Dane's Storm

by Mia Sheridan

  My mind wandered even more, my hand seeming to move of its own accord, the way it did sometimes when creativity blossomed inside me.

  “What’s that one?” Felicity asked, pointing to a flower I’d just drawn.

  I blinked at it, surprised I’d included it. Maybe it was because my mind had drifted, maybe it was because the emotion—one I still wasn’t sure I could name—of Victor’s photo simmered inside me, maybe it was because I’d spoken of true love. “That’s a hellebore, sometimes called a winter rose.” I paused. “There’s a local legend about this flower. Would you like to hear it?”

  Both women nodded in unison, their eyes following my pen as I added greenery, kale, and air plants to make the bouquet rich and lustrous.

  “An old Indian legend tells of a chief who fell desperately in love with a beautiful woman named Aiyana who was said to live her life in such a way that each day, she inhaled the sunrise and exhaled the sunset. She was not of his tribe, but her spirit called to him so he made her his bride. They lived in happiness and harmony for many years when she tragically drowned, leaving the chief’s heart broken and his life empty. A few days after she was buried, the chief was shocked to see small flowers pushing through the winter-hardened earth above her final resting place. Delicate green hellebores who turned their faces to the mountains and the sky, inhaling the sunrise and exhaling the sunset.”

  I glanced up at Felicity and Alice, and they looked rapt with attention. “But soon an unexpected snowstorm came and the chief was fearful it would cover those delicate flowers and block out what he believed to be his bride’s view of the sky, her everlasting happiness. So he stood beside where they grew and curled his body over them and provided shelter as the storm raged and he froze in place. The sky god recognized the chief’s great love and sacrifice and turned him into a tree. And now, if you see a tree whose branches cover a patch of hellebores, you know it’s the chief, forever bent in protection over his beloved, together for all time. And the hellebore signifies true, unending love.”

  I drew a quick grouping of stems, wrapped in a ribbon, and ended with a flourish as I looked at Felicity, my heart beating heavily in my chest, my throat clogged.

  Felicity sighed dreamily and her mother gripped her hand on the table. “David does look at you that way, Felicity. Like you exhale the sunrise itself.”

  Felicity’s eyes widened. “He does?”

  Her mother nodded and the two shared a tender look. “Oh yes.” Alice looked back at me. She shook her head and laughed softly. “Well then.” She glanced at my drawing. Even I had to admit it looked lovely, as far as drawings went. “It is . . . beautiful. Unique.” She tilted her head. “And it would certainly make a statement.”

  She glanced at Felicity who then grinned at her mother. Alice looked at me once again. “We’ll need matching centerpieces for fifty tables, flowers for the altar . . . oh the works. Send me a quote and my husband will put a deposit in the mail.”

  I felt my eyes widen as my heart leapt, though I still felt slightly dazed. “I . . . I’ll get you a quote by tomorrow afternoon. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Wonderful.” They both stood and shook my hand one more time as I gave them a breathless smile. They began to move toward the door when Felicity turned back toward me so suddenly I startled. She pointed at the black ink drawing, still sitting on the tabletop. “Can I have that? The drawing is beautiful. Do you mind?”

  I blinked. “Oh, no, of course not.” I ripped the page from the pad and handed it to her. She offered me another smile and then Felicity followed her mother out the door. As it clicked shut behind them, I sank back into the chair.

  Jay, who had come out of the back at some point without me even noticing, rushed to my side, pulling up a chair next to me and gripping my shoulders.

  “You’re brilliant,” he whisper shouted.

  I put my hand to my forehead. “Am I going to be able to pull this off, Jay? Five hundred guests and a magazine spread.”

  “Hell to the yes. You got this.” He frowned at me for a moment. “Aren’t you happy?”

  I think so. I should be. Only I felt . . . strange. Still off balance. “Yes. Yes, of course. This is huge. I guess I’m just shocked.” I gave him a small laugh.

  “Well get un-shocked. You have work to do.” Jay put his hand up and I high-fived him, laughing again and giving my head another shake, trying to break out of this odd feeling of disconnection. Telling that story . . . it was like the weight of those words still sat on my heart.

  As if reading my mind, Jay asked, “Where’d you hear that story anyway?”

  “Oh, I”—I shook my head—“I can’t really remember.”

  He narrowed his eyes, aware of my dishonesty, but didn’t push. “Hmm. All right. Well, I never knew you had such a romantic streak. It’s certainly not from experience.” He raised an eyebrow, alluding to my lack of a love life. “But it worked in case you have more where that came from. I’m going to make another pot of coffee. We have the Spellman wedding to get ready for and the McMaster quote alone could take all day.”

  I smiled, gathering my things and taking them to my desk on the other side of the room, next to the window. The door to the shop opened and closed as Jay left to make coffee in the employee kitchen down the hall. For a moment I simply stood by the window, staring at the mountains beyond, thinking of a handsome chief, and the woman he loved enough to stand over her in protection for all eternity. Sadness welled up inside me at the knowledge that a love like that was not my destiny.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Then . . .

  Audra moved the brush slowly down the canvas, going over the line she’d already drawn. Her picture was done, and she was pleased with the result, but the model held her pose at the front of the room as the other art students focused intensely on the likeness they were still attempting to capture.

  Movement out the window caught Audra’s attention and her breath hitched as she watched Dalila Townsend’s brother take a seat on the bench in the small park area next to the building. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as she glanced at the empty seat Dalila usually occupied. Didn’t he realize she wasn’t here today?

  He’d been picking Dalila up after class—every Tuesday and Thursday at five—since they had started a month before. At first Audra had thought he was Dalila’s boyfriend, until they’d struck up a conversation one day, and Dalila had caught sight of him out the window, saying, “Oh, there’s my brother. I have to go,” before breezing out the door. At the revelation that the boy was Dalila’s brother, something Audra wasn’t sure how to name had lifted in her chest, as if taking flight inside her. It couldn’t be relief. Why, she wondered, would a girl like her be relieved that a boy like him didn’t have a girlfriend? Or at least, if he did have a girlfriend, it wasn’t Dalila. And it would never be her, of course. An invisible girl like her would only ever watch boys like him through windows and across rooms.

  “Pitiful,” she muttered under her breath, drawing her shoulders straight. She knew she should turn her gaze away from the window. She knew it was slightly weird—okay, maybe really weird—to watch him like she did, but she couldn’t help it. She was drawn to him. Not only to his looks, but his mannerisms, his expressions, the goodness she saw in him.

  Today, he was bent forward, his elbows on his knees as he ate a sandwich. He glanced to the left and Audra’s eyes moved to where a stray dog sat watching him as closely as she was.

  The boy paused, his hand halfway to his mouth, as he stared at the dog. Audra tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the interaction. The boy hesitated for several moments, seeming to be weighing the situation. The dog continued staring, sad eyes imploring. The boy’s shoulders rose as if on a sigh, and he held the sandwich out to the dog. The dog approached him timidly, yet hopefully, taking the sandwich from his hand and eating it in one single gulp. He said something to the dog and reached his hand out tentatively. The dog took a step forward,
nudging the boy’s hand with his head, and was rewarded with scratching under his chin and behind his ears for several minutes before a car honking somewhere nearby startled the mutt and he turned, running off.

  Audra glanced at the sketchbook on her lap as she quickly and effortlessly drew the exchange between the boy and dog, switching pencils as she added detail. Movement in her peripheral vision had her closing the pad of paper quickly, right before her teacher approached from the side.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, looking at the completed drawing perched on her easel. “The shading is . . . absolutely stunning. Lovely work, Audra.” Pleasure filled her at his compliment, the look of genuine respect in his eyes. He smiled. “You always draw in black and white, though. Aren’t you ever inspired to add a bit of color?”

  Audra smiled, shrugging, not sure how to answer his question. He patted her on the shoulder, chuckling softly, and walked to the next student. She glanced at the drawing, thinking about what the teacher had asked. Why did she always draw in black and white? Was it because that was the way she saw the world? Colorless? Yes, her heart whispered. Yes. She thought of her home, of the melancholy that permeated those four walls, of the way she’d always felt part of the shadows. But also of the way—secretly, deep inside—she yearned to seek the yellow warmth of the sunshine.

  She glanced at the pad in her lap, opening it to the picture of the boy and the dog, the one she’d drawn with colored pencils. Audra’s world felt as if it was black and white, shades of somber gray, but surprisingly, to her, he was in color.

  **********

  “Hello?” Dane called, stepping into the room, empty except for a girl at the sink near the front. She whirled toward him, water droplets flying off the handful of brushes she held, her eyes wide with surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, walking toward her. “I’m, ah, looking for my sister.”

  For a moment the girl continued staring, the bunch of brushes clasped tightly in her fist, her mouth shaped in an O. Finally, she blinked and shook her head slightly, reaching backward and turning off the water, before facing Dane once again. “Your sister’s Dalila Townsend, right?” she asked softly.

  Dane moved closer, nodding. “Yeah. I usually pick her up.” His brow furrowed as he glanced around the empty room and then at the girl.

  “Dalila mentioned last week that she wouldn’t be in class today . . . something about an eye appointment?”

  Dane grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, shit, that’s right. I totally forgot.” He glanced back to the girl. She looked down at her shoes for a moment and her dark braid fell over her shoulder. More hair seemed to have slipped out of it than was contained within it. He really looked at her now and an unexpected tingling raced through his blood. She was pretty in an unusual, exotic way. She was small and delicate, something about the set of her cheekbones and the slope of her forehead hinting at a native American ancestor. Her chin was pointy as was her little nose. But it was her big, thickly lashed eyes that captivated him, seemed to hold him prisoner for a moment. And her mouth . . . it was narrow, but her lips were full, and so perfectly pink. He swallowed. “Are you the teacher?” he asked in confusion. She looked about his age, maybe younger. An aide? He took a step closer so they were only a few feet apart now. Up close her skin was clear and smooth, a bloom of pink staining both cheeks.

  She blinked and then shook her head. “No. I”—she furrowed her brow—“um, I’m a student. I get a discount on the class for cleaning up the room when it’s over.” She glanced next to her at the sink where Dane noticed a broom leaning against the wall, a dustpan clipped to the handle. When he looked back at her, he noticed the color in her cheeks had deepened. Regret knotted his stomach. Shit. He’d embarrassed her. Seeking to change the subject, he glanced at the easel to his right, his eyes widening at what he saw.

  He glanced at the girl and her eyes moved from the easel where he’d been looking back to him. “We had a model visit the class today,” she explained. “She was . . . obviously . . . well, topless.”

  The corners of Dane’s eyes tightened as he turned toward the easel. “I see.” The girl moved to stand beside him, gazing at the drawing. She took her full bottom lip between her teeth, tilting her head. “I’m not exactly an expert,” Dane said, “but I don’t think they’re supposed to be . . . sharp.”

  The girl’s lip quirked and then she pressed her lips tightly together as if suppressing a smile, perhaps not wanting to insult the artist in question. “Well, everyone sees the world differently, I guess. He obviously sees a woman’s body as . . .” She furrowed her brow as if trying to come up with the appropriate description.

  “Advanced weaponry?”

  She laughed, her face lighting up in a way that made Dane’s stomach muscles clench. Their eyes met, and Dane saw the surprise in her wide, dark gaze along with the amusement. She hadn’t expected him to make her laugh and the knowledge that he’d surprised her sent a thrill of satisfaction through him.

  He took a few steps to stand before the next easel, bringing his hand to his chin and staring at the next artist’s vision of womanhood—grimacing at the breasts that looked like rotten fruit. “Please tell me this is not how she really looked.”

  The girl shook her head, still considering the drawing. “No,” she murmured. “I would have suggested medical attention.”

  It was Dane’s turn to laugh. Audra shot him a somewhat guilty smile, her lips tipping up at the same time her brow wrinkled. She was so damn pretty. Those eyes, those lips, that pointed chin. He tore his gaze away as he moved toward the window to stand in front of the last easel in that row. His expression sobered as he gazed at the drawing, the woman’s face turned away, her hair cascading around full, round breasts, nipples exposed through the strands. It was . . . mesmerizing. It looked so real Dane could almost believe it was a black and white photograph if he squinted his eyes. “Wow,” he whispered as he felt the girl’s warmth come up beside him. “This one is incredible.” He glanced at the girl and saw the shy pleasure in her expression, as well as the blush that was back on her cheeks. He turned toward her. “Is this yours?”

  She turned, looking at him as she nodded, some elusive energy flowing between them. It felt warm and good, and Dane wanted to step into it, gather it somehow.

  He stared at her for a moment. “You’re”—he glanced at the drawing—“amazing.”

  She let out a breathy laugh, still looking shy. “Thank you.”

  “I’m Dane.”

  She smiled softly, her eyes skittering away, but finding their way back. “Audra.”

  Audra. Dane returned her smile. He went to move closer to her and knocked the chair in front of the easel, a stack of what looked like sketch pads falling to the floor. “Damn . . . sorry,” he said, bending to pick them up.

  Audra sucked in a breath, falling to her knees where the pads had landed. “It’s okay, please. I’ve got it,” she said, a note of alarm in her voice.

  “No, it’s my fault,” Dane said, picking one up and placing it on the chair. But he’d set it on the edge and the loose pages from within fell out, raining down on their hands as they both tried to gather the pads of paper. They both froze as a drawing came to rest on the knuckles of Dane’s right hand. It was him from just a little while earlier, feeding that stray that had looked at him with such hungry longing in his gaze that Dane couldn’t resist sharing his sandwich, even though he’d been as famished as he always was after the swim practice he’d just come from.

  His eyes flew to the girl’s, and she looked horrified, her throat moving as she swallowed. “I—”

  He looked down, noticing that there were several drawings of him—feeding the stray, deep in thought, smiling as he threw a football back to a group of little kids playing in the park. Dane picked one up—he was sitting on the same bench, his hands in his coat pockets as he stared off into the distance, a look on his face that was peaceful, introspective. He remembered that day—remembered the shi
rt he’d been wearing. It was the three-year anniversary of his dad’s death, and he’d been thinking about him as he watched a family enjoying a picnic in the park. Something about the scene had made him both miss his dad and feel a sense of gratitude that, though he’d lost him, he still had so many good memories of what a good man he’d been. The realization had brought a rightness to his heart, a peace. And the girl, she’d caught that moment. She’d seen something in it that had compelled her to capture it.

  He looked up at her and she shook her head, her lip trembling. “I always finish my assignments early. And I sit right by the window . . . I didn’t mean to invade your privacy . . .” Her words were whispered, her expression still wary, fearful, her neck blotchy and her cheeks bright red. She was obviously scared to death of his reaction.

  His chest squeezed as his lips tipped upward, a smile meant to reassure her. She blinked several times, her chest rising and falling as her gaze washed over his face, those pink lips parting as she released an exhale of breath.

  He looked again at the quickly drawn sketches, seeing himself through her eyes. This girl, she had really seen him. Not just his face, or his wealth, his athleticism, or his popularity—all those things others thought defined him. The things even he sometimes used to define himself. No, she had seen the things he hoped he was—the qualities inside that mattered to him. And as he looked into her eyes, he realized that he wanted very, very much to see her too.