Turn for Home

by Lara Zielinsky

  Cassidy could not look at the entirety very long, moving her gaze over it in pieces, marveling at the sensation of being grabbed and mauled which it evoked.

  "It took my breath away when I first saw it as well," Hannah said from behind her. Cassidy's gaze jerked away with relief to look at the gallery owner, catching Brenna doing the same, obviously equally entranced. "I thought the artist who created it must be tormented."

  "It certainly seems to be saying that," Brenna said dryly. "James, where did this come from?"

  He opened his mouth to say something but Hannah drew their attention to the second painting.

  Where the first painting had seemed dark, heavy in the oils, the second was light and airy, the colors spread thin like gossamer. Where the first bespoke hideous nightmare, the second seemed an attempt to put the beauty of heaven itself on display. A hulking shadow lay prone, rays of light defining themselves arrow-like and piercing the body. The figure seemed to block the light to the lower left corner of the canvas, where the shadows deepened around a thin figure with the suggestion of a quiver of arrows on its back.

  If the first canvas had made Cassidy hold her breath and look away, this second made her sigh and stare, and search the shadows for the identity of the beast-killer.

  She was startled again as Hannah introduced the third painting.

  "This one came to us last week," she said.

  The angelic and profane styles of the first two seemed to have merged on this canvas. Less stark than The Animal Man and more solid than Pierced, Woman Rise depicted the figure of a woman with sunlight bright hair stepping through shadow, half in light and half in darkness, her back to a figure behind her. Much of her upper body remained in shadow. Her legs stepped out, as though over some threshold, breaking through to a light that captured every detail of the muscles in her legs, the tendons in her feet, the sharp relief of a skirt wind-blown around her hips.

  Covering her mouth, Cassidy was surprised to realize the image had moved her to tears, as two tracked down her cheeks and were caught at the corners of her mouth.

  Beside her, Brenna had lost her edginess. "James," she glanced to the second and first paintings, then back to the third. "I never expected...this." She gestured helplessly. "You created these." She brushed her hair from her cheeks, discreetly brushing at her eyes.

  Cassidy reached for Brenna's hand to say something but lost her thought when Brenna's hand found hers first.

  In a steady voice, Brenna asked Hannah, "What offers have you had for them?"

  "Mom, you can't buy them," James pleaded.

  Brenna regarded him for a long moment of silence. "You want to sell them."

  "Not to you."

  Hannah shook her head. "I haven't set a price on them. One of the interested parties is an associate docent at MOCA right here in L.A."

  Cassidy prevented herself from giving a low, impressed whistle. The Museum of Contemporary Art. Brenna's fingers squeezed harder and Cassidy brushed her thumb over the back of Brenna's knuckles. Their eyes met; Brenna nodded, so slightly that it was imperceptible to anyone other than Cassidy.

  She turned to her son. "James," she said, "do you need me to sign anything?"

  His face lost its deep anxiety, shattered by the onslaught of a giddy smile. "Does this mean I can keep coming here?"

  Brenna looked to Hannah. "If I can count on you being supervised."

  "Anytime he wants to use my workroom, I'd be honored," Hannah replied.

  "I will expect you home by ten on school nights," Brenna said, sealing the agreement by sharing a handshake with Hannah. "And you have to keep up with school."

  "Since James is under eighteen, I do need your permission to use his name on the sales orders," Hannah said to Brenna. The two started back to the front of the gallery. James reached for Cassidy's wheelchair handles.

  "How are you doing?" she asked him.

  "I didn't expect this. She really likes them."

  "They're amazing, James." She paused then asked, "Will you continue to use the pseudonym?"

  "Do you think that bothered Mom?" he asked.

  "Maybe a little. But you don't have to hide anymore."

  "I like that my paintings are not being hung simply because I'm Brenna Lanigan's son."

  "Well then, maybe you should keep the name you're using."

  They stopped at the counter, where Micah was waiting for them.

  "So, man, what's the word?"

  James shrugged, still a little dazed at the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like she's going to let me sell them."

  Micah's face split into a wide grin. He offered a high five, which James returned.

  Cassidy looked up to see Hannah and Brenna emerging with Ryan. Her son was liberally spotted with a rainbow of colored chalk dust on his face, arms, and hands. Micah had thoughtfully put a small smock on him, though.

  "Thank you," Cassidy said as Micah leaned back against the door jamb.

  "No problem. Maybe we'll see you around here more often."

  Chapter 26

  They were having lunch at a round table inside the Mediterranean cafe Cassidy had suggested earlier, Cassidy sat next to Brenna with Ryan next to her, and James sat to Brenna's other side, quiet now. He had been so animated with Micah, who was clearly a friend for all the right reasons and not just because his mother was a celebrity. It was clear that Micah and Hannah both considered James someone special because of his talent and for who he was as an artist. Brenna tried not to stare at James with the awe she felt. She had imagined such a different scenario for explaining his late nights. She felt as if she was rushing to catch up with understanding her younger son and felt guilty about missing the changes he was going through.

  He looked up from his menu. "Mom?"

  She tried not to smile too widely. "Yes?"

  "I'm really going to sell those paintings?"

  "Signed, sealed, and soon delivered," she quipped with a smile. "Jamie Logan is off to a grand start."

  "Does that bother you?" he asked. "That I used a different name?"

  She knew that James had always been the least comfortable with her celebrity. It was no wonder that he presented his work under a pseudonym, though she had been bothered by that revelation at first. "I guess I was surprised as much as hurt, but I know why you did it."

  He looked down at his plate then back up at her. "I was worried that would hurt you."

  "Before or after you worried the subject matter would shock me?" She resisted the urge to reach over the table and grasp his hand, grasping Cassidy's instead as the blonde put a hand on her thigh.

  "Before. Was it really shocking?"

  "That first one was definitely out of a nightmare. Vivid."

  James considered that. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Brenna smiled and squeezed Cassidy's fingers. "So, how do you see this working?" she asked James as the waiter delivered their drinks and a cutting board holding a crusty loaf of bread.

  "I've been sticking around after school in Ms. Vetter's room; now I can hitch a ride to the gallery with her."

  "Don't impose. It might be out of her way."

  "It isn't. Hannah said that James' art teacher is her partner," Cassidy reminded.

  Brenna felt embarrassed at the surprise she felt. "Oh. Right."

  "Are you ready to order?"

  Brenna turned her attention to the waiter attending their table. Wearing pantaloons and an open vest over his bare chest, he looked first at Cassidy and then at Brenna with dark eyes almost black in his olive-toned face. However, his accent was distinctly Southern Californian. She smiled.

  "I want a burger and fries," Ryan declared.

  "This isn't Mister Burger, Ryan," Brenna corrected gently. "But I think you'll like the braised chicken."

  She glanced at Cassidy.

  Other than her reminder to Brenna, Cassidy had been quiet since they had left the gallery. Brenna remembered their hands clasping in front of James' third painting, and the sheen of tears
she had seen in Cassidy's eyes. She squeezed the captive hand. "Is that all right, Cass?"

  The blue eyes that drifted up from the menu obviously had not been focused on the food list. They held the faraway look that Brenna had come to recognize as Cassidy wrestling with something painful.

  Cassidy closed her eyes and shook her head. "Excuse me," she said as she pushed her wheelchair back and rolled away from the table.

  "Hold on, I've got it." Brenna quickly told James, "Two salads. We'll be right back."

  In the bathroom, Cassidy had pulled herself to her feet in front of the handicapped accessible sink, leaning very heavily on the porcelain. "Cass? You're supposed to stay in the chair."

  Silent, Cassidy cupped her hands under the water flowing from the faucet. Bringing her palms to her face, she dampened it and then her neck. When her gaze intersected with Brenna's in the mirror, she exhaled.

  "Cass, why didn't you say you don't feel well?"

  Turning away to pull off a paper towel for her hands and face, Cassidy answered, "Because I didn't want to argue with you about going home."

  Brenna lifted her hand to Cassidy's shoulder and cupped the muscles gently, feeling the tension holding the blonde tight as a bowstring. "It's your first day out. What's the crime in admitting you're tired?"

  Cassidy breathed out against her shoulder. "Now that I'm out of the hospital, it's harder to remember I'm not well," she admitted wryly.

  "We'll go home right after lunch."

  "We should get back out there." Cassidy lifted her head from Brenna's shoulder and leaned into a comforting caress of fingers brushing over her cheeks. "I'm sure James is tired of making Ryan keep his hands to himself."

  "He'll manage." Brenna helped Cassidy lower herself once again into the wheelchair.

  "He's not Ryan's brother, Bren. Didn't you see his expression when Micah mistook Ryan for Thomas?"

  "I think Micah was pulling his leg. They seem pretty close." Brenna sat down on the small chair next to the sink.

  "He looked like he was angry."

  "He apparently has an outlet for that now," Brenna mused. "James really surprised me today," she added. "I was sure I'd find something else."

  "He has amazing talent," Cassidy agreed. "I remember telling you I thought that portrait he did of you for Christmas was very professional."

  "Guess you were right. He's about to get paid for it. That's pretty professional." Brenna crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head in amazement. "I never noticed it really." She looked at Cassidy. "I almost missed my son growing up."

  Cassidy lightly stroked her fingertips over Brenna's cheek just before tilting her head up and capturing Brenna's lips in a tender kiss. The contact was a slice of heaven. Cassidy lifted her chin and deepened the kiss with the tip of her tongue entreating entrance. Brenna gasped and opened her mouth.

  "Well, I never!"

  Surprised by the interruption, Brenna released Cassidy's lips and turned to see the back of a woman leaving the bathroom. "Apparently she was not expecting a show," Brenna said lightly.

  Cassidy chuckled and kissed Brenna again before pulling back and patting Brenna's hip. "Let's get back to our sons."

  Guiding Cassidy's wheelchair back to the table, Brenna found Ryan making a crumbly paste of his bread and several pats of butter. She sipped her water with studied calm as she caught the disdain on the face of a woman staring at her from another table. When the woman turned to whisper something to her male companion, Brenna put down the glass with a heavy thud.

  Cassidy grasped her wrist. "Don't."

  "Something wrong?" James asked.

  With precise care, Brenna loosened her wrist from Cassidy's grasp, lifted her napkin and patted her lips with it. "Nothing," she told James. Looking over his shoulder, she caught sight of their waiter with a tray balanced on his palm. "Here comes our lunch."

  Still, Brenna could not completely dispel her upset at the cutting behavior of the woman in the bathroom.

  After lunch, the group stepped outside to the sidewalk. Cassidy slipped her sunglasses from her purse and saw Brenna doing the same. "You want to see what else is around here?" she asked, shifting in the wheelchair.

  "No, you need to go home. Thomas is probably due home any minute now, anyway."

  Chapter 27

  Hearing a car's motor, Brenna looked up from her script reading. As she processed that the vehicle was not just passing by on the street, she also realized that it had pulled into her driveway. She looked over to her right to where Cassidy was reclining amid a pile of cushions at the opposite end of the couch.

  The blonde's bare feet were tucked up beside Brenna's hip. Brenna had given them, and Cassidy's lower legs, a massage earlier. Ryan lay partially on Cassidy's chest with his head butting up against his mother's chin. Both were sound asleep.

  Putting down her pages, Brenna went to the door. Looking through the peephole revealed a blue SUV parked on the driveway and a large African American in a tan uniform walking around the back of it. He was facing away from Brenna, so she could not see his face.

  A moment later, the man reappeared, talking to someone who was following behind him. Brenna instantly recognized Thomas, though he was looking down at the ground, concentrating on moving his feet with the precarious aid of crutches. She was out the front door in a flash.

  As the door opened and his mother burst through the doorway, Thomas stopped and looked up sheepishly. "Hi, Mom."

  Searching down his body, which was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and hiker's shorts, Brenna focused on how he held his left leg slightly bent, keeping the weight off of the foot that bore thick wrappings, though it didn't look to be in a cast. "What happened?"

  "I took a spill during the hike. My ankle's twisted."

  "That's all it is, ma'am. We just came from the hospital."

  Brenna looked at Thomas' escort and recalled her manners. "I'm sorry. I'm Brenna Lanigan, Thomas' mother. You are...?" She held out her hand.

  "Sergeant Leroy Abernathy," he answered, shaking her hand. "I'm one of Thomas' instructors at FIRE. Nice to meet you."

  "The Forestry program?" Brenna clarified.

  "Yes, ma'am. We were out on Nativity Ridge studying the game tracks when Thomas fell."

  "Leroy helped me wrap up the ankle, and we trekked back to town for the X-ray. I decided I wasn't going to be much good to the group with a bum ankle, so I asked him to drive me home."

  "Thank you, Sergeant Abernathy," Brenna said.

  "No problem. Damn fine man you've got, ma'am. Hurt like a bi—" Leroy cleared his throat and corrected himself before continuing. "Hurt real bad, but he handled it real well."

  The man blushed, which surprised Brenna.

  She almost told him she had said worse herself, but decided against creating that level of familiarity between them. "Thanks again for bringing him home."

  "Yes, ma'am." Abernathy clapped Thomas on the shoulder. Thomas patted the hand in return and the two shared a smile. "Take care, man. See you next weekend."

  "I'll be there," Thomas promised.

  Brenna remained quiet beside her son as they watched Abernathy back out and drive away.

  "Well, I'd better get inside," Thomas said.

  Brenna held the door for him. "Cass is asleep on the couch with Ryan. Do you need anything for pain?"

  "Whatever they injected in my ankle seems to be taking care of the pain for now."

  "Where are the hospital instructions?" she asked.

  "In my backpack."

  He nodded to his right shoulder, and she lifted the bag off, waiting patiently as he shifted his weight so that he could get his arm free of the strap without dropping the crutch.

  "Any prescriptions?"

  "Said not to use aspirin, but over the counter stuff should be fine if I need anything."

  "All right, let's get you settled and then I guess we've got everyone home for dinner for a change."

  Inside, Cassidy had awakened. Seeing Thomas' predicament
, she moved out from under Ryan and sat up.

  "Hey, you're up," Thomas greeted brightly.

  "Hey, you're down." Cassidy's nose crinkled as she quirked a smile at him. "What happened?"

  "Twisted my ankle." While his mother took away the crutches, Thomas' powerful arms braced against the side and back cushions and he lowered himself to the couch. He looked over at Ryan sleeping. "What'd you do to tucker him out?"

  "You first," Brenna requested, leaning over the back of the couch. "The whole story, please."

  Thomas shook his head but smiled. "I'm a klutz."

  "Really?" Cassidy was a little surprised. Accidents could happen, but Thomas was one of the more agile and athletic individuals she had met. "So how did it happen?"

  Thomas leaned back into the cushions, getting comfortable before he started his tale. His hands illustrated points in the air as he excitedly recounted it all.

  "We went up to Nativity Ridge to talk about the animal tracks, habits, and behaviors. There's a loose trail up there. Lindsey Carmichael jumped when one of the guys startled her with a wiggling snakeskin, and she leaped into me. I slipped in the loose rocks, and as I was trying to regain my balance, I landed with my foot halfway in one of the rat-snake holes that dot the trail."

  "Snakes?" Brenna repeated with alarm. Cassidy reached over and took her hand.

  "Not there at the time, I swear." With a smile, Thomas lifted his hand in a Boy Scout salute. "I just turned the ankle." He thrust his thumb over his shoulder. "Abernathy was right there, practically caught me before I hit the dirt. We wrapped it up, and he and I hiked back down to get it X-rayed."

  "You got away without breaking your ankle. You're lucky," Cassidy complimented.

  Thomas grinned. "Yep." He shook his head. "I would have liked to impress Lindsey, though."

  "I'm sure you did," Brenna said.