by Regina Duke
Ashley’s eyes twinkled with amusement. She explained. “Bart is one of Taylor Hazen Garrison’s brothers. Taylor’s married to my husband’s first cousin. I’ve seen family photos, but they joke that you had a beard in kindergarten. Nice to meet the real Bart.”
Zinnia looked impressed. Rose looked confused. “Gee, Ashley, I thought you were a normal person. A working woman, like us.” She indicated Zinnia.
Now Ashley seemed confused. “I am a normal married person. I don’t get it.”
“Sorry,” said Rose. “I knew you were married, but I didn’t realize your Garrisons were the rich Garrisons.” She flushed hotly. “Maybe I should leave.”
Zinnia grabbed her hand. “Oh Rose, you’re such a card.” She turned to Ashley. “That’s Rose’s way of explaining her admiration for everything you’ve done for the Gallery,” she said. “She never thought of you as having money, only as having talent and drive, enough to build your own business.”
Ashley relaxed and patted Rose’s arm. “Aren’t we both lucky to have a friend like Zinnia, who can talk her way out of the most awkward situations?” She winked at Bart. “I heard a rumor you were coming to Eagle’s Toe to visit before your big show in New York.” She glanced at Zinnia, then back at Bart. “My sales rep is a sweet young lady. Don’t be pulling any slick European moves on her. Understand?”
Bart crossed his heart. “Yes, ma’am, I understand completely.”
Ashley smiled. “I hope to see you again soon. I’d better get back to work.”
Bart spoke up. “If I promise to treat her with the utmost respect, may I take Zinnia out for coffee?”
Ashley replied, “Only if she wants to go.” Then she added, “Have fun.”
Zinnia looked pleased. “Rose, would you like to come?”
Rose looked disappointed. “I told Chester I’d come to his folks’ house for dinner. That means I have to spend all afternoon there, making biscuits…or something. You go on ahead.” She tilted her head at Bart. “A famous artist should be able to drive you home, right?”
Bart gave her his best boy scout salute. “On my honor,” he intoned.
Rose gave Zinnia a peck on the cheek and whispered, “Tell me everything when I get home.” Then she left.
Bart spread his hands, feeling a tad uncomfortable. “Does she know I heard every word?”
Zinnia began unwrapping her sarong and de-bangling herself. “She knows. She did it on purpose.”
Bart watched appreciatively as she gathered her things. “You must be very special,” he said softly. “Everyone wants to protect you.”
Zinnia zipped her jacket. “I never thought of it that way,” she said. “I assumed they were just being kind.”
Rose popped back in. “On second thought…when I see Chester, I have to tell him I went back to work. So biscuit class can wait. Coffee sounds wonderful.”
The counter phone rang, and Zinnia reached for it out of habit. “The Gallery, Zinnia speaking….Hi, Percy. What’s up?… Oh, no, what’s wrong? Where’s Mom?… I’ll be right there!” she hung up. “My baby brother’s missing!”
* * *
Bart didn’t hesitate. “My rental car is right outside. Where do you need to go?”
Zinnia waved her hand in the air, as if drying panic-stricken nails. “Oh dear, Rose, where should I go?”
“Home,” said Rose. “Go home and get the details from your mom before we run willy-nilly all over town.”
“Good idea,” said Zinnia, pulling herself together. “Percy said mom didn’t want to stop looking long enough to talk on the phone.” She turned to Bart. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Come with us, Rose. We’ll get your car later.”
Bart volunteered, “I’ll bring you back to your car. Let’s go.”
Once in his vehicle, Bart let Rose give directions from the back seat. Zinnia appeared to be beside herself.
“Oh, Timmy, what did you do? Where did you go?”
Rose said, “Go straight north on Cattle Drive Way.”
Bart pulled a U-turn and hung a right on Cattle Drive. “How old is Timmy?” he asked.
Zinnia said, “Eight. He’s only eight.”
“Go under the highway, straight past Fineman Memorial. Once we get past the high school, I’ll show you where to turn.”
Bart asked, “Where’s the elementary school?”
“We’ll drive past it once we head east.”
Under different circumstances, Bart would have lingered to admire the Gothic façade of the high school and the library across the street.
“Turn here,” said Rose, pointing to the right. “Shadow Lane.”
Zinnia twisted the hem of her down jacket. “What if he fell and hurt himself on the way to school?”
Rose leaned forward and patted her shoulder. “Someone would have seen him, Zin. They would have helped. Keep going straight, Bart. Is it okay if I call you Bart?”
“That’s my name,” he said as he slowed to fifteen to drive past the elementary school. Classes hadn’t let out yet, so all was quiet there.
“Up on the left in a couple of blocks, turn onto Red Feather Drive. Zinnia’s house is just a little way beyond where the sidewalk ends.”
Bart glanced frequently at Zinnia, who seemed relieved to have Rose do the talking. “You two are best friends, aren’t you?”
Zinnia seemed surprised, “How can you tell?”
Bart smiled. “It shows,” he said.
Rose pointed to a pale-green two-story house with battered siding and a wide porch out front. “That’s it, stop here.”
Zinnia piled out of the car before it stopped rolling. She ran straight up to the house and entered without knocking. “Mom! Mom, have you heard anything new?”
Bernard—sour-faced and wearing a gray janitorial jumpsuit—began shouting at Zinnia. She could see Rose and Bart in her peripheral vision as they came inside.
Bernard bellowed, “This is all your fault! He ain’t done nothing but cry since you left the other night.”
A frazzled woman emerged from the kitchen. “Oh Zinnia, they called from the school to ask why he wasn’t in class. They thought maybe he had a fever and I kept him home.”
Zinnia asked, “Did you look everywhere? Chrissie! Did he say anything about skipping school?”
Bart stood quietly inside the front door and watched the family drama unfold. The young woman whom Zinnia had called Chrissie had long brown hair and pretty features that seemed permanently stuck in a sneer. She was carrying a fussy baby on her hip. A little girl was riding a tricycle around the dining table.
Chrissie snarled, “That boy never tells me anything, remember? You’re the big sister he shares his secrets with.”
“Mom, did you search the house? Remember when those fifth graders were bullying him? He hid under his bed all day.”
Rose volunteered. “I’ll go look.”
She took off up the stairs.
Zinnia asked her mother, “Did you call the police?”
“Bernard said there was no need.”
“Dad, it wouldn’t hurt. We should call.”
Bernard pushed the whole idea away. “We’re not having policemen in this house, Lily. You know how I feel about that.”
Lily visibly plucked up her courage and said darkly, “Bernard Clausen, this is our baby Timmy we’re talking about. What’s the matter with you?”
Her tone was so scornful, Bernard had the good grace to look ashamed. “All right, call the police if you want, but can’t we finish searching the house first?”
Lily nodded tightly. “Chrissie and I will look down here. Zin, go upstairs and help Rose.” She appeared to notice Bart for the first time. “Who are you?” The way she asked it sounded like an accusation.
Bart said simply, “I’m a friend. I drove Zinnia home.”
“Then go help upstairs. Chrissie, check the laundry room. And look inside the dryer.”
Rose’s voice came from the top of the stairs. “He
’s not under his bed and he’s not in his closet.”
Zinnia took the stairs two at a time. Bart was right behind her. He wondered what his mother would have done if he’d ever disappeared in the middle of the day. Surely, she would have looked for him. Or at least, she would have supervised the servants as they searched. He shook his head sadly as he realized his father’s reaction would have been a lot closer to Bernard’s than Lily’s.
Rose emerged from another room. “He’s not in Chrissie’s room or yours…” She broke off. “I mean, not in the babies’ room.” She lowered her voice. “Zin, where did they put your things?”
Zinnia stood frozen for a moment. Then she put a finger to her lips and led the way down the hall to the door at the end. She turned the knob, then reached out in the darkness for the string attached to the light bulb and pulled it with a click.
Bart was standing right behind Rose and Zinnia, and his heart lurched at the sight of a young boy, small for his age, clutching the pillow on the single bed, fast asleep.
“Oh thank God,” said Zinnia.
A young female voice spoke up behind Bart. “He’s been sleeping in there since you left, Zin. I guess today he just decided not to come out.”
Bart turned to see a slender dark-haired girl whom adolescence had not yet touched. He looked questioningly at Zinnia.
“Thanks, Percy. This is my friend, Bart. He’s an artist. Why are you home early?”
“Teachers had a faculty meeting. Timmy’s been crying on and off since Sunday night. He misses you something fierce.”
Either the lightbulb or the voices managed to wake Timmy.
“Zin! You came back!” He stood up on the bed and threw himself into Zinnia’s arms. Bart was touched by their affection for each other. He searched his memory, but he couldn’t think of a single corresponding moment in his own life. When he misbehaved, the headmaster at school would sternly reprimand him, leaving the yelling to Pembroke during his weekly phone call. When he was sad, a couple of his buddies would refrain from teasing him for half an hour. He mused on the irony of having all the money in the world under his family’s control, but having no control over whether they acted like family or not.
He stepped back to give Zinnia a bit of privacy as she comforted her brother. Rose stood next to him. Bart said, “I suppose you also have a band of siblings to deal with at home.”
“Nope. Only child. Except for Zin. She’s like a sister to me.”
Bart made an appropriate sound. He and his siblings had had every opportunity that money could buy, so why did he feel that they’d missed out completely on being a family?
Zinnia led Timmy out of the tiny room and they headed downstairs. Before Bart reached the landing, he could hear Bernard berating Timmy for scaring his parents half to death. Bart shook his head, bemused at the similarities between Bernard and his own father.
Zinnia was on one knee, talking to Timmy. “I’m not gone out of your life,” she said. “I just need to find a better job—a higher-paying job—so I can get an apartment and have you come visit. Okay? Meanwhile, you can sleep on my bed anytime you want. And call me at Rose’s house after dinner when you need help with your homework, okay?”
Percy spoke up. “Don’t worry, Timmy. I can help you do your homework.” She placed an arm around his thin shoulders.
Chrissie waved them out of the way. “Thank goodness that emergency is over. Now please, everyone be quiet for a while so I can get these little ones down for a nap. Come on, Mel. Get that crayon out of your mouth. Wedge, stop crying!”
Bart was entertained by the strange family dynamics, but it was obvious to him that Zinnia was not.
She followed Chrissie’s retreating form with a cold stare before kissing Timmy on the forehead.
“I have to go now,” she said softly. “Mom and Dad love you very much, so try not to worry them, okay?”
“Will you get a new job here in Eagle’s Toe?” asked Timmy.
For two full seconds, the room was deathly quiet. Then Lily broke the silence. “Of course she will, baby boy. Now come out to the kitchen with me. I think we could use some milk and cookies, don’t you?” She gave Zinnia a grateful look and mouthed, ‘Thank you’ over Timmy’s head.
Bernard said gruffly, “I’m all for cookies. Tim, I’ll bet you can’t eat a cookie faster than your old man.”
Bart let Zinnia and Rose lead the way out of the house. Once they were back in the SUV, he started the engine and said, “Rose, don’t let me get lost on the way back to the Gallery, okay?”
“I promise,” said Rose. “Zin, you’re not really going to leave the Gallery, are you? Art means everything to you.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” said Zinnia. “I can only take advantage of your parents’ hospitality for so long. Maybe I can find a room to rent.”
Bart’s ears perked up. “Let’s go get something to eat. My treat. I may have an idea about where you can get a higher-paying job.”
CHAPTER SIX
By the time they pulled into the Cattleman’s parking lot, Rose had begged off. “I have a dozen things to do if I’m going to be working six-hour days,” she said. “And Chester and his mother are waiting for me to learn how to make biscuits. Thanks for the ride. Zin? See you later?”
Zinnia felt tugged in two directions. “Rose, if you want to talk…?”
“Don’t worry. You can fill me in later. I’ll wait up for you.” There was a hint of a tease in her voice as she exited the SUV.
After the door closed behind her, Zinnia clutched her purse and her new sketch pad. Her discomfort was palpable.
Bart pulled around to the west side of the parking lot and found a spot by the side entrance. “I hope I’m not making you nervous,” he said gently.
Zinnia made a dismissive noise. “No worries there. I’m nervous all by myself, so you don’t have to take the blame.” She glanced quickly at him, then dropped her gaze to the floor. “I guess it’s because I’ve always been shy.”
Bart nodded. “It’s because I shaved my beard,” he said. “When I was a scruffy old man yesterday, you didn’t seem at all shy about telling me how unattractive and unappealing I was.”
Zinnia looked up, horrified, then started to smile when she saw the sparkle in his eyes. “Okay, you win,” she said. “I’m not always shy. Besides, I was working, and I felt responsible for all the art and supplies and stuff.”
“I understand,” said Bart. “I might have pocketed some paints and sold them on the street. I wonder what acrylics are going for on the black market?”
Zinnia giggled. “Okay, so maybe I was a little paranoid…not to mention rude.”
Bart smiled. “I didn’t think you were rude. Believe me, I know exactly what I looked like yesterday. I’ve looked that way for two years.”
“Why? Underneath all that hair and mess, you’re so good looking.” It came out before she could stop herself, and she felt a hot blush move up her cheeks.
Bart seemed pleased. “Why, thank you for the compliment.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and said, “All those French ladies thought I looked like an American boy scout, so I had to change my look.”
“Oh, I get it,” said Zinnia darkly.
Bart shook his head. “No, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. I wasn’t interested in dates. I needed ‘street cred’ as an artist. All that money spent on art school, and a lifetime—well, twenty-four years—learning my craft, and no one would even look at my work. So I let my beard grow, moussed my hair every morning so it would look like a rat’s nest, threw on a pair of overalls, and set up my easel on a street corner.”
“Did it help?”
“Oh yes. I actually started selling…to tourists.” He made a face. “American tourists.”
Zinnia covered her smile.
Bart expanded. “American tourists who thought they were buying tiny portraits from a French artist.”
She laughed out loud.
“I had to fake a French
accent.” And he proceeded to do so. “Bonjour, mon ami. You like?”
She held her sides. “Stop. Let me breathe!”
Bart grinned. “That’s my tale of woe.”
Zinnia gasped for air and finally managed to stop laughing. She wiped tears off her cheeks. When she could speak again, she said, “Well, it wasn’t miniature portraits that got you a spread in that art magazine.”
“No, it wasn’t. But my scruffy persona began paying the rent, so I was stuck with him.” He opened his door. “Let’s go eat. There’s a coffee shop in the hotel.”
Zinnia was feeling much more comfortable. “Great idea. I’m starving.” She started to open her own door and was startled to find Bart already on her side of the vehicle, opening it for her. “Wow,” she said. “Are you secretly the Flash?”
“No, but every now and then, a gendarme would decide to chase me away from my corner. I got pretty fast.”
He took her hand and helped her down from the SUV. “If we go in this door, the corridor will take us straight to the elevator, and the coffee shop is very close. But you know that, don’t you? You grew up here.”
“I did,” said Zinnia, “but I’ve never stayed in this hotel, or any other, for that matter. I have been camping a few times, though.”
Bart held the door as she entered the building. “I’ve never been camping,” he said, “unless you count living in an attic with two holes in the roof. When it rained, I would sleep in the bathtub.”
“Does it rain a lot in Paris?”
“All the time,” he said sardonically. “This way.”
“It looks like a malt shop from the fifties,” said Zinnia. She lowered her voice. “Look, the waitstaff is wearing costumes. So cute.”
By the time their burgers came, Zinnia felt like she’d known Bart for years. They laughed easily and slid from joking to more serious topics without even realizing it.
“Poor little Timmy,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup. “I’ve been like a second mother to him. I should have known he’d take it hard when I left.”
“Did you get tired of living in a closet?”
Zinnia laughed. “My father decided I needed a hint, I guess. He put my stuff in the storeroom without telling me. I just felt like it was the last straw. I said some mean-spirited things on my way out the door.” She looked ashamed of herself. “I gave no thought to anyone but me.”
