Love Finds You in Humble Texas

by Anita Higman

  “You want something to drink?”

  “Naw.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “But I’d like to see the art stuff.”

  Trudie grinned. “Okay. Let’s go.” She headed back to the studio, and he followed right behind her.

  Cyrus gasped when he entered the room. “Ohh. Wow.”

  “A friend of mine bought it for me.”

  “That must be some friend, huh?” Cyrus ran his hand along the easel.

  Trudie smiled. “He is special.”

  “You should marry that guy. He must love you a lot to buy you all this.”

  She chuckled. “His name is Mason. He was trying to encourage me. I started painting when I was a little younger than you.”

  “Were you good at it?” Cyrus looked at her.

  “People said so. But I think I’ve lost it. I can’t figure out what’s missing.”

  Cyrus walked over to the trash bin. “It’s full. You throw everything away?”

  “They’re not good enough to sell.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “But who cares?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t art supposed to be fun?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, can we have some fun?” He placed his folded hands in front of him. “Please?”

  “Okay.” Trudie pulled out some tubes of paint from the taboret and taped two fresh pieces of watercolor paper to the worktable. She let him sit down and get comfortable. “So, how does that chair feel? Pretty good?”

  “Yeah.” He swiveled around and then looked down at the paper. “So, is it okay if I give it a try?”

  Trudie nodded. “Wet your brush, load it with paint, and go for it.”

  Cyrus did as she said and began swirling cerulean blue at the top of his paper like waves in the ocean. He appeared to be enjoying himself, wriggling his tongue back and forth—a quirky habit Trudie remembered doing as a young artist. “You can use the palette there in the middle to mix the colors.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Cyrus grinned. “My mom’s on that new fish diet. Why don’t we both paint fish that are on a human diet?”

  Trudie laughed. “Okay.” She wet a brush and decided to paint a puffer fish with a guilty smile and some diver’s flippers coming out of its mouth.

  After a few minutes, Cyrus looked over at Trudie’s work. “Okay, now that’s demented.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at his whale, which had round spectacles and was staring hungrily at a tiny boat just above him. “I like yours too.”

  Cyrus rose from the stool. “Now let’s switch paintings and keep going.”

  “Switch?” Trudie chuckled. “Okay.” She sat down on the chair, and Cyrus began working on her painting.

  Trudie looked at what Cyrus was doing to her work. He was adding a handlebar mustache to its mouth and painting an oversized umbrella in its propeller fins.

  Cyrus took a look at what Trudie was doing to his blue fish. She was busy adding pink lips and a dainty ballerina tutu. He doubled over with laughter.

  After a few more flights of their imagination they traded paintings again for the finishing touches. Twenty minutes later they stood back and gazed at their shared masterpieces.

  Cyrus laced his hands on top of his head. “Okay, now that was cool.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Trudie looked over at him. “Well, you can either take your painting home, or these can be the first works of art hung in this studio.”

  “Really? They’re good enough to put on the walls?”

  “Yep.”

  Cyrus nodded slowly. “I’d like mine right over there.” He pointed to the wall in front of the worktable.

  “Done. I’ll let them dry, but the next time you come, they’ll be matted and framed and on that wall right in front of us.”

  “All right.” They gave each other a high five.

  “So, they still do high fives at school?”

  “Naw.” He shrugged. “It’s just something my mom likes to do.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Cyrus looked at Trudie. “Hey, maybe I’d like to be an artist someday.

  Only maybe I could be one of those guys who does the magazine ads and stuff.”

  “A graphic artist?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  He rocked his head up and down. “Yeah, that’s what my mom always says.”

  Trudie grinned. Thanks, Cyrus. Watching him express himself with paint was not only satisfying, but liberating. She would always need a daily reminder that art was about fun too—not just about seeking to satisfy the marketplace.

  The phone rang and Trudie went into the hallway, saw it was her sister, and picked up. “Hi, Lane. What’s up?”

  “Well, you said you wanted a session this week. Are you ready at seven o’clock this evening?”

  Trudie hated to keep putting her sister off. “Sure. I’ll be there at seven o’clock. Thanks.”

  “See you then.”

  After Trudie hung up, she called to Cyrus, who’d shambled off into the living room. “Hey, are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  She chuckled. That’s what I thought. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “Got jalapeños?”

  “I believe I do.”

  Trudie and Cyrus fried up some sandwiches, laughed some more, and then ate their little feast. Just when Cyrus had finished off the last of his milk, the doorbell rang.

  “Must be your mom.” Trudie wiped her hands on a dishtowel and went to the door.

  When she opened it, Cyrus’s mom, Kesha, was standing on the welcome mat, looking tired but pleased. “Hey there. Thanks for helping me out.”

  “No problem.”

  When Cyrus joined his mom, Kesha placed her palm on the top of his head and leaned his face up for a kiss on his forehead as if he were the greatest joy of her life. “I missed you.”

  He rolled his eyes but grinned.

  Trudie smiled, enjoying the mother-son exchange. “I was sorry to hear you’d lost your job.”

  “You and me both.” Kesha shook her head. “But I had some good interviews today. So, I’m pleased about that.” She turned to her son. “Cyrus, I guess we’d better go.”

  He looked up at his mom. “So, what are we having for supper?”

  “Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and fried squash.” Kesha chuckled. “You are one finely tuned eating apparatus. Do you know that, Cyrus?”

  He gave his mother a toothy grin.

  Kesha looked back at Trudie. “And tomorrow I’m going to make you a batch of peanut butter cookies you will never forget. That is, if I can keep Cyrus out of the cookie dough. Bye now.”

  Trudie waved as they left. Just before she shut the door, she could hear Cyrus say to his mom, “Hey, I think maybe I’d like to be a graphic artist someday.” It was a moment that reminded Trudie that she wouldn’t want to miss the joy of having kids. But she was thirty, and now any hopes for marriage and a family seemed to be slipping away.

  Fifteen minutes later she was driving down Will Clayton Parkway toward her sister’s home on the golf course, but her mind was still thinking of marriage and a family. Of course, the only person connected to that dream was Mason. She barely knew him, and yet that hope of falling in love and marrying and starting a family had never been tied so closely to any other man. What could she do?

  A lone tear slipped down Trudie’s cheek. She swiped it away. At the wedding Mason had still shown some interest in her, but how long would it last? Could it be that without realizing it, Lane was destroying the only chance she had for happiness? When would it be the right time to share those concerns with Lane? Maybe she had a good opportunity. Right now.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Lane swung open the front door before Trudie could ring the bell. “Hi.”

  “Hey, Sis.”

  “I’m so glad you could do a session this evening. Come on in.” Lane gave her a hug. �
��I’ve got the master bath set up for us.”

  Trudie followed her sister through the living room toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She’d always loved the way her sister had decorated her home—Tucson style with a luxuriant number of original oil paintings.

  Lane took a pumpful of hand cream as they passed by the powder room. “You really are doing much better with your hair, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lane smoothed the lotion on her hands and arms. “And that beige silk top is the right color for your skin tone. Good purchase.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they reached her master bedroom, Lane turned to face her. “Let’s stay in here for now. It’ll give us more moving room to work on your posture. Then we’ll go over makeup in the bathroom.”

  Trudie took in a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Okay, first of all...” Lane raised her hands in a swanlike gesture. “Think royalty. We want to move with grace and style. We want to have our shoulders straight and our head held high.”

  Trudie obeyed, but at first it felt uncomfortable—like someone trying to bend a stick to its breaking point. “Okay, how’s that?”

  “Not too bad. Tuck in those buttocks.”

  “Really?” Once again, Trudie tried to follow her sister’s instructions.

  “Be sure and keep your feet firmly on the floor.”

  Trudie flattened her feet.

  “You have a tendency to lower your chin. But you’ll want to keep it even with the floor.” Lane smiled. “And I think you’ve stopped breathing.”

  “How can you possibly remember to do all of this stuff, just to stand still?” Trudie took in some air, trying not to get flustered.

  “It’s easy when you’ve practiced. Now let’s try moving a little. As you walk, you’ll want your arms to move like this.” Lane began to float across the room, elegantly as always. “And the tips of your fingers should brush the sides of your legs. Okay, let’s give that a try.”

  Trudie sashayed across the room as she tried to remember her sister’s every move.

  “All right.” Lane grinned. “That was an attention-getting start.”

  “I guess our goal isn’t to frighten people.” Trudie laughed.

  “You’ll want to glide rather than bounce. And don’t sway your hips.”

  Trudie thought it might be easier for a chicken to learn how to climb a tree than for her to learn how to glide. “Okay, got it. Sort of.” No, she didn’t really have it. She felt like a bumbler. Was there such a thing as a female bumbler? Guess she’d be the first.

  After Trudie had managed to learn to walk without looking like the Incredible Hulk and after she’d learned a host of other secrets to proper posture, she was more than ready to move on to makeup selection and application. She was then escorted into the beautiful world of Lane’s master bath—plush towels, white marble, and even a tiny crystal chandelier. It always brought a sigh. The bathroom counter was covered with more facial products and makeup items than she knew existed. “Do you use all of these products?”

  “Well, not all at once.” Lane laughed. “Now, when you think of makeup, think balance. We want to try to create the illusion of an oval face, since that shape is the most appealing.”

  “Okay.” Trudie sat down on the vanity stool and stared at herself in the mirror, something she still didn’t like doing. I’m so pale. “Color would do me some good. I’d at least look like I was walking among the living.”

  Lane grinned. “Now, you have just enough red tones in your blonde hair that you’re considered a spring, and so that will determine what colors we choose. For instance, some of the best eye colors for you will be in the browns, taupes, and peachy colors.”

  After Lane had brushed on her foundation and had applied all the rest of the magical cosmetics from her bathroom counter, Trudie was amazed that her eyes shone brighter and bluer. She not only looked alive, but pretty. “Lane, this really does look good.”

  “You were always lovely. But this just shows it off a bit more.” Lane began gathering up some of the products. “Now when you take this makeup home, I want you to remember to blend. A lot. That’s what keeps us from looking—”

  “From looking like a gargoyle?”

  Her sister chuckled. “Well, not quite a gargoyle. But blending is important.”

  “But, Lane.” Trudie winced. “I can’t possibly accept all this makeup from you. I know this is the good stuff. The really good stuff. And you’ve spent way too much money on me already.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Lane touched her shoulder then, not like a professional image coach but as her sister.

  Trudie wasn’t sure what Lane meant. Could she be referring to Mason? Perhaps Lane felt Trudie deserved some consolation prizes since she was willing to walk away from Mason. That’s a pretty terrible thought. Her sister couldn’t help loving Mason, and she’d given of herself in so many ways. But Trudie knew she would trade all of Lane’s generosity for one more date with Mason.

  “I know just what you need.” Lane clapped her hands together. “I’ll be right back.” Her sister rushed out of the bathroom.

  Trudie stood back, looking at herself in the mirror. There was no doubt about it; Lane had indeed transformed her into a more pleasing-looking woman. But whether she could keep up the new look was another issue.

  Moments later Lane came back into the bathroom flushed and excited as she placed their mother’s tiara on Trudie’s head.

  “Lane, I can’t wear this.” She wanted to remove the tiara at once, but she also didn’t want to hurt her sister’s feeling or ruin the happy moment.

  “But we always did that growing up. Remember? Whenever either of us did something remarkable, Mother would let us wear the tiara for the day.” Lane seemed to drift away with her happy memories.

  “I remember all too well.” Trudie lowered her gaze.

  Lane stroked her back. “Surely you’re not still blaming yourself for Mom’s accident after all these years. You needed to let that go a long time ago.”

  “Actually, I did begin that process recently...of letting go.”

  Lane crossed her arms and looked at Trudie in the mirror. “You know, I never really understood why you blamed yourself in the first place. Surely you remember that Mom was a terrible driver.”

  “I didn’t remember that part.” Why had I forgotten? Had she blocked that from her memory?

  “Oh, Daddy used to joke all the time that someday Mom would kill us all with her driving. None of us were in the car that day, or that would have become true.” Lane stood behind Trudie and placed her hands on her shoulders. “So, it doesn’t matter whose errand she was on. Mom was always distracted when she was driving.”

  “Why do you think she was such a bad driver? What was so diverting?”

  “Even as loving as Mom was, she had flaws too. We all do.” Lane gave Trudie a little shoulder rub. “But if you want to, you’re welcome to ponder that question. And knowing your melancholy temperament, I’m sure you will...for years. But there’s really no need to now. Mom is happy in heaven, and all is well.”

  All is well.

  Lane raised her chin and folded her hands in front of her. “And that tiara does belong on your head, especially today. You look beautiful. You should celebrate that fact. Look at the way it sparkles.”

  “I’m sure you know why it sparkles like that.” Trudie licked her lips. “It’s not filled with rhinestones.”

  “Yes, I know. They’re real diamonds and sapphires.”

  Trudie looked at Lane in the mirror. “And did you ever know where the money came from...to buy all those jewels?”

  Lane shrugged. “I just assumed it was Daddy’s nest egg. I didn’t think he should spend his retirement money that way, but who was I to question him. I was still in high school.”

  Trudie removed the tiara. “It wasn’t Dad’s retirement money, Lane.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  Sh
e turned away from the mirror and set the crown on the counter. “It was all the money I’d made selling my paintings to the galleries. It was my college savings. All of it.”

  “No.” Lane’s hand covered her mouth. “You shouldn’t have let him. Why didn’t you stop him?”

  Trudie looked at her sister through tears. “Because Dad’s grief was so terrible. And because it brought him so much comfort to honor Mom in that way. I couldn’t say no. I just couldn’t do it.”

  Lane sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I don’t know.” Trudie sighed. “No, that’s not true. I do know. In my young mind I mistakenly thought the sacrifice would somehow atone for my sin.”

  Lane took hold of Trudie’s hand. “But you didn’t really do anything.”

  “I was guilty of more than just insisting Mom drive into Oklahoma City that day. Because of my success at such a young age, I’d become full of myself...belligerent and prideful. No one could stand me.”

  “I did.”

  Trudie chuckled. “That’s because you were expected to. You were my little sister.”

  “Well, it was just a phase you went through, just like I went through my fat phase. And besides, I’m certain you no longer have a prideful bone in your body.”

  “But I wish I could have been a different person before Mom died. I wish I could have...”

  Lane patted Trudie’s hand. “We all have regrets. I have mine too.”

  “Really?”

  “I just try not to dwell on them, since there’s nothing I can do about it.” Lane clasped her hands together. “The day of the accident, just as Mom was walking out the door, she told me that she loved me. And I didn’t say it back. I’d been upset with her because she’d refused to buy me a pair of shoes I’d wanted, which I didn’t really need, but at the time I thought I had to have them. Anyway, I was upset, and I didn’t say ‘I love you’ back to her.”

  Lane sighed. “I saw all the joy fade from Mom’s eyes as she walked away toward the car. It was as if someone had turned off a light. Ever since then I’ve never forgotten that expression on her face and what she would have looked like had I said those words. Now I’d give anything to be able to tell her that I love her. But it’s too late.”