“Thanks, Mrs. McMurphy!” Cain turned, raced into the mid-day sun, just in time to watch her get in that ancient black and white Buick and drive off.
Of all the dumb luck…
Hand to his back pocket, he frowned at his chicken-scratch writing. The chord of his song tickled the back of his brain, an unfinished melody. He’d see her again. He’d make sure of it.
Chapter Six
“I’m back, I’m back!” Misty called out, muscling her way through the back door into the kitchen.
Grandma sat at the table, sipping lemonade, dressed in her bright blue, square necked dress. “Let me help you with that basket, dear.” She half rose. “Good deals at the market today?”
“Yeah.” Misty quickly shooed her away, glancing at the clock. “Great. Is that class of yours really in half an hour? Sorry I’m so late. I bumped into someone.”
“Someone you know?” Grandma raised her brows. “Or someone you’d like to?”
“Actually, I met him yesterday. He’s handsome. Reckless. Been following me about the streets of Long Valley. And, he’s offered to sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this.” Misty looped the handful of carrot greens around the room.
“No wonder you’re late.” Grandma smiled and played a finger up the condensation on her glass.
Misty noticed the second, empty cup sitting in the kitchen sink. “You’ve had someone over?”
“Posh. Not company. Just the man from the phone service.”
An engine turned over in the front and roared to life. She turned to the window to see a repair vehicle driving away down the hill.
“Was something wrong with the line?” Misty asked, watching the red and white repair truck disappear onto the main road.
“No. I had our internet upgraded or some such thing. They said we could fly around that spider web thingy now.”
“The world wide web, you mean.” Misty’s lips pursed. She swallowed a bubble of laughter. “So we can do nothing with the computer five times as fast?”
“Funny.” Grandma’s lips pursed, veiling obvious amusement. “Now that Adele’s abroad, she’s sending mail across the wires. She doesn’t do anything low-tech—as they say—anymore. I thought it would be nice to keep up with her. I hope you won’t mind teaching me how to use that infernal contraption. Plus, it’ll be good for you to stay in touch with people, too.”
Misty nodded, thinking that this week she’d already seen and spoken to more people than she had in ages. She practically lived like a hermit, pretending it was because of Grandma, when in fact it was Todd’s fault. Todd and his plans. Six months of grieving for shattered dreams and broken trust was long enough. Time to step out into the sun. Maybe with that handsome guitarist. And maybe, just maybe, she’d get the nerve enough to ask him out on a date the next time.
“Computer lesson later.” She absently fussed with her grandmother’s hair, tucking a stray pin curl back into place. “First thing’s first. Let’s get you to that art class at the senior center. Ready?”
Twenty minutes later, Misty walked them up the granite stairs to the Evergreen Senior Center, her arm securely braced around Grandma’s back. The warm California breeze licked her ankles, kicking up her mid-calf length peasant skirt. Misty darted a glance around to see if anyone noticed more than a fair shot of her legs, and gathered the fabric in her free hand so she wouldn’t flash the world.
A suntanned figure leaned against one of the stone columns, guitar at his feet, a stack of papers in his hands, sunglasses perched on his nose. A smile touched the corners of his mouth then broadened, and his head rose in a nod.
“Good grief!” Misty’s heart slammed.
“What is it, child?” Grandma looked up, seeing the handsome man now waving in their direction. “Who is that? Do we know him?”
“That’s the guy I saw at the market today.” Misty gave a slight wave and chewed her lip, her duty to Grandma overriding the urge to go talk to him.
He pushed off the column and took a step toward them, holding out a hand to stop her. “Misty! Wait…”
“Sorry! We’re late.” She tapped her bare wrist, turned, and hurried them toward the senior center doors. “Come on.”
“Do you want to go say hello?” Nona whispered, all but giggling. “I’ll sit here and wait…”
“No.” Her protest too loud, she winced, opened the door, and ushered Grandma through. “It’s fine. Long Valley’s a small town. I’m bound to see him again sometime.”
Misty glanced back at her clutched flyer for the classroom number, and then up to scan the marble hall. Each opaque glass door bore gold-edged black numbers. Theirs was at the end, next to a message-covered bulletin board, a drinking fountain, and the bathrooms.
“Seems to me, the reason you’re not dating is because you’re ignoring handsome young men.” Nona squeezed her hand.
But she kept her gaze fixed on their destination. “Grandma Nona! Please!” Misty rolled her gaze heavenward, shaking her head.
Just then, the retired dean of Long Valley Valley College, Martin Abernathy, and his wife, Vera, came to a halt beside them. He enveloped her grandmother in a bear hug while Vera clutched her purse and giggled like a schoolgirl waiting for an autograph when they discovered they were in the same class.
“Nona. Walk in with us, won’t you?” His smile flashed a million miles wide. “Vera wants to talk to you about the film festival.”
“Yes, of course.” Grandma leveled her gaze.
Misty wanted to squirm under its weight.
“My granddaughter wants to say hello to her friend, anyway.” Pursing her lips, her grandmother walked arm in arm with the couple through the classroom door.
Misty stood, dry mouthed and alone. She looked back to the entrance. Should she go back out to find him? Or maybe, if she waited a minute, he’d come after her? What silly, childish thoughts were these? Almost as silly as blindly hoping she’d cross paths with the wandering musician by accident. This was real life. Not a fairy tale. She rubbed the empty spot in the center of her chest, sighed, and then skulked through the classroom doorway.
Moments later, she found herself perched in front of an easel, art supplies neatly arranged for the painting they would be tackling that day. The room buzzed with senior citizens making small talk.
Head high and voice clear, Nona Darling proudly introduced her granddaughter to everyone in the room. “Misty, you remember Martin and Vera Abernathy.”
They each squeezed her hand in greeting. Misty said her hellos and how-do-you-dos, a rehearsed smile pasted on her face. Being the youngest person in a crowd of seventy-plus citizens might have bothered some, but since coming back, this had been her only social life. Perhaps that explained why finding herself face to face with the handsome stranger had left her tongue tied and jittery.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the classroom sinks, sighed, and tugged her windblown tangle of hair back up into a quick ponytail. She’d barely given a second thought to her appearance, she’d been so late getting Grandma out the door.
Misty ran quick fingers along her cheeks. No need for rouge, that ever-present blush heated from behind a childish spray of freckles. She sucked in her cheeks, deepening her features. Somewhere inside was the granddaughter of the famous Nona Darling. She failed to see any resemblance.
Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath. No more self-berating for trusting the wrong guy. Grandma was right. High time to rejoin the world. Her thoughts drifted to the handsome guitarist. If he’s still outside when class ends, I’ll walk over there. Say something brilliant.
The door opened. He walked right in, this time at the arm of a dark-haired beauty—their art instructor, Misty guessed, judging by the box full of art supplies she carried.
His gaze swept the room and settled upon her.
Misty stared back, her jaw went slack. She snapped her mouth shut before she looked like an idiot. What were the odds? The air solidified around her, as
her heart kicked into gear. How can skin go hot and cold all at the same time?
“Looks like you didn’t miss him, after all.” Grandma elbowed.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Diane Laurent, and this is my partner in crime today, Cain Trovato.” Diane gestured toward the center of the room. “Cain, why don’t you get set up?”
Cain strolled to the stool, removing his jacket, his brows raised in amusement.
“Hey, there.” She cleared her throat at how thin her voice sounded. She hoped her smile didn’t falter. “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
“Hello, again.” His mouth curled into a smile as he sat, and tugged at the top button of his shirt.
Was he…undressing? Misty’s stomach knotted. “Grandma,” she whisper-hissed. “You said this was a still life class.”
“I’m quite sure he’ll be very still.” Grandma held her brush up and out before her, toward where Cain stretched his muscular arms.
Misty stood suddenly, her stool wobbling. “I’ll be right back.”
Grandma touched her shaking hand. “Where are you going?”
“I need a water fountain.” Misty backed toward the door. “I mean a drink. From the guitarist.” She turned to Grandma with a pasted smile-turned-grimace. “Be right back.” She left her grandmother sitting alone in front of her easel, and bolted out the door.
Chapter Seven
Misty took a slow, cooling drink from the stainless steel water fountain. She heard a trickle of laughter coming from the art room. “Get a grip. Get a grip,” she chanted under her breath, and eased open the door.
Subtle strains of guitar drifted from the crack in the doorway. She caught the familiar riff from the Gypsy Kings tune, “Habla Me.” The emotion behind the music caught her off guard. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin. Misty leaned into the doorframe, the lure of the Spanish classical guitar pulling at her soul. Just when she longed for more, the song ended with a flourish.
Bravos echoed and applause ensued. Taking step after hesitant step forward, she found her seat.
He handed out colorful fliers to the bevy of doe-eyed grandmothers at their easels, including one to Grandma Nona. “I hope you can make it.” He spoke to Grandma, but his gaze weighed heavily upon her. “Friday’s going to be a lovely night for a concert under the stars.”
“Thank you, Cain. Of course we’d be delighted to go.” Her grandmother’s hand found hers. “Won’t we, Misty?”
“Sure. You play beautifully,” Misty admitted. Her face heated to the roots of her hair as she fell into his liquid gaze. She dragged her attention back to the center of the room.
His guitar leaned by a still life scene of exotic looking fruits, sunflowers, and a multi-colored Spanish serape blanket, in a still life display.
“You didn’t think I was serious, did you?” Grandma Nona asked, keeping her voice low. Her paintbrush danced over canvas, outlining her vision of the scene. “You always were a gullible thing.”
“I was thirsty.” Misty cleared her throat.
“You need to loosen up, kid.” Nona dipped into the purple, adding a swash of shadow to her outline of the guitar. “Maybe a nude painting class is just what the doctor ordered. There’s one on Thursdays. I might just sign us up.”
“Grandma!”
“I’m ready to try anything.” She shot her full attention. “You’ve been hiding in my house like a mouse for months. I practically forced you to ask that ridiculous Tabloid Todd of yours to send you the last of your things. I’m ready to start living again. Time you did the same.”
Fuming, but knowing Grandma spoke the truth, Misty rolled her own brush over and again between her palms. “I’m not hiding.”
Grandma’s grave look bit to the core. “Fine.” Misty blew at her bangs. “It’s true. I barely survived Todd. You know that. And yeah, I got my things back, but he didn’t send everything. There was a box missing.”
“The letters?” Grandma’s look went grave. “My journals?”
Misty blinked. Nodded. The lump in her throat wouldn’t go away. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. Todd must have found them when he sent the others. He kept them. Lord only knows what he’s planning to do. It’s…unforgivable.” Her tone dripped venom.
“Todd can have them. It’s not your fault, Misty, and it doesn’t matter. Nothing from those early days matters. Not the movies, the stories, or the memories. Most of them aren’t so pretty, kid.” She swept broad, angry strokes before softening and returning her attention. “My life started the minute I met your grandfather. After that, nothing was ever the same again. I don’t care who knows it.”
“But Todd’s been dying for an angle on your story—” Just voicing her fears aloud had her shuddering with the implications. The possibility of uncovering what her grandparents had managed to keep under wraps for fifty years.
“What tabloid’s gonna be interested in an old broad like me?” With her chin up, she concentrated back on her work. “And no matter what happens, none of it is your fault.”
Misty knew the conversation was over.
“Mrs. Darling, that’s wonderful!” Diane Laurent praised as she ambled over to evaluate Nona’s work. She wove her mass of dark curls into a quick braid, and then clasped both hands over Misty’s. “Nice to finally meet you, Misty. Your grandmother’s been going on and on about your artistic abilities. Let’s see what you can do.” Diane folded her arms across her chest and waited.
Misty gave a pained smile, and took her brush in hand. Spanish guitar rang through the room. It bounced off the walls and jangled her nerves. She thumbed the bristles and stared at the blank canvas.
The instructor’s hand settled on Misty’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ve asked Cain to set the mood.”
“He seems good at that.” Misty breathed, watching him stroll around the room. Wishing he’d come over. Wishing he wouldn’t.
Diane went on, explaining, hands flying as she spoke. “The act of creation is a combination of sights, smells, sounds, and emotion. Excellent music can relax you enough to stir the soul. Don’t you think so?”
Misty’s gaze caught his, and his face warmed in an easy smile. She watched his strumming fingers and wondered how they’d feel, playing across her skin. A thrill coursed through her, along with adrenaline. “I don’t know how relaxed I feel…”
“Just focus on the centerpiece.” Diane gave her a friendly nudge. “Paint what your heart dictates.”
Misty did as directed, turning her sights on the slant of the guitar against the bright stripes of the blanket. The folds trapped the guitar’s neck. The polished wood and pearl inlays gleamed under incandescent lights. She let the world fade away and began to sketch an outline.
Indeed, the music stayed with her though her vision tunneled. She could imagine a wind-swept shoreline, a stone castle, the sun setting over a Spanish sea. Somewhere in her mind’s eye, a maiden pined for her lover—who’d left behind the guitar on his hurried path out of her door. She stood at the arched doorway, watching him depart, heart in her chest, brimming to overflow with unrequited love.
Then, the song ended. Misty’s blurred vision returned to reality. “Oh, my…” The sharp intake of breath she heard was her own.
“Misty!” Diane squeezed at her shoulders with paint-spattered hands.
Misty swallowed against the sudden over-encouragement. “I don’t know. My colors are a bit off…” She tilted her head at the thick swirls of the magenta, ochre, and amber that made up the sunset lighting a windblown azure sea.
“Look, everyone. Misty’s painting is from the heart, just as I suggested. Not just the scene that you see before you, it’s what she saw beyond it that made this all her own. Well done.” Diane continued her lesson, adding a suggestion that she stay a bit after the session ended.
Grandma beamed, regal head held high.
Something that must have been pride warmed Misty’s throat. She fought to clear it, grabbed her brushes, and Grandma Nona’s as
well, hauling those and the paint smeared palettes over to the large classroom sinks. Warm water rushed over her hands as she cleaned out the brushes, watching swirls of bright colors mix to a muddy brown and filter down the drain.
Cain appeared at her side, rolling up his sleeves. “You wash, I’ll dry?”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to…” One look and she realized he wasn’t leaving. She raised her head, and handed him the clean palette.
He wiped it dry with a cloth. “Beautiful work by the way. You’ve got raw talent.” He took a handful of brushes from her, shaking out their bristles, accidentally splashing her face. He reached up with a gentle finger, leaving a little trail of fire as he dried the drops from her cheek. “Oops.”
She touched where his fingers had briefly explored her face, and found her voice. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
“My grandfather. He was the musician. My grandmother was an artist. I’ve got walls full of her paintings.” He glanced over and smiled. “She’s been gone five years. Boy, do I miss her. It’s nice you’re taking such good care of yours.”
His words broke her heart, filled her throat with remorse. She cleared it before the lump turned into a sob, and finished wiping down the stainless steel sinks. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’ll see you at the concert then?” He squeezed her shoulder and caught her gaze indirectly, through the mirror. “If not before?” He walked away, and paused with one hand on the doorway with a final word for their instructor.
Diane gave him a dazzling smile and a wave as he left the room.
Misty’s heart surged watching him go.
Grandma remained seated as the last students left the room. “Never was much a painter.” Misty heard her explaining to the teacher.
“But you were a heck of an actress. My mom loved your movies. I watched Rumor of Love with her for the first time when I was about five. That’s what I always wanted. Someone to pursue me so completely. Set the bar pretty high for any guy I’ve ever dated, actually.”
His and Hers Page 4
