by L. A. Fiore
“I hope so.”
We were interrupted by an attractive guy, who was walking toward us, his smiling eyes on Saffron. He hunched down next to her and his focus turned to me briefly before he said, “I was just over at Broderick's and, oh my God, he has a new kid working there. I realize I'm being a dirty old man, but he's gorgeous. Tats down his arms and a dragon on his chest that wraps around his back. I think I'm going to take up construction as a hobby.”
Saffron's head tilted back and she laughed. “Yes, and Derek will just love that, I'm sure. Josh, I'd like to introduce you to the art student who's here for the summer to mentor with Logan, Lark O’Bannion.” I couldn't help the smile, since it didn't take Josh long at all to put it together and when he did, he blushed.
“Lark, with big, beautiful green eyes. I saw the name on his chest. So I guess I was just crushing on your honey.” His focus shifted to the ring on my left hand. “Affianced honey?” He asked which I thought was odd. Saffron proceeded to shake her head no but I was already answering.
“Yes.”
“Hot damn! I'll get to work immediately. It was very nice to meet you, Lark.” He turned to Saffron and kissed her on the mouth. “Nice try.”
Off he went, walking across the courtyard. Get to work on what? Saffron pulled me from that puzzle.
“Congratulations on your engagement to Bastian.”
“Thanks, but you looked disappointed just now.”
“Not at all.”
“Then why did your shoulders slump?” I asked.
“You just told Josh you were engaged.”
“And?”
“It's tradition in Harrington, when you get engaged the town has a square dance.”
“What like a real cowboys, petticoat, square dance?”
“Yup.”
I chuckled, then jumped nearly out of my seat when I heard what sounded like a wild animal screaming in agony.
“What is that?”
“Jaws.”
“What's Jaws?”
She turned her head and pointed to a huge old tank of a car that was traveling so slowly it was practically going backwards. “That's Jaws.”
The little old lady driving it looked to be about a hundred and twenty and when I caught a glimpse of the woman next to her, I thought I’d seen twins.
“The Fletcher twins.”
As I watched the car creeping along the street, I wondered why Saffron called the car Jaws. In the next minute, the car swerved a bit and, even though it was in super slow motion, there was no stopping the collision as the car hit the street sign: its post padded with foam.
“It's cheaper to stock up on foam than it is to keep ordering new signs from the state.”
“They do that often, I'm guessing.”
“Almost every day.”
“Why do you call the car Jaws?”
Saffron looked over at me and smiled. “Because it eats everything in its path.”
***
Later in the day Saffron went home for a nap, so I came back into town and set up an easel near the docks so I could paint the cove where the fishermen were all coming back in from a day out at sea. My training wouldn’t start until next week, Logan had offered me a few days to get settled, but the beauty around me was too tempting to wait that long to paint it.
My thoughts turned to the phone call I had made to Sophia earlier. She was off the wait-list, and had been accepted into Berkley. I was going to miss not having her close but I was thrilled for her because Berkley had been her first choice.
I took a moment to really appreciate the view before I started. The whitecap water roiled in a deep green. The old wooden boats came chugging in, their colors faded, their outriggers stretched crookedly toward the sky and their engines grumbling as they moved slowly along.
I had just reached a rhythm in my sketching when a child's voice interrupted me. I looked down to see a girl of six or seven with blond ringlets and big, blue eyes.
“What are you doing?”
I smiled. It was so like a child to have no fear of strangers.
“I'm painting.”
“My uncle paints. Your eyes look just like his.”
“Is Logan Dupree your uncle?”
Her little face just beamed with pride. “Yep.” In the next instance, her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes narrowed. “How do you know Uncle Logan?”
“I'm actually here to learn from him.”
“Oh, so you're Lark. Why did your parents name you after a bird?”
“My mom named me after a flower, Larkspur, but I like Lark.”
“I guess that makes more sense.” But I could tell from her expression that my explanation didn't make any sense at all.
“What's your name?” I asked.
“Callie.”
“Where's your mom, Callie?”
Guilt washed over her features before she looked down and dug her patent leather foot into the soft soil, clearly she was nervous. “I might have run away.”
“Do you do that often?”
“Only when they're looking for stuff for Michael. Shopping for boys is so boring.”
“Your mom is probably really worried.”
“Probably.”
My first thought was to call Saffron, but I didn't want to wake her from her nap so I reached for my phone and called Bastian. He was probably with Callie’s dad. “Hey beautiful.”
“Hi. Is Broderick with you?”
“Yeah. What's up?”
“Could you tell him I have Callie? She seems to have run off from her mom.”
I heard Bastian relay the news and heard Broderick's voice seconds before Bastian came back on the line. “Can you keep her with you? We're on our way.”
“Sure.”
I hung up as Callie steadily watched me. “Who's Bastian?”
“My fiancé.”
“Oh.”
“He's working with Broderick at his house.”
“Uncle Broderick, is he coming for me?” Uncle Broderick? If Logan and Broderick were both her uncles, then was this Dante's child?
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
She walked around me and looked at my painting, but judging by the wrinkling of her nose, my skills clearly did not impress her. I was tasked to keep her here. How to do that? Then inspiration struck and I reached into my case for a pencil.
“Would you mind if I sketched you?”
“Me? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She toed the soil again, so I asked, “Do you like playing in the dirt?”
Her little face lit up. “Yes.”
“Well, why don't you play in the dirt and I'll sketch you.”
“That's a good idea,” she said before she plopped her butt down and immediately pulled both of her hands through the loose soil of the garden bed. I turned over a new sheet of paper and got started—her little cheeks round, her nose pert, her lips pinched as she concentrated. Unlike when I sketched Bastian, smudging the lines to soften her neck and chin didn't cause me to blush. When her face was perfect, I moved to her corkscrew curls: shading to add the dimension of color in those blond strands.
Her hands took a bit of time to perfect, because they were the most adorable little hands, short of finger and chubby of palm with dimples at her knuckles. I was careful to capture the detail of the dirt that stained them.
I didn't know how long we sat there. Callie was so engrossed in her play, she never once looked up at me. When I was done, I looked around the easel at her.
“Do you want to see it, Callie?”
She glanced up at me, but then her focus moved beyond me. I turned my head to see Broderick and Bastian, Logan and Saffron and two people I didn't recognize, but, based on the relief in their expressions, they had to be Callie's parents.
“That's exquisite.”
I tried not to gush too much at Logan's compliment. “Thank you.”
“The only other person I've ever seen sketch that e
ffortlessly is Logan,” Broderick said. “You made that look as easy to do as drawing a stick figure.”
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“You were just starting on the hands.”
“Oh.” And I was so lost in the sketch I didn't even know it.
Saffron made the introductions. “Lark, this is Gwen, my best friend, and her husband, Mitch, Callie's parents.”
Honorary uncles—that made more sense. “Hi,” I said before I added with a grin, “If it helps, she ran away because she doesn't like shopping for boy stuff.”
Mitch laughed, but Gwen enveloped me in a hug.
“Thank you. When I couldn't find her, I went insane. Callie, say thank you to Lark.”
“But I want to see my sketch.” Callie said this as she started around the side of the easel, and I knew she wasn't expecting much since her reaction to my earlier work was lukewarm at best. As soon as she saw herself, her little jaw dropped. She turned those baby blues on me.
“It's me.”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
I lifted the sheet. “Would you like it?”
It was like I just offered her the moon.
“Can I?”
“Absolutely, but how about I let Mom hold it, since your dirty hands will smudge it.”
“Oh no, I don't want to smudge it, it's perfect.” She looked past me to her mom. “Can you carry it, Mommy?”
I turned to give the sketch to Gwen, but she hesitated in taking it. “Please, I'd like for you to have it.”
“It so beautifully captures Callie. Thank you.”
Mitch walked over and wrapped his arm around his wife's waist. “Thanks for watching our little wild weed and for the portrait. It really does capture Callie perfectly.”
“No problem.” I didn't realize Logan had come to stand at my side until he spoke. “Maybe tomorrow I can give you a tour of my studio?”
“I would really like that.”
“Thank you for what you did for Callie. Gwen was a wreck when she called the house. We were just organizing a search party with the sheriff when Broderick called.”
“She's a spunky kid, I like her.”
“Yeah, it's hard not to like Callie. I'll see you tomorrow.” He turned to Bastian, “Thank you, Bastian.”
“Sure thing.” Bastian said. Logan then followed his wife and the others away.
“We'll call it a day. I'll see you tomorrow at the site around nine?” Broderick said.
“I'll be there.”
Broderick moved away from us. “Good night, you two.”
Bastian linked our fingers, both of us looking at the group moving across the square. He whispered, “It's almost as if...”
He left the thought unfinished, which made me ask, “As if what?”
A smile touched his lips. “Nothing. Let's pack this up and have a cookout on the beach.”
“Oh, I like that idea.”
“We could even go swimming.” He suggested with hope.
“Swimming? It's a bit cold.”
“Skinny dipping.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
A surge of heat whipped through me. My voice sounded a bit husky in reply. “Skinny dipping with you, yeah, I don't think it's too cold for that.”
Bastian immediately released my hand and, with the speed of a superhero, started packing up my supplies. Five minutes later he reached for my hand again and pulled me toward Baby.
“In a hurry, Bastian?”
“To see you naked? Hell yes.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning Logan took me into his studio, where he showed me canvas after canvas. Most of his works were of landscapes, but his use of color and the compositions took my breath away. He said he didn't typically do portraits, but the few I saw could hold their own against the finest portrait artists ever.
We entered the kitchen for a drink and that's when I saw two additional pieces. One was of Saffron and an older gentleman—looking at each other and laughing: the affection between them was clear. The other painting was of Saffron standing behind a bar pouring a beer. I studied the portrait, the love that Logan had for Saffron was shown in every brush stroke. He stood silently at my side looking at the painting.
“I did that during a time when I wasn't with Saffron and I missed her so damn much.”
“You can see that, your love for her practically jumps off the canvas. I drew a sketch of Bastian right when we first started dating. When Ms. Whitney saw it, she told me my love for him was very evident. I guess, since it was mine, I didn't really see it, but I understand now what she was saying.” Turning slightly in his direction, I asked, “How long have you been offering this scholarship?”
“This is the second year. The last was an artist who focused on sculpting, but I wanted to concentrate on painting this year.”
“Lucky for me,” I said teasingly. He smiled in reply, but I watched as the smile faded.
“Lark, can I ask you something?”
I turned to face him and when our eyes locked he asked, “What was it like for you living with your uncle and aunt? I realize it's none of my business, but Saffron mentioned that you told her about your aunt kicking you out of the house. Was she always so intolerant of you?”
He was right, it wasn't any of his business and yet I found I didn't have a problem with sharing my personal life with him. And more, I didn't candy-coat it but told him exactly how it had been. “She ignored me and lied to my uncle to make it seem that I was disinterested in the family, when really she didn't want me anywhere near them.”
“And your mother?”
I was tempted to lower my head before his serious gaze, but I held it. “At the risk of making myself look less in your eyes, the truth is my mother died because she had too many vices and indulged in them recklessly. The time I spent with my uncle was like staying at a resort in comparison.”
“And your father?”
“Never knew him.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't get so personal.”
“It's fine. Sometimes I wonder who he is and if he even knows about me. In my room at home, I have a print of the sculpture, Mother and Child, by David Cambre. I used to pretend that he was my dad and that he had created the sculpture for me. It was easy to do since we looked so similar and shared a love of art. It was a childish fantasy, but also comforting. It made the concept of my dad seem more real. When David died, I actually mourned for him because it felt as if a little piece of me had died with him.”
Logan turned abruptly and walked toward the kitchen. “I'll get us some lemonade.” His voice had grown hoarse.
For the rest of the day I thought about Logan's reaction to what I had said about David. He had looked stricken. Was it simply sympathy for the girl who was unloved enough to have her own aunt kicking her out of the house, the same girl who pretended a familial connection to someone so far removed from her sphere, or was his reaction fueled by something more?
***
The following morning found me walking through town checking out the local shops. I stood outside the bakery eating a chocolate-covered cream donut when Saffron appeared and the way she eyed my donut made me nervous.
“You got any more of those?”
“Yeah, would you like one?”
“I'd give you my arm for one.”
I reached into the bag. “Not necessary, keep your arm.”
I watched her take a bite and honestly, she looked like a woman in the midst of the most intense orgasm of her life. I looked down at my donut and wondered if we were eating the same thing.
“Since I got pregnant, I can't get enough of these guys. It really is no wonder that I'm as heavy as a small whale.”
“Not a small whale, maybe a large dolphin.” This earned me a look, so I lowered my head to keep her from seeing my grin.
“Are you heading somewhere?” She asked in between mouthfuls.
“No, just walking around.”
“Min
d if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
We started from the bakery, when something caught my eye across the street. “Is that a statue of a swordfish?”
Saffron's bark of laughter confirmed it. “Yeah, Logan made it and dedicated it to the town.”
“I want to get a better look.” I crossed the street and stood in front of the life-sized swordfish carved from a dark-blue marble. As silly as the intent might have been, the statue was beautiful. The lines, the detail were flawlessly executed. The bag of donuts I held slipped from my numb fingers.
“Holy shit.”
“Lark?”
I couldn't even get a handle on my emotions because there were just too many burning through me, the strongest of those being joy. I leaned closer so I could whisper, “Logan is David Cambre?”
“How do you know that?”
“I've extensively studied David Cambre and this...” I pointed to the swordfish, “is a David Cambre. It even has the small crescent moon he carves into all of his works.”
“Jesus, you really do know David's work.”
“Why did he change his name?”
“Because he isn't one for being in the spotlight, so he used a different name to help keep some anonymity. He was a celebrity, but a reluctant one.”
I paled, thinking of my conversation with Logan yesterday.
“What's that look for?” Demanded Saffron.
“Yesterday, I told Logan how I always secretly wished David was my dad. He's probably packing up my stuff as we speak and calling the local asylum.”
Saffron grabbed my arms firmly. “Don’t even joke about that. He would never send you away, not ever.”
She was so adamant in her reaction that it fueled the suspicion that had taken root yesterday, that there was another reason for why I was brought here. Now wasn't the time to think on it, Bastian and I could hash it out later. “He faked his own death?”
“Yeah, after a stalker fan from hell made threats against me. It was the last straw for Logan and his alter ego. I suppose since you know that you should know the rest. Logan's full name is Logan David MacGowan.”
I went into shock. Logan MacGowan entered the art scene about five years ago and blew the minds of everyone with his landscapes before he dropped from sight, but he was also David Cambre and, more shocking, he was Logan Dupree: the man I was here to study under. Yeah, I was in shock. When I was able to pull my head from that, I realized Saffron was still talking.