The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "I've got some work. You'd be crazy not to love it," he said.

  Sya frowned. "I thought artists were supposed to be self-effacing. Are arrogance and big egos the new trend?"

  "It's not ego, it's genius. I can't wait around for people to recognize it."

  Sya rolled her eyes; Adriana smiled.

  She liked his freedom, his daring to do what he wanted in the face of convention. She didn't understand most of his works and wouldn't hang them on the wall, but she could imagine with the right exposure he could make the living he desperately needed. She was glad he was moving away from expressionism to abstract. She liked his abstract the best—a story or vision she could understand. The side of a face, the impression of a sunset created with bold shades of red, yellow, and orange bursting from the page. She felt a sense of accomplishment that she had helped him to bring forth his talent.

  "It's wonderful," she said. "You've been working hard."

  "You're impressed?" It was more statement than question.

  "Yes. I always am." She closed the portfolio.

  He slipped his glasses to the end of his nose and gazed up at her. "So impressed that you'll loan me some money for new oils?"

  Her enthusiasm faltered. "I'm on a budget."

  He pushed the glasses up. "Just two hundred."

  "I don't know."

  "This is my chance. I'm getting really good reviews and comments about my work." He lowered his voice. "Sartan is definitely interested in looking at more work." He owned a small gallery. "You know that once I make it I'll pay you back twofold."

  She picked up her handbag. She wanted to be the support she'd never had. "All right." She quickly wrote a check and handed it to him.

  "Thanks." He kissed her on the cheek and left.

  Sya put on her coat and pulled on a hat. "I don't trust him."

  "Why not? All artists are a little off-the-wall."

  "Maybe, but I thought his name was Keith Trenton."

  "It is."

  "Then why did he sign a painting KSY?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Unless he can't write."

  She hadn't noticed that. "I'm sure there's a reason." Sya opened the door and glanced over her shoulder. "There's always a reason. Let's just hope it's a good one."

  * * *

  Sya's comment echoed in her thoughts on her way home. She didn't get the sense that Keith wasn't genuine, yet the fact he hadn't told her about his signature was worrying. She pushed the thought aside as she entered her building. Her home was her refuge. She'd leave the events of the day outside.

  She dug into her handbag for her keys as she turned the corner to her apartment.

  "Hello, Addie," a familiar male voice greeted.

  She dropped her keys and stared at the man and child standing on her welcome mat.

  Chapter 6

  Icy brown eyes pierced him like a stake. He had known Eric Henson for over fifteen years and still couldn't meet his gaze head-on. He glanced at him, then the wall behind him.

  "Ten thousand," Henson repeated. "Are you in trouble?"

  Carter felt drops of sweat gather on his upper lip. "How could I be in trouble with just ten thousand dollars? I thought I explained it to you. My business is going great, the investors are patting me on the back. I am just waiting for a deal to come through. My lawyer is negotiating the contract, so that's holding things up. I just need a loan."

  "You try a bank?"

  "I thought I would try a friend first." He inwardly winced. He knew Henson never bought sentimentality crap. He didn't now. His eyes hardened. Carter said quickly, "You can trust me and I can trust you. No hidden agendas, that's why I came."

  "I see." He clasped his hands together. "How's Serena?"

  His wife was blissfully ignorant and he meant to keep her that way. All he needed was Henson's money to buy him time, and then he could fix everything. And cover his lies with some truths. "Fine. She's doing well." Spending his money like it was a hobby. He hated catalogues and the damn Internet. He never said anything though—never could.

  She felt she had married a loser anyway and he didn't need to give her ammunition. He had taken money from the family fund, a savings her family had trusted her to look after, and used it on a high-risk investment. It had promised to make him rich. Unfortunately, the bottom fell out, crashing on his head.

  Her family was going to check the fund in five months and the missing money would certainly be noticed. If only the investment had gone through. His ideas always seemed great in the beginning but failed in application. This risk had been his worst. He was a gambler with an addict's luck. Win big once, doomed for life.

  He folded his arms to hide his trembling fingers. He was glad he didn't blush. As white as he was, that would be a definite handicap. He was fortunate he had honest green eyes and a handsome face that had kept him out of trouble for years. He looked at Henson, silently begging him for a check, his nerves as taut as a heroin addict's at the mercy of his dealer.

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  His stomach unclenched when Henson reached for his checkbook.

  "When will I be reimbursed?"

  He grasped for a number. "A month?"

  "Fine." Henson wrote out the amount.

  Carter took the check and folded it, making sure his expression was bland. He would have to work fast. First he'd put this money in the fund, then find a way to pay Henson.

  Carter walked down the sidewalk as the city lights pushed the night darkness away. He felt free, hopeful. A check for ten thousand could do that to a man. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. What if he could make it more? Perhaps he could put seven thousand in the fund and use the rest on something he was sure would make a profit.

  He stopped at a pay phone. He couldn't use his mobile since the number could be traced. Serena had a bad habit of checking up on him. He wasted some money making bogus calls, then dialed the number he wanted.

  "Yeah?" The gravelly voice on the other end brought chills to his system. He'd been out of the game too long.

  "It's me. I've got some money I need to triple."

  There was a cold laugh. "Nice to hear your voice. What can I do for you?"

  * * *

  Adriana pasted on a smile as she opened the door for her ex-husband and daughter. "Well, isn't this a surprise?"

  Her ex stepped in front of her with the unconscious arrogance of the elite. He looked like a life-size paper doll in gray trousers and sage dress shirt. His clipped mustache added a polish to his dark, striking features. A gift of his Ghanaian ancestors. "Addie, we have to talk," Laurence said. There was no urgency in his tone, it was stated as fact.

  "So talk." She looked at her daughter. Nina hadn't changed since last Easter. She was a cute, reserved girl with black hair braided up to a bun on her head with serious brown eyes. She had her father's nose and chin. Adriana guessed she'd inherited her smile though she saw it rarely. She looked like an old woman rather than a seven-year-old girl in her wool coat and polished black shoes. "Would you like anything to eat?"

  She shook her head.

  "We need to talk in private," Laurence said.

  "All right." She turned on the TV for Nina and then they went to the kitchen. She sat at the table and sent Laurence an expression of patient expectation.

  "So what brings you far from the rolling hills of Maryland?"

  He took off his coat and placed it carefully on the back of the chair. He sat. "I'm getting married."

  She waited for the pain to hit, the sense of loss and finality. The man she had vowed to love and cherish forever was getting married. She felt relieved. Everything between them was over. "Congratulations," she said, sincere. "I'm very happy for you." She stood. "Let's celebrate."

  "No, wait. That's not all."

  "I figured as much." She retrieved two wineglasses. "Don't worry I'll look after Nina while you and your new bride enjoy your honeymoon." She grabbed a bottle of champagne.

  "No, it's bigger than
that." He tugged on his collar. "I need you to look after Nina permanently."

  Adriana popped the cork. Champagne bubbled to the top, spilling down the sides. "What?"

  "You're dripping champagne on the floor."

  She banged the bottle down on the counter, trying to keep her temper. "What did you say?"

  "I want you to keep Nina."

  She poured some champagne in a glass. "Why?"

  "Irene doesn't like children."

  She took a long swallow, then poured some more. "So?"

  He stood, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Addie, she's the love of my life. I can't afford to lose her."

  She shrugged his hand away. "Nina is your daughter."

  "I know." He sighed wearily. "I've been thinking about this decision for days. It was hard to come to, but in the end I know it's the right one."

  She pointed a finger at him. "Don't try to crawl out of your promise," she warned. "You said you wanted a child and I gave you one. You said you would take care of her for the rest of your life, giving her all that we both want for her—stability, education. And unless your time on this planet is nearing its end, which at this point it just might, you haven't finished your end of the bargain."

  "Haven't you ever been this much in love?"

  Adriana glanced around her. "Where's my puke bucket?"

  "Addie."

  She took another long swallow and lifted the champagne bottle again. She wanted to feel numb. He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't upset her life again the way he had all those years ago when he'd come home and said, "Let's get a divorce" as if it were a planned holiday. "You're not going to win this argument."

  He took the glass and bottle from her. "You have to help me out."

  "You are the best person for her. You're more steady, more financially secure. Let's face it, you're rich. You can give her everything she deserves."

  "You're her mother."

  The champagne was taking hold. She felt a strange tingly feeling. She grabbed a box of crackers. "Yes. I know that. Every time her birthday comes around I scream out in agony just to be sentimental."

  He drummed his fingers on the counter. "Irene and Nina just don't get along."

  "Make them."

  "I'll visit, but ultimately this arrangement will be the best for everyone."

  She bit into a salt cracker. "No."

  "Either she moves in with you or I send her to a boarding school in Scotland."

  She pushed the box away. "Scotland? Why Scotland?"

  For a moment he looked smug. "Everyone sends their children to Swiss boarding schools, I want to be different. I've read about excellent ones there."

  She rested her hip against the counter, glancing around her simple kitchen. It looked like a kiosk compared to Laurence's black and chrome one. "After a few days with me she'll probably choose boarding school," she mumbled.

  Laurence clapped his hands, satisfied. "Perfect. Problem solved. She spends a couple of months with you. If she doesn't like it, off to the best boarding school in Scotland."

  She stared at him, now knowing the dangers of arguing in the kitchen. So many tempting sharp objects to use. A long wooden butcher knife would look so nice in his chest. The bright red of his blood marring the perfect tint of his shirt. Her voice was cool. "Selfish bastard."

  "No need for childish name-calling."

  "Sorry. I thought they'd christened you that."

  Unperturbed, he pulled out a paper from his pocket. "This is a listing of all her likes and dislikes, her classes, tutoring sessions, and music lessons. Don't worry, I'll still pay for everything."

  "I can't do it, Laurence. I'm a single woman who runs a business. I don't have time to shuttle her around to tutoring and music lessons."

  "I can pay you enough to stay at home. I'll provide your income."

  "I said no over five years ago and I'm saying no now. I like my work."

  "You'll be a single mother now. You'll need to make Nina your main focus."

  "I'm not quitting my job and I don't need your money, except what you promised Nina."

  He thought for a moment. "Maybe Scotland would be best. Boarding school is a wonderful experience."

  "No."

  "You just have the American aversion to it. It's nothing like the dramatized version you see in films. Remember, my sister went."

  "Unfortunately, it didn't make her any wiser to the world."

  His jaw tensed. He hated anything negative said about his older sister's failed marriage. "That wasn't Diedra's fault. Her husband was a conniving gold digger. However, that is beside the point. We both want what is best for our daughter."

  She knew Nina would probably receive an excellent education, but something in her heart still rebelled at the idea of sending her to a boarding school in another country. She wanted her daughter to be with one of her parents. "No."

  He sighed, resigned. "Then I suppose the argument is over. Nina stays with you on a trial basis. Make sure she goes to bed at the same time every night to keep her system balanced and she must have a full breakfast every morning."

  "I'll make sure the cook handles that."

  He placed the list on the table. "You'll have to change your priorities."

  "As easily as you have?"

  "A daughter needs a mother. All the money in the world can't change that."

  "It helps. Trust me. I had a mother, remember?"

  He wisely left the subject. "I'll call you to see how things are going."

  She put the box of crackers away. "Have you told Nina why she's here?"

  "Yes. She's a bright child, a true Shelton. Naturally, she took it all in a mature and dignified manner."

  Adriana rolled her eyes. "Not even a little tantrum? How pathetic. When should I schedule her therapy sessions?"

  He didn't smile. "You'll find Nina to be a very practical, unassuming young girl. You'll not have any trouble as long as you provide a stable environment."

  She snapped her fingers. "Damn, there goes my orgy parties. Then again, as a mother it is my duty to educate her in—"

  "I'm not kidding, Addie."

  She stopped. That tone always sobered her, making her feel like a naughty child. "So do you have a picture of the love that's broken our happy arrangement?"

  He took out a picture. Adriana expected to just glance at it, but ended up staring. "No wonder she doesn't like Nina. They're almost the same age."

  He tried to snatch the picture. "She's twenty-two."

  "You wish," she scoffed, gazing at the youthful round face, pouty mouth, and elaborate hairstyle. "But if her parents give their consent, then it's fine by me." She handed him the photo and patted him on the back. She wasn't completely surprised by his choice. His new wife would have to be young. Someone he could mold and shape into the woman he wanted.

  He grabbed his jacket. "I'm glad everything is all set." He took out his mobile. "Hi, Marco? Yes. You can bring everything up."

  "Who was that?" she asked once he put the mobile away.

  "Mover. He's bringing some of Nina's things up."

  Nina might as well have had her own suite. The movers brought up boxes, drapery, furniture, electronics, and an armoire.

  Adriana stared when they brought up paintings. "This is obnoxious."

  "She needs to feel at home."

  "She's seven years old. She's not moving into her own apartment."

  Once the movers had finished, Laurence tipped them and then went to Nina. She sat perfectly still, staring at the TV screen.

  "Nina, it's time to say good-bye," he said as if addressing a business associate rather than his daughter. "I know this is a hard transition, but it's for the best. It's either this or boarding school."

  Nina nodded.

  "You'll be good? Remember Shelton pride."

  She nodded again.

  He kissed her on the cheek and left.

  Adriana stared at the closed door feeling suddenly lost. She had been alone with her daughter before, but us
ually for short periods of time with every hour planned. Now she felt as helpless as a mother with a newborn. She didn't know the first thing to do.

  She turned from the door and smiled at her. "I'm afraid you didn't hit the jackpot when it came to parents, sweetie."

  "Daddy's in love," Nina said in a bored tone. "He always acts silly when he's like that. He'll come to his senses soon enough."

  She didn't know how to reply to such a dour, practical statement. "Yes, perhaps."

  Nina stood. "May I set up my room?"

  "Sure. Call me if you need help."

  She never did.

  * * *

  The next morning Adriana woke up feeling as if she were in a maraca. Someone kept shaking her.

  "Not now, Elissa," she grumbled, trying to push her away.

  "Mom."

  She paused for a moment, then remembered her daughter was now with her. For a second she feared her cat had spoken. She sat up, wiping her eyes. "What is it?"

  "You have to take me to school."

  She lay back and pulled up the covers. "Take the day off."

  She shook her again. "Mom."

  "All right, all right." She squinted at her clock. "What time is it?"

  "Six-thirty."

  "Ugh."

  She dragged herself into the kitchen and searched for something to feed Nina for breakfast. She spotted a box of Special K. She added a banana, hearing Laurence's lecture in the back of her mind that she needed a balanced breakfast. "You look very nice," she said as her daughter sat at the table in her blue and white uniform.

  "Ms. Johnson always has my uniforms pressed."

  Adriana nodded. Of course. "Think she can work here part-time?" she joked.

  Nina stared at her.

  She sighed and pulled bread, ham, and cheese from the fridge.

  "You don't need to make my lunch," Nina said. "I'm on the lunch program."

  Adriana put the items away, relieved.