A Little Consequence

by Amy Knupp

  “What kind of experience do you have?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit I never had a paying job before I got here.”

  Macey’s eyes widened. “Never?”

  “Since finishing college I’ve done volunteer work for an organization back in Boston called Art to Heart. It incorporates art and creativity into the lives of at-risk kids.”

  “Sounds like an amazing place,” Macey said enthusiastically. “I started my own nonprofit organization a few months ago. I wish I could hire you, but I don’t have a budget for a salary or even a wage yet. Which is part of the reason I’m here. That and my fiancé and I own the place.” She swung her arm to indicate the bar.

  “Fiancé? Congratulations.”

  “Thanks!”

  “What kind of organization do you have?”

  “I help women start their own small businesses. Do you have any talents you could turn into a business?”

  “Not really. I’m an artist. It’s tough to make a living painting.”

  Macey eyed her thoughtfully. “Don’t be so sure. Let me give it some thought.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She didn’t hold out a lot of hope but at least she had time to figure it out. She took a drink and set her glass down, distracted. “I seem to be revealing all my embarrassing skeletons in the first few minutes I’ve known you.” She lowered her voice, watching her straw as she swirled it in her glass. “My mom’s family has always been comfortable, and I’ve been content to accept whatever she wanted to give me. I loved the kids’ organization and felt I was making a difference by working there. Living at home allowed me to do that, so why not?”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  “I loved it. Loved the kids. They had some serious problems but after interacting for a few weeks or sometimes even just days, a lot of them would come out of their shells and express themselves through art.”

  Selena managed a smile as she remembered. Rollie, the eleven-year-old who created the best manga she’d ever seen. Malinda, the tiny ten-year-old girl who made beautiful paintings. Jerome—her absolute favorite, though she’d never admit that aloud—the six-year-old boy whose fine-motor-skill development was so far behind he hadn’t known how to hold crayons and scribble until she’d worked with him for several sessions. He didn’t show particular artistic talent but that wasn’t what Art to Heart was about.

  “Anyway,” Selena continued, “my mom and I haven’t been close for a long time and we had a major disagreement. I came down here to start over, and I just found out she closed my access to the bank account. I’m not surprised. Just forced to face reality now.”

  “What kind of artist are you?” Macey asked. It looked as if her mind was spinning, which encouraged Selena.

  “Mostly painting and drawing. I can illustrate on the computer but that’s never been my strong point.”

  “If you could make a living painting and drawing, would you want to?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’d like to see your work,” Macey said, signaling to another customer she’d be right there. “I’ve got some ideas. We might be able to figure something out.”

  Selena didn’t dare get her hopes up. But as Macey tended to other customers and Selena finished her seafood, she dug a pen out of her purse and wrote the address of the beach house and her cell-phone number on a napkin. Traffic at the bar had increased and she didn’t want to keep Macey from her job any longer. Besides, what if her one-night stand returned here, to the scene of the crime? She tucked the napkin under a twenty and went back out into the damp afternoon, not quite as desolate or hopeless as when she’d walked in.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “FOR A LOT OF WOMEN I take on,” Macey said as she slowly circled Selena’s studio two days later, “we have to really work at coming up with a viable product or service for them to make money on. Selena, you’ve got it all right here. These paintings are fantastic.”

  Selena released the breath she’d been holding since she’d led Macey up the stairs to the turret studio. “You think I could make enough to get by for a while?”

  “I think you could do more than get by. There are several directions we could take. We could incorporate some of your art on different products, like bags, T-shirts, postcards and a hundred others. I know someone who might be able to help us get it started. And I bet you could get some space for your originals in local galleries, maybe a gift shop or two. Some of these Gulf scenes could garner decent cash.”

  “You really think people would pay for these?”

  “Absolutely. You capture the scenery beautifully and infuse each painting with tangible emotion, even though there aren’t any people in them. It’s amazing, actually.”

  Selena sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair and leaned forward, elbows on her thighs as she ran her hands over her face.

  “Why do you seem to have trouble believing these are marketable?” Macey asked, dragging her gaze from the large acrylic of the San Amaro Pier.

  Selena straightened and shook her head, trying to get rid of the years-old doubts. “My mother is a firm believer that art is not a profitable pursuit. I guess it’s been drilled into my mind now.”

  “Well, time to dig it out.”

  “Maybe you’re right. After all, the city’s paying me well enough for the murals and if we can get this going…”

  “When we get this going,” Macey corrected. “Oh, the murals… I read about that project in the paper last week. That’s you?”

  “That’s me. I’m contracted to do five. The fire station, the nature reserve, the gateway to the city, in a park and in front of City Hall. I have until the end of May to finish them.”

  “Excellent publicity for your new business.” Macey sat on the stool where Selena usually worked and took out her phone to make notes. “Start thinking about a name for your company. I’ve got information and forms you’ll need to fill out and we can meet with the merchandising guy I know in the next couple of weeks.”

  “Wow. Just like that?” Selena asked.

  “If you really want to move forward with this.”

  Selena didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Making a living by painting would be satisfying—beyond satisfying—on so many levels. “I need to. How else am I going to…” She put a hand on her flat abdomen but didn’t finish the sentence. It was still so much to wrap her brain around, and talking about a child, a baby… It had a dizzying, nauseating effect on her.

  “Feed the child?” Macey asked sympathetically. “I think you’re smart to become self-sufficient, but I also have to ask… Did you tell the father yet?”

  Selena groaned. “Still gathering my nerve. It’s at the top of my to-do list.”

  “Any idea how he’ll react?”

  Selena laughed. “I don’t have a clue.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit to Macey that she didn’t even know his last name or what he did for a living. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough. I’ll go this evening to talk to him.”

  “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “Maybe.” She’d had all kinds of scenarios running through her mind, most of them not good. The truth was she wasn’t really sure what she wanted him to do. Ideally, they would get together, fall in love and marry—not because of their big whoops—and live happily ever after. She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Macey said, jerking her out of her thoughts.

  “Nothing, actually.” Selena closed her eyes. “Maybe I could just paint a baby and leave it on his doorstep. Ring the doorbell and run.”

  Macey chuckled. “He lives here on the island?”

  Selena bent forward again, hesitating. “He does. I might as well get it all out in the open. I don’t know this guy. I did something I’ve never done before in my life. I was emotionally on the edge and went out by myself, feeling completely reckless…”

  “And you found some sexy guy to make you forget about your troubles for a night?” Macey’s tone was understanding.

/>   “That sums it up nicely,” Selena said with an embarrassed grin. “I met him at your bar, as a matter of fact.”

  “Really? Was I working?”

  Selena shook her head and described the bartender.

  “Kevin,” Macey said with a nod. “Glad the Shack set you up for a really good night but sorry it’s turned into a life-changing event.” She smiled sympathetically.

  “And what’s worse?” Selena continued. “If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I wouldn’t regret a second of it. Am I proud of it? No.” She stared off at nothing, seeing instead Evan’s body moving over hers, playing hers like a virtuoso with an expert touch. Just remembering made her tighten with longing.

  Selena couldn’t help but wonder if Evan was a regular at the Shell Shack. Did he go there enough that Macey would recognize him? Did he always leave with a different woman?

  “Confession time?” Macey asked. “I did something similar once.” A slow grin spread across her lips. “And to add to the—I don’t know—fantasy of it all, it was when I was in Asia with the Peace Corps. A local guy. We barely spoke the same language.”

  “Something every woman should do once in her life. Just…without the pregnancy part.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “You know, we should probably eat dinner before it’s completely cold.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Macey stood up from the stool and linked her arm in Selena’s. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be here for you no matter what your mystery man says.”

  Selena couldn’t answer. Gratitude swelled in her throat and if she spoke she’d end up crying like a baby. She’d struck it lucky when she’d run into Macey at the bar.

  Still, there was only so much Macey could do. This was Selena’s mess. Hers and Evan’s. Or maybe just hers, depending on what happened later.

  She suddenly wondered how she would get any dinner down at all.

  MACEY, THE TRAITOR, hurried off as soon as they finished eating, not wanting to enable Selena to procrastinate from her all-important visit any longer.

  Conveniently, Selena could stall on her own just as easily. She changed her clothes—twice. Painted her toe-nails in a dark shade called eggplant. Touched up her eyeliner and added lip gloss. Considered pulling one of the ancient tomes off the shelf in the living room and reading it in its entirety before setting out to see Evan.

  “The sooner you go, the sooner you can get it over with,” she said out loud, frustrated with her own cowardice.

  It was nearing seven. If she waited much longer, he could, God forbid, be out on a date or something equally humiliating. Calling him first would’ve been easier, but she’d been emphatic about not exchanging phone numbers. Her only option was to just whisk in and deliver her news.

  She went into the master bathroom and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror on the back of the door one last time. Holding her hand to her abdomen, she straightened, looking for any sign of a baby bump. Her pants were tighter than usual but that was probably more from dinner than a microscopic fetus.

  Morning sickness hadn’t been major yet and had stayed true to its name, rolling through her only when she woke up each morning. Soda crackers had become a permanent fixture on her nightstand and eating two or three before she got up seemed to make the nausea subside.

  Right now, however, she regretted the Chinese take-out she and Macey had plowed through. She went to the kitchen in search of more crackers. They hadn’t failed her yet.

  Half a package later, Selena washed down the last of the crumbs with a glass of water. She brushed her teeth a second time.

  “No more putting it off. Let’s go, self.”

  Grabbing her purse, more for security than an actual need for anything in it, she headed out the door to her SUV.

  She’d never admit it to anyone, but she’d driven by Evan’s apartment a few times since their private slumber party, before finding out she was pregnant. The first time had been a test to see if she could find it again after leaving so fast the morning after and walking home. After that, it’d just become a habit of sorts. She had no idea why she did it—it served no purpose. There were no windows on the street side of his apartment, so she couldn’t catch a glimpse of him. She didn’t even know what kind of vehicle he drove so she couldn’t keep tabs on whether he was home or not. She hadn’t had any illusions about seeing him again, so she wasn’t sure what was up with her stalker act.

  Tonight she drove down the street and then instead of turning into the small lot for his apartment, she kept going.

  “Chicken. Just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Let’s see… He could slam the door in her face. He could yell and scream and rant. He could call her names or blame the pregnancy on her.

  After turning around in a residential driveway down the street, she came back and pulled in. There were several cars in the lot, so hopefully he was here.

  Her heels on the sidewalk seemed extraordinarily loud, as if announcing to the entire complex that she came bearing important, life-altering news. She climbed the stairs on tiptoe in an attempt to keep it quiet.

  Second floor. Last door on the right. Her skin heated as she remembered the night with Evan. They’d managed to keep their lust mostly under wraps until they got into his apartment and shut the door. Then he’d nearly leaped for her after he locked the door, but he hadn’t had to leap far because she’d been practically attacking him.

  Then she’d become crazed with a desire that no other man had ever awakened in her.

  Selena stared at the door. Trying to summon the courage to knock.

  A car pulled up in the parking lot, compelling her to act so she wouldn’t be caught standing here like an idiot.

  Here goes nothing.

  She knocked firmly on the solid door, thankful there was no peephole.

  Footsteps approached from the other side of the door and it swung open. Evan’s roommate stared down at her for a couple of seconds before speaking. “We meet again.”

  She tried to smile but wanted to melt into the floor. She’d run into this guy in the parking lot after leaving Evan, hair messy, clothes not quite right. “Is Evan here?”

  “Evan!” he hollered. “Someone’s here to see you! Come on in.” He stood back. “I’m Clay.”

  “Hi.” Selena cautiously glanced around. Oh, yeah, she remembered this place in detail. How could she not? They’d…well, they’d certainly not made it to the bedroom for round one that night.

  “Selena,” Evan said as he entered the living room, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice,” his roommate said sarcastically.

  “It’s good to see you.” Evan moved closer and she tried to fight her physical reaction to him. It was a losing battle as he practically loomed over her with his wide, muscular shoulders and chest and those clear blue eyes giving her all of his attention.

  “I was hoping we could go somewhere, maybe get a coffee.” She had no such intention but she needed him out of here, away from his roommate.

  “Let me grab my boots,” Evan said. As he walked away, she couldn’t help sizing him up in the worn, soft-looking jeans that hugged his thighs and butt.

  Selena had had boyfriends before, and she’d had good-looking boyfriends, but there’d never been anyone who was anything like Evan. Just looking at him made her feel all shaky inside. Seeing him here, where she’d seen every last inch of him, touched all of him…

  “Let’s go,” Evan said, pulling a dark blue sweatshirt over his head. As she walked out in front of him, she felt the heat of his hand on the small of her back. Instead of leaning into it as she would’ve liked, she hurried down the flight of stairs to the ground floor, out of his reach.

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked.

  “Nowhere. I mean, not a public place. Somewhere private.”

  Evan grinned. “If I remember correctly, that got us into trouble the last time.”

  He had no idea.

  She led
the way to her Saturn and unlocked it with the remote. She climbed into the driver’s seat. He hesitated briefly then opened the door and got in. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “It’s a PG-rated excursion, if that puts your mind at ease.”

  “I’m not sure I want to get in, then.” He was clearly joking, but that didn’t stop Selena from considering a repeat of their first night together.

  Oh, how she wished that’s all she needed from him.

  “I’d like to discuss something.” She started the car and pulled out onto the street. Not wanting to dive into that conversation just yet, she hit the power to the radio and turned up the Haydn CD, making conversation awkward. There was that cowardice again. So be it.

  She eventually turned into a public beach parking lot. She switched the ignition off but made no move to get out. “Is this okay?”

  “Okay for what?” There was a gleam in his eye that she could see by the streetlight.

  “Talking,” she said firmly. Maybe they should get out and walk. Then she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed by him, wouldn’t be trapped in a small space with his very large, masculine presence. “Or we can walk.”

  “Here’s fine. The wind is wicked on the beach tonight.”

  She turned toward him, pulling her right leg up on the leather seat. “This is awkward.” She ran her finger back and forth over the seam on her jeans.

  “What’s going on?”

  She met his gaze in the darkness, able to see his confusion, the gleam gone now.

  “The first thing I want to say is that I’ve never gone home with someone I just met before. I want to make sure you understand that.”

  He smiled. “I’m flattered.”

  She didn’t smile and he seemed to sense she was in dead-serious mode.

  “I get that about you, Selena. I could tell. And you mentioned it about forty times that night, as well.”

  Now her lips did curve upward slightly. “So I did. Sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. The night was…a good one. Very good. But you must not think so. You’re awfully serious.”