“No kidding.” He gave a long whistle. Disbelief crowded his eyes. “Somehow I’m having trouble picturing that.”
“I didn’t have trouble picturing it at all.”
Matthew shrugged. “Stranger things, I guess. Hey, thanks for taking Mia with you the other day. I think she had fun. She’s going over there to help with the kids tomorrow afternoon.”
“Really? That’s good.” Was it? She supposed it was. Truth be told, she was pleased she’d offered to take Mia with her. It certainly got the girl’s mind off that unpleasant encounter with her schoolmates that afternoon. Liz stepped away from the front door as the ocean breeze kissed her face. “Did you know she’s being bullied?” The question shot out before she thought it through.
“Bullied?” Matthew scratched the stubble on his chin. “That’s a heavy accusation. What makes you say that?”
Great. What was she doing sticking her nose where it didn’t belong? “Well, I don’t know for sure. Sit for a minute?” She pointed him toward the living room. “Do you want a glass of wine? I’ve got some open.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He sat heavily, watching her through worried eyes.
Liz positioned herself in a wingback chair, indicating the sofa. “It’s really none of my business, but . . . that afternoon, when I offered Mia a ride, there were some girls loitering outside the gallery. Mia was clearly uncomfortable and didn’t want to leave alone. They made some unkind comments when we walked by. About her mother.”
He pushed fingers through his dark hair and shook his head. “I can imagine.”
“Well. I’m glad I was there to give her a ride.” Liz knew what it was like to be different.
She could still remember the girls at her school giving her side looks and whispering behind their hands when her parents showed up for events. Her mother in her flamboyant outfits, looking like a throwback flower child from the ´60’s, her father half-sloshed, loud and exuberant. Mia Stone walked a hard road. “So she didn’t mention it to you?”
He leaned back against the thick cushions and gave a halfhearted laugh. “Mia doesn’t say much about how she’s really feeling. With the exception of my rules and my cooking of course. She has no problem expressing herself on those matters.”
Liz wound her fingers together and met his gaze. “She handled it well. Ignored them actually. I was tempted to give them a piece of my mind.”
“You didn’t?” Another grin came and went.
“No, I didn’t. This time.”
“Probably wise. Well, good for her. I’m glad she didn’t retaliate.”
“Girls can be pretty horrible. I was picked on in high school. It’s no fun.”
He shot her a surprised look. “Really? You? That’s hard to believe.”
Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut around this man?
“It’s true. I wasn’t always a high-powered, cocky lawyer.” Liz pushed the old memories aside. “Anyway, I tried to make sure she was okay. She wouldn’t talk about it afterward.”
“Mia’s not much of a talker. You might have noticed.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Liz found herself smiling back.
“The age, maybe. I think she had a good time at David’s. She seemed to anyway.”
“She did ask me if I knew your brother Gray. Think I earned a few points when I said I did. Had no clue she was a fan.”
“Right?” Liz suppressed an eye roll. “It’s a rare breed of teenage girl who doesn’t succumb to the magical charm my brother seems to weave over his followers.”
“I think the Gray Carlisle charm works on any girl regardless of age, from what I’ve heard.” Matthew laughed, light dancing in his eyes. “How’s he doing anyway?”
Liz glanced at her phone. She really needed to call Gray soon. Get a full update. “I think he’s doing well. Back in the recording studio from what I hear.” She hesitated, pondering the thoughts that had been pricking her conscience all week. “So, I wanted to ask, is Mia artistic by any chance?”
“Artistic?” He stared, like she’d suddenly uncovered a secret he’d been hiding. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Evy and I caught her studying a painting the other day. Not just looking at it, but you know . . .”
“Walking into it.”
“You do know.” Of course he did. Liz wanted to kick herself for forgetting he was an art teacher, which meant he was probably an artist too. She hoped that didn’t make him as loopy as Lynnie and Dad.
“I didn’t know about her artistic talent until recently,” he told her. “Found a sketchbook of hers and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She’s really good. She’d kill me if she knew I said anything to you.”
“So she’s not taking art in school?”
“Nah.” He knuckled his chin. “Been figuring out a way to get her to do it, short of forcing it on her, which probably wouldn’t go over well.”
“No, I doubt it would.” Liz thought a moment. “What about a community project she’d have to get involved in? They still do that kind of thing?”
“Sure.” His face lit. “That’s not a bad idea.”
She could see his mind going a mile a minute already and wondered what he’d come up with. “So she takes after you, huh?”
“I guess there must be something in the genes.” She could have sworn he flushed under her stare. “Though I’m more into photography these days.”
Photography. The word still evoked that nails-on-a-chalkboard shudder. She clenched her jaw and managed a smile. “I’m not.”
“Okay.” Matthew sat forward a bit and rubbed a tear in his jeans at the knee. She watched a few threads come loose. He raised his eyes to hers and blinked a couple times, getting that look again, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure he should. “Some days I think Mia would be better off someplace else. With a real family.”
Oh. His words sagged with sorrow. Pain shone from his eyes. She was all too familiar with those feelings of helplessness.
Liz nodded and pushed her hair behind her ear. “You know . . .” She studied one of her father’s paintings on the wall and lost herself in the past for a moment. “I hated my family. Well, not hated. They were just . . . different. My parents drank a lot. They were always having crazy parties, saying completely inappropriate things. Let us kids run wild most of the time. If it wasn’t for Cecily, we’d probably all have gotten in far more trouble than we actually did.”
“Cecily?” He relaxed a little, his smile encouraging.
“Cecily was our housekeeper. She was the one who kept us in line, while my mom wanted to be everybody’s best friend. Cecily’s really like family. Mia met her the other night.”
“Nice.” He appeared captivated by the glimpse into her childhood.
“Well, anyway. I used to complain to Cecily about my parents. The way they carried on was embarrassing.” Liz crossed her legs and felt the burn of memory. “But she’d say ‘you can’t pick your family, honey, because the good Lord done it for you. And one day they might be exactly what you need.’” She sniffed, feeling silly about the emotion the past still provoked. “For years I thought those words were about as far from the truth as she could get. I was pretty sure I would never need my family. When I left Nantucket, I never thought I’d be back. Never wanted to live here again. I was done with crazy.”
“I know the feeling.” His thin smile piqued her interest.
“Well.” She nodded, blew out a breath, and clutched her elbows. “Crazy has a way of catching up with you wherever you go, I guess.”
“Too true.” He tipped his head in the direction of the main house. “Got all kinds of crazy going on over there.”
“Honestly?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” The expression on his face told her whatever it was, it wasn’t good. “Still trying to figure out which end is up with my parents.”
“I’m sorry.” She could see the seriousness of it in his eyes. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is . . .” Liz went on before
she lost her nerve. “Cecily was right. I need a place to call home. I do need my family. I think we all do, eventually, don’t you?”
“Maybe.” Matthew let go slow laughter and shook his head. “Right now I’ll take your word for it. Because at the moment, I’m wishing my parents were anywhere but here.”
Liz stood with a smile. “I’m sure it’ll get better.”
“Oh, I’m sure. When hell freezes over.” He followed her to the door. “But thanks for the chat.”
“Anytime.” Really? She wanted to smack herself. “I probably didn’t help much.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Matthew clapped his hands together. “All right. Well. Have a good night.”
“Um, I was wondering . . . with your parents here . . .” Liz hesitated, but had to ask. “Do you still need me to be around for Mia at night? Will that change things? I don’t want you feeling I’m not earning my keep.”
“Oh.” Matthew frowned and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. My folks are apparently going to be here for longer than I thought but, well, I told Mia to still call you while I’m at work if she needs anything. Is that okay? It’s just, she doesn’t know them, and—”
“She doesn’t really know me either.”
“True.” He gave a small smile that tugged her heart a little. “But I think both Mia and I are more comfortable with this option.”
“Okay.” Liz shrugged. She wouldn’t push it, but she hoped Mia wouldn’t actually call her in the middle of the night anytime soon.
He said goodnight, and Liz watched him jog across the courtyard, closed and locked the front door, then turned toward the three boxes. Looming, threatening, daring her to open them. She knew she had to open them, eventually, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Crazy had a way of catching up with her all right.
And here it was again.
Sitting in taped up cardboard boxes in her living room.
fifteen
DRAKE
“Come on, Mr. Carlisle. You’re gonna like this.” The big nurse takes me into the day room after lunch. Instead of the usual tomblike atmosphere, the place is swarming with activity. Easels are set up in a few spots around the room. And there are kids everywhere. Well. High schoolers, I suppose, by the looks of them. Hooligans. For some reason, I remember what they’re like at that age.
They’re talking to the residents. A couple of the girls are sitting with the ladies, knitting and crocheting. A few tables are set up, and kids are playing cards and chess with the old coots. There’s music coming from somewhere. Everyone seems happy, smiling and laughing like it’s Christmas.
And I’m confused. Maybe it is.
Too many people. Too much noise.
“What day is it?” I lose track too easily.
“Tuesday afternoon. Come on now, what would you like to do? Play cards?”
“Uh, no thank you.” I swivel on my slippers and barrel into Theresa or whatever her name is. She places her hands on my shoulders and turns me back around.
“Don’t be silly. Look, there’s paints over there. You like painting, don’t you?”
Do I?
The smell in the air is familiar, and my brain stretches to name it. Turpentine. Oils.
Heaven.
“Sir?”
“What?” I jump as a man comes up beside me, and my sharp response startles him. But he smiles anyway. He’s youngish. About the same age as my son. The one that visits. David. I think. I notice his eyes right off. Deep brown flecked with gold. They complement the color of his wavy hair and the sun-kissed streaks.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’m Matt Stone. I teach at the high school. Thanks for letting the kids come hang out here this afternoon.”
Is that what they’re doing? Hanging out? “I don’t own the place.”
He laughs like he’s not sure whether he should. Then he points across the room. “Want to try a little painting? Oils or acrylics, I brought both.”
“Humph.” He looks like he’s giving me the greatest present in the world. “I don’t know.” I scratch my head and take a few steps toward the unoccupied easel. There’s a young girl sitting on the window seat, staring at all of us like we’re from another planet.
Got that right, kid.
She’s trying to look bored, but I see her eyes. And they’re taking it all in. She’s a sideline sitter who secretly wants to get in the game. So I’ll call her bluff. She stiffens slightly when I shuffle over and stand in front of her.
“Who are you?” My voice sounds far more intimidating than it used to. More like a bark. But I don’t scare her. She stares right back at me, unflinching. I’m impressed.
“Mia.” She pushes straight dark hair behind her ears, and my eyes are drawn to the bright pink streaks.
“Nice hair.”
She grins. “Thanks. Yours is cool too.”
That makes me snort. I refuse to let them cut it, and have it tied in a ponytail. I usually forget about it until I try to lie down and feel the bump at the back of my head. Maybe I’ll get it cut after all. Someday.
I run my hands down the beige shirt they put me in this morning over my favorite pair of pants. Soft brown ones, holes starting in the knees. I have new clothes. I just don’t like wearing them.
“You know how to paint, Mia?”
“Mia’s a great artist.” The man has been hovering, and he pipes up with that information too quickly. The kid gives him an award-worthy glower that makes me grin. But she gets to her feet and clomps over to the easel anyway. Looks like she’s been shopping at the Army/Navy Surplus on Broad Street.
“I paint some,” she says quietly. “Not that great though.”
“Nah. Me either.” For some reason that sounds funny. But if there’s one thing this sad excuse for a brain knows, it’s that when someone tells you they’re not that good, they probably are.
She picks up a brush and stares at the empty canvas. Tips her head this way and that, then looks at me sideways. “You like the ocean?”
“Love it.” I venture closer. When she hands me a brush, my fingers curl around it, and it feels like home. She nods and makes the first stroke. A bold streak of cobalt blue in exactly the right spot, and I see at once where she’s going. My hand itches to join the dance, and I dip the brush into a splotch of deepest sea-foam green.
And so we begin.
___________
Matt stood to the side of the room and watched the activity, pleased he’d managed to pull it all together. The idea had come to him after his conversation with Elizabeth last week, and he’d approached the principal to discuss it—bringing Mia’s freshman class to the nursing home one afternoon a week. A few phone calls were made, the day set, and here they were. And by all accounts, he’d say the event was a success.
He watched his niece with a lump in his throat. The way she was interacting with the older man, chatting—well, now they were laughing about something—made his heart soar. He hadn’t seen her smile like that since she’d come to live with him. Who knew all it would take was a paint palette and an old dude with dementia.
One of the caregivers nodded his way, pointing to her watch. It was time to go. He began to move around the room, letting the kids know they needed to start packing up. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the tall, blond kid making his way over to Mia. What was his name? Cooper. Nick’s nephew or cousin or something. He was a decent kid, taking transfer credits while his family was on the island to help with Nick’s dad. He sucked at art though. Matt didn’t know he and Mia were friends. That was interesting.
A few kids had gathered around the easel where Mia and the old man were still painting. Matt helped put a few board games away, then crossed the room.
He stared at the painting in progress and sucked in a breath.
Mia glanced his way, her eyes shining. He gave a nod and a brief smile. She’d be totally embarrassed if he made a big deal about what he saw in front of him. But, wow
. The two of them were creating something that, when finished, should be hanging in Evy McIntyre’s gallery.
An angry ocean tossed a small yacht upon the waves, surf rushing and crashing against rocks, storm clouds rolling in from the west. He could almost taste the salt on his tongue.
“What’s all this?”
Matt startled at the voice beside him. Turned and found Elizabeth Carlisle staring at him, surprise smacked across her face. “Huh?” He scratched his head, words eluding him. What was she doing here?
“What’s going on, Matthew?” A funny sort of smile inched her lips upward as she pointed toward the small crowd of kids and the old dude. “My dad is painting?”
“Your . . . dad?” Suddenly it all made sense. He stared at the painting, the old man, and then Elizabeth. “That’s your dad? Drake Carlisle?”
“Last time I checked. He doesn’t always remember that’s who he is, but yes.”
“Well, I’ll be darned.”
“Mr. Stone, the bus is here.” A kid tapped him on the arm and Matt nodded, clapped his hands together, and got the group’s attention.
“Okay, guys, say your goodbyes, and file out quietly. The bus is waiting.”
“So . . . this is your community service project?” She moved past the kids and walked to where her father stood. Mia’s eyes about bugged out of her head when she caught sight of her. Matt almost laughed out loud at her confused expression. He could relate.
“Hello, Mia,” she said quietly, assessing the half-finished painting. “Did the two of you do this?”
Mr. Carlisle scratched his nose with the tip of his brush. “She’s pretty good, eh?”
“Indeed. How are you, Dad?” Elizabeth leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“Whoa, what?!” Mia stepped backward in a hurry.
Matt grinned. “You’ve just been painting with one of the country’s greatest artists. How does that feel?”
Mia’s face darkened to match the storm she and Drake Carlisle had created. She fired the death stare, turned on the heel of her boot, pushed past the other kids, and marched out of the room.
As the Light Fades (ARC) Page 14
