by Mimi Milan
“Yes, of course.”
Rhett stifled a rebuttal. Why did people do that? Why did they feel it necessary to mention his service along with his injury – as though it were a badge to proudly wear, but only because it happened while in battle? What if he had been born blind instead? Would he still be held in such high regards? The idea that the professor saw fit to label him a hero made his inwardly squirm, because even though he couldn’t actually see anyone staring, he could still feel all eyes on him. It made him wish he could disappear into some thin vapor of smoke, but the swift tap of heels hitting the floor told Rhett that the model was making her way towards him. As she drew closer, he stood and slowly raised both hands.
Best to get this over with quickly.
The woman stopped close enough for him to sense she had entered his personal space. He carefully reached out, his arms softly landing on her shoulders as he estimated where her head would be. She suddenly grasped his hands and guided them up towards her head. It surprised him since most people shied away from the idea of touching him – even people he would have least expected it from.
Like Amy.
He shook the mental image of his ex-girlfriend. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about her. In fact, never was the best time to venture into those memories.
Rhett continued to run his hands down the model’s head. The texture of her hair was different from his own, and hard to describe at first. Soft and smooth like silk, but thick like cotton. His hands continued to travel downward, faltering when he reached her face.
“I’m right here,” she said in a light Caribbean accent.
She moved his hands to her forehead and encouraged them to travel the length of her velvety skin. Together, they traced the distinct contours of her almond shaped eyes hidden behind long, thick lashes; a generous nose and full lips that hinted at a small smile.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
A snort from behind forced him to recoil. Embarrassed, he backed away.
Dr. Greer acted as a saving grace. “You’re excused, Mr. Mueller.”
“What? What did I do?”
“Good day, Mr. Mueller. Goodbye.”
Kevin Mueller made a big production out of shuffling papers and banging books. His chair squeaked across the floor. Then he stomped away, the door dramatically slamming shut behind him. Rhett shook his head at the theatrics and reminded himself of overheard conversations about the student they had all just endured. A nineteen-year-old natural talent, Kevin supposedly thought class was a real waste of time for someone like him. In fact, his parents were the only reason he was even in college. Otherwise, he claimed he would be traveling Europe, staying in youth hostels while painting portraits of naked women, and legally drinking wine.
Rhett buried a smile as he thought of how different things had been a decade ago when he was the boy’s age. His choices after high school were to learn the family’s construction business or join the military. Being something of a romantic, he thought army life meant visiting exotic countries – people and places he could later paint while quietly lounging in a bunk after a meal of meat and potatoes. Boy, was he wrong! While he held no regrets of being a military man – and he most certainly had traveled the world over – being in the army certainly wasn’t for some slouch searching for an easy out from under his father’s thumb.
Not that his current situation was much better. After losing his sight, where had he ended up? Right back home with his parents after they took it upon themselves to fire his assitant.
The sound of stirring paint interrupted his thoughts. Rhett quieted them all and focused on the mental image he had constructed of the model. Feeling the canvas, he lifted the brush to create the masterpiece begging to be born.
Chapter Three
Who would have ever thought modeling could be so exhausting?
Luciana fought hard to sit still on the tall wooden stool. One hand placed at the base of her throat, the other poised in midair as though lovingly motioning to something… or someone… desirable, both arms were growing heavy with fatigue. A numb, tingling sensation crept through her fingertips.
She glanced over at Dr. Greer. He was busy at his desk, rummaging through a stack of papers that sat on it. Confident one small movement would cause no real disturbance, she clenched her fists and gave her arms a quick shake to get the blood flowing back into them. An audible moan sounded from somewhere in the back – a sure sign that someone had lost the line they were drawing. She bit her lip, but squelched the urge to frown and hurriedly resumed the original pose. The university was looking for an intern in the art department – with the promise of the position turning into a permanent job offer for the right candidate. However, the post required three recommendations.
And Luciana only had two.
Dr. Greer had tenure and was well respected by the entire faculty. A recommendation from him would mean a guarantee hire. Then maybe her immigration attorney could help turn her denied student visa into an approved work permit.
Yes, that’s what she needed to think about. Not the tiring of her arms as she posed or her aunt’s fervent prayers… and definitely not about some handsome ex-soldier sitting at the back of the class, painting some supposed masterpiece of her.
Careful to keep her head in the same tilted position as she first posed, she moved only her eyes to catch the man in her peripheral vision. He was sitting partially turned almost as if in a way to give him a better view had he indeed wanted to look up and study her. However, his head was slanted down as if focusing on the canvas instead. She noted his features – a strong chin speckled with reddish stubble despite the fact that he had a head full of shaggy, light brown hair. She could almost bet that it would turn into a brilliant copper under the summer sun. Her eyes ran back down to his face at the same moment that his head turned towards her. Startled, she quickly looked away and swallowed hard. She knew he wasn’t able to see her, but maybe he knew he had been a subject of inspection.
An island expression popped into her mind and Luciana suddenly felt embarrassed for staring at the wounded veteran.
Conocer al cojo senta'o.
The saying about recognizing a cripple even when he’s sitting down made her wonder if there was some truth to people having a sense about things; knowing another’s intentions even though nothing was said. Maybe losing his sight made the soldier more aware of his surroundings – aware of things like when people were staring at him. Regardless, staring was a rude habit to form. She would refrain next time.
The timer sounded and Luciana’s audible exhale was drowned out by the sound of students shuffling around, gathering their things, and skirting out of class. She dropped her tired arms as Dr. Greer tried to make last announcements about assignments and due dates. Then he, too, began gathering his things.
“Profé?” The slip of Spanish painted her English words with a light accent. “Professor Greer? Would you have a moment to speak?”
“Actually, I wouldn’t.” The professor snapped shut the locks to his briefcase. He gathered several pieces of art and shuffled them into a portfolio. “I have submissions to judge for the next residency entrance. If this is about receiving credit for today, you may take comfort in knowing I’ve already spoken with Ms. Bledsloe.”
Luciana knew Donna Bledsloe well. The administrative assistant for the fine arts department, it was she who had suggested that Luciana apply for the internship – not to mention today’s extra credit assignment. A real sweetie, Luciana knew the secretary was the least of her worries. If the instructions were already given to award the credit, then chances are that they already sat on Luciana’s transcripts.
“Actually, I wanted to speak with you about the internship.”
Dr. Greer huffed. “Listen. Speak with Ms. Bledsloe and ask her to set up a meeting so we can further discuss it. That is, if there are any appointments left on my calendar. Everyone and their brother’s uncle have been trying to get that position, and it has been one interview
after another. So we might end up filling it before you can even apply… but good luck.”
With that, the professor turned on his heel and strode out of the room. Deflated, Luciana let out a frustrated groan.
“Yeah, he’s a real charmer.”
Luciana turned to find the soldier quietly standing beside his easel. She vaguely recalled the instructor introducing him.
“Uh, hi. It’s Marshall, right?”
He held out a hand. “Sí, Señorita Lopez. You can just call me Rhett, though.”
She gingerly reached out and placed her palm in his. “And you can just call me Luciana, or Lucy. I’m fine with either, really. Although, all my family and friends call me the latter… except my father. He’s always called me by my full name.”
She dropped her hand. His face was expressionless – as if he were giving her a blank stare. Technically, she supposed he was. Not that she could blame him. She was rambling as she was prone to do whenever nervous. Although, she couldn’t entirely understand why she would feel that way right now.
“Luciana,” he broke the silence. “The name is fitting.”
“Oh?” She questioned him, “How so?”
“If I’m not mistaken, it means ‘to illuminate,’” he explained. A smile spread across his face, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek. He continued, “At least, I hope it does since that’s how I painted you.”
Luciana glanced at the painting and leaned forward. “Can I see it?”
“Um, I tend not to show my work to the models. I wouldn’t want them upset in case I got something wrong.”
She laughed off his worry. “Me lleva el Diablo if you think you can tell me I can’t see the painting after what you just said.”
Rhett’s brows shot up. “Me lleva what? I’m sorry. My Spanish isn’t that good.”
“May the devil take me,” she said and walked past him without further explanation. “Now step aside, chiquito. Let’s see if you’re as good as the professor claims.”
He remained motionless as she brushed past to view his work.
She silently stared at the piece, more than surprised at how he had portrayed her. All the features were right – proportionately correct in regards to one another. A perfect likeness even down to her skin tone, she wondered how he could have possibly known. He was blind after all. Right?
“So what do you think?” he quietly asked.
She swallowed. “Actually, I’m kind of surprised.”
“Not bad for a blind boy, huh?”
“No! That’s not what I meant.” She hesitated, caught off guard by the accusation. Oh, well. Better to be penniless with truth than rich with sin. She sighed. “Ay, por todos los santos. You’re right. I’m sorry. When Dr. Greer said you were good, I thought he meant more like Picasso – not Da Vinci.”
He beamed brightly. “Da Vinci? You flatter me.”
“I know good art when I see it.” She leaned a little closer to him, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s why I’m going to be a curator one day.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “I’m going to work at one of the finest museums – like the Metropolitan or Museum of Modern Art in New York. Then I’ll come back here to North Carolina, and maybe take over someplace like the Mint.”
“Wow. Sounds like you’ve got big dreams.”
“I do,” she admitted. “That’s why I agreed to modeling for today’s class. I was hoping it would get me a good recommendation for an internship the art department has available.”
“So I heard,” Rhett admitted. “Not that I was trying to hear your conversation, mind you. It was kind of impossible not to, though.”
“And what do you think?” she asked. “Do I have a chance at getting a recommendation from him, or am I just wasting my time?”
Pensive, Rhett’s head tilted to the side. “Honestly?”
“Claro. I don’t want any false hope.”
“Then I wouldn’t put all my faith in a letter from Dr. Greer.”
Luciana wilted with dismay. “Really?”
Rhett shrugged. “Sorry. I’m just trying to be honest.”
“I know. You were just keeping it real for me. Thanks for that.” She turned to leave. “I gotta’ go. It was nice meeting you.”
She began to walk away, but he called her back.
“Wait! I might have an idea.”
She spun back around. “Yeah? Something that might get me the internship?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
Rhett sat back on his stool again. “Truth be told, Professor Greer is about the work and nothing else. He couldn’t care less about all that admin stuff. He only wants to know about good art – what is being made and who the artist is creating it.”
“And how does that help me?” She didn’t understand what point this guy was driving at. “I love art, but I’m by no means an artist myself. Even if I took classes starting right this minute, I’d never create anything significant enough to impress him… and definitely not before the department fills the position.”
Rhett waved off her suggestion. “No, that wasn’t my idea at all. I was thinking more along the lines of me doing the painting.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me paint you.”
“Let you paint me? But you just did.”
“No. I mean let me paint you as a person of interest,” he explained. His voice dropped to a low whisper. “For whatever reason, the professor loves my creations. Between you and me, though, I think he just likes the idea of being able to brag about teaching a blind man how to successfully paint – even if it isn’t true since I was painting long before the accident. Regardless, he likes my paintings. So let me tell your story through my work. I can create a series – pieces that reflect subjects like what brought you to the States and what your time here has been like.”
“And what makes you think I’m not from here,” she challenged. “Just because I speak Spanish doesn’t mean that I’m a foreigner. There’s a lot of Latinos in the United States, you know. Legal citizens.”
Rhett’s face drew a questioning look. “And are you? That is, are you here legally?”
“Yes.” Luciana drew in a deep breath. She held it for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “For now anyway.”
“Is that why you were wanting the internship?”
“Yes,” she confessed. “My student visa is about to expire. I was hoping to get a work permit before it does.”
“Then let me help you,” he urged.
She thought about it, biting her bottom lip. Why did this American man want to help her? It wasn’t like she had anything to give him in return. Money? Obviously not. Being jobless was the predicament. What exactly did he hope to gain in exchange?
She finally asked him, “Why? I don’t have anything to give you in return. You already know I don’t have any money.”
A tired smile graced his face. “I guess a little bit of the soldier still lives in me – the part that still wants to go out there and save the world. Besides, I’m trying to create enough work for my own collection. Maybe you’ll see my work in one of your museums one day.”
His answer surprised her. She took him in – all of him. Yes, he was handsome, his sleeveless shirt showing off chiseled arms that would rival Michelangelo’s David. However, he lacked any of the pretentiousness… and she knew it wasn’t because his disability made him appear vulnerable and safe. If anything, he seemed much more capable than any other number of men she had known in her life. And safe? Well, it was a good thing she really wasn’t in the man hunting market like her aunt. Otherwise, Rhett Marshall could have definitely thrown a dangerous wrench into her lofty plans.
Besides, maybe he was on to something. Maybe something about her life would draw enough interest to give her the necessary connections to stay in the country. Anything was worth trying considering her current situation. Plus, it would help boost his career too.
&nb
sp; “It’s a deal,” she finally said and stuck her hand out. When she realized he wasn’t reaching to shake, she took his hand in hers and began to pump it up and down. “When and where should we meet?”
Chapter Four
Rhett made his way towards the house, his trusty guide shuffling beside him. The porch swing squeaked a familiar tune.
“Is it safe?” he asked.
His younger brother chuckled. “As safe as it’s going to get.”
Rhett sighed. He hadn’t even entered the house yet, but already knew he was the focus of whatever conversation his parents were having. Ever since he had returned from his tour in Afghanistan, injured and changed, it was the same routine with them. He would come home from class or therapy or wherever else he had ventured, and was welcomed with hushed voices discussing his wellbeing. The constant strain was wearing him thin. Thankfully he had someone like Clark in his corner. Despite being nearly a decade younger, the sixteen-year-old showed both wisdom and compassion beyond his years.
Too bad the same couldn’t be said about the boy’s twin sister.
“There’s trouble brewing tonight!” Caitlin bounded out of the house, her boots heavy on the front porch slabs as she bolted by. The screen door slammed shut and he knew his mother would follow momentarily. He sighed with exasperation as his younger sister brushed past, hardly excusing herself. It was obvious that he was meant to be a distraction for whatever adventure she sought.
“Going out again?” he asked with irritation.
Wheels churned up gravel and a horn honked from behind.
“Yep!” she called back and raced away.
“Caitlin Marie Marshall!” Their mother had appeared at the door. “Caitie!”
It was too late. Tires spun into the ground, kicking up a dust cloud that made Rhett cough. The girl’s voice grew distant as the car tore out of the driveway. “Love you, mom! Bye!”
