumbled.

  His shoulders shook with silent laughter at her sleepy conversation. He’d been delighted weeks ago to discover how much she talked in her sleep. “No, Katie, no cat in the warehouse.”

  “But a cat wouldn’t eat snakes.”

  He struggled to hold in the snort.

  “No snakes in the warehouse, either.”

  “Oh.” She sighed. “Okay.”

  He stared at her freckled face for a few more minutes before he finally whispered the question he’d been asking her for weeks, almost every morning before she woke.

  “You love me, Katie?”

  “Uh-huh.” She breathed out with a smile and snuggled closer into his side.

  “I love you, too,” he whispered before he kissed her forehead and closed his eyes again. They slept for another hour, her limbs draped over his body as she clung to him in her dreams. He woke before her, this time watching her until her blue eyes flickered open.

  “Morning,” he muttered, a small smile teasing the corner of his mouth from the memory of her sleepy confession.

  Kate blinked rapidly and buried her face in his neck as if hiding from the bright light. “What time is it?”

  “Around eight, I think.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time.” She peeled herself away from him, arching like a cat in his large bed. “Have I told you lately how much I like your bed? So much room to stretch.” She let out a yawn.

  Smiling, Javi rolled over in bed, caging her under him and kissing along her neck.

  “That better not be the only reason,” he said between kisses.

  Kate laughed and tried to squirm away, but his teasing kisses quickly turned into something more, and then she was the one pulling him closer.

  “Not the only reason,” she purred as his mouth explored her body. Her hands gripped his shoulders, digging in and holding him tightly. “Javi,” she whispered his name before his mouth covered her own. His hand sneaked around to the small of her back and pulled her closer as she wrapped her legs around his hips, and they rocked together in the tangled sheets.

  He sat up, pulling her with him and turning her around so he could see the flaming hair fall down her back. Javi brushed it to the side and wrapped his arms around her, cupping her breasts as he buried his face in her warm neck and tasted her skin.

  “What do you want?” he breathed out as they rocked together. His hands slid down her body. “Tell me what you need.”

  “You.”

  His breath caught for a moment before his mouth closed over her skin. His teeth nipped at the curve of her shoulder, and he pressed their bodies together.

  “Just you.”

  He teased the soft skin at the juncture of her thighs, spreading her before he slid inside. Kate let out a soft cry and Javi softened his hands, sliding them over her body in long, lazy strokes as they made love. He sat back and trailed kisses along the curve of her spine as he felt her heart race against his palm.

  “Talented,” she gasped. “Really talented hands.”

  “Shhh,” he said. “I’m a professional. Let me work.”

  Javi wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her harder onto his body. He bit his lip when Kate let out a moan, and her head fell back on his shoulder as he sped up. He quickly worked her into a frenzy until Kate was arching back and gripping his arms. She clenched around him and cried out in release as he surged forward, closing his eyes and biting his lip hard as he came. Then he fell forward with a satisfied groan and rolled them to the side, still peppering her back with kisses as her breathing evened out.

  Perfect, he thought. She was perfect.

  Actually, she was a nosey, stubborn, pain in the ass.

  And she was perfect.

  What a surprise. He smiled and wrapped her up in his arms.

  Hours later, they still lay in bed, Javi on his stomach and Kate straddling his back, trying to give him a massage. He had been welding for three days straight, but had promised her he would take a full weekend off so she wouldn’t have to go to her parent’s Labor Day party alone.

  “Your back is impossible,” she grumbled as she tried to knead the thick muscles covering his shoulders. “I feel like I need a jackhammer to even make a dent in it.”

  Javi smirked. He always enjoyed her hands on him, even if she wasn’t giving a very good massage. “Just lean in. Use your elbows.”

  “Won’t that hurt?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll bruise me.”

  Kate leaned onto his back with the full weight of her tiny frame. She was so light, he could barely feel her, and his shoulders shook with laughter.

  “You know what? Never mind.” She slapped his back. “Find some scary woman named Helga with a unibrow to beat on your muscles, old man.”

  “Hey.”

  She gig
gled a little and bent down to nip his ear with her teeth.

  “Wait here, handsome.”

  Javi felt her move off of him, and the bed shifted when she left. He lay, dozing a little, until she came back, but woke when he heard the familiar zip of her camera bag. He grumbled out a warning, “Katie…”

  “Just your back. I want pictures of your back. The light’s really good right now.”

  He grunted, but lay still as she began to take pictures of him wrapped in the white sheets. He knew she would never use anything without asking him. And since he had plans to sketch her for a piece himself, Javi knew he could hardly complain.

  “Why did you get the phoenix on your back?” She began her typical string of questions as she changed the lens and fiddled with her camera. He thought about the fierce bird that covered his back from hip to neck. The curling red wings were so large they dipped over his shoulders in front.

  “Flames, welding, ashes, phoenix. It all just seemed to go together.” He paused for a moment. “It reminds me that… sometimes things need to burn to get better. In life. In art. Beautiful things can come from ashes. And sometimes, the fire that looks like it’s destroying really just makes things stronger. That’s it, I guess.”

  She was silent for a long moment before he heard the click of her camera again. He peeked over his shoulder.

  “Do you like my tattoos?”

  “I have to fight the urge to trace every single one of them with my tongue,” she said as she continued snapping pictures. ”What do you think?”

  He grinned. “I think you shouldn’t fight the urge. And you’re trying to turn me on again.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause that’s such a challenge.” She laughed and continued capturing frame after frame of his intricately decorated skin. They were both silent as she worked, and he drifted in and out of sleep.

  “What should I wear to this thing?” he asked, clearing his throat a little.

  “Sadly, clothes.” She muttered something unintelligible about angles and shadows.

  “Not kidding, Katie.”

  She frowned when he rolled over to look at her. She shoved him back. “Neither am I—hold still. Wear whatever. I don’t care. It’s on the water, and it’ll be cool when the sun goes down, so maybe bring a jacket.”