by Anita Higman
An hour later when Trudie was finished with the rough version, she had a good long look. She liked it. The sketch was very different from what she was used to, but it had been satisfying to draw. More so than she imagined. She signed her name at the bottom of the picture for the first time since her reentry into the world of art. This one she would give to Cyrus.
Then she thought about Mason and how much he deserved a roomful of drawings and watercolors for all his help. But giving him anything might look like an invitation to ask her out, and that would only complicate matters.
She touched her cheek, remembering the kiss that had come so unexpectedly in the grocery store. Mason had meant his kiss as a reminder—a promise that he hadn’t given up on her. Then a twinge of guilt seized her. Perhaps Lane needed to know. Trudie wanted to do the right thing, but she wasn’t sure how to confront her sister. She didn’t want to upset their new sisterly joy, and yet maybe she’d done her a greater disservice by being silent. Perhaps she wasn’t really giving Lane an opportunity to find love, but was instead setting her up for the greatest heartbreak of her life. Trudie looked around the room. She wouldn’t have to say much about Mason and his feelings if Lane were to simply see the studio he’d purchased for her. Maybe that was the answer.
The phone rang, and Trudie was glad to see that it was her sister on the line. “Hey there.”
“Hi. I thought it might be fun to shop at a couple of the antique stores, and then have lunch at the tearoom. How does that sound?”
Trudie looked at the clock. It was already ten forty. She’d truly lost track of time. “That’s perfect.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay.”
After hanging up, Trudie checked her hair and makeup in the hall mirror. Not bad. She’d begun to include makeup in her morning routine, and she was amazed that it wasn’t taking up as much time as she thought it would.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Trudie straightened her shoulders and tried to remember all her sister’s tips on posture.
On opening the door, her sister said, “Ohh my. You look good, Sis. Really good.”
“Thank you.” Trudie wigged her eyebrows.
“So, are you ready to go?”
“Well, there is something I want to show you.”
Lane looked at her watch. “Well, can it wait until I bring you back? If we’re too late at the tearoom, there’ll be a line.”
“Oh, okay.” Trudie locked up but was determined to show her the art studio when they returned.
They headed out in Lane’s Lexus, and within a few minutes they were parked near the Historic Downtown sign of Humble. They walked for a bit, crossed the street, and then entered the mystique of Hobbart’s Antique Emporium.
Lane always liked to mill around while Trudie immediately started touching objects and considering their design. She noticed a lone vase sitting on a small end table. The ceramic piece was decorated with Indian paintbrush and Mexican primrose, all hand-painted in exquisite detail. Trudie looked at the price tag. Ninety-nine dollars. Not within her budget, but it was pretty.
She saw her sister stroll into a separate part of the store, so after sighing over several more vases and their price tags, Trudie followed Lane into the next room. The space was filled with antique furniture and knickknacks with a Texas theme—wrought iron lone stars, oil paintings of bluebonnets, and an array of cowboy paraphernalia. In the corner were several grandfather clocks, all standing together in a row as if they were soldiers guarding the passing of time. When she approached Lane, she had her hand resting against the face of a mantel clock. She seemed to be peering inside. “Are you okay?”
Lane nodded. “Of course.”
But Trudie noticed that her sister wasn’t quite herself—friendly but with a pensive, faraway look. She wondered what was wrong.
“I suddenly remembered something you always used to say in high school.”
“I doubt it was anything worth repeating.”
Lane turned to her then. “Oh, but it was worth repeating. Worth remembering.”
“What was it?” Trudie took a step closer to her.
“You called them the pickles and the posers.” Lane touched her sleeve. “Now do you remember?”
Trudie chuckled. “No.”
“Well, the pickles were the hard places we found ourselves caught between, and the posers were the hard questions of life. Those questions that adults couldn’t answer easily. So you called them the pickles and the posers.”
“Humph. Sounds like something goofy I’d come up with.”
“Not so.” Lane shook her head. “I used to think it was just the melancholy in you that made you see things so differently than I did. But now I see it was clarity. And I wish I had more of it.”
Trudie had never seen her sister so introspective and so sad, and it troubled her to see it. “I think you’re suddenly looking at my youth through rose-colored glasses.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Lane’s expression sagged. “No, I didn’t give you enough credit over the years.”
Trudie crossed her arms. “That’s not true.”
“I was the worst possible sister.”
“Please don’t think that.” Trudie took her sister into her arms and held her for a moment.
“You once said that if we didn’t humble ourselves, life would find a way to do it for us.” Lane eased away. “I guess you could say that I’ve had an epiphany.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Trudie sat down in a chair and Lane sat across from her.
“Well, as Daddy used to say, ‘There are fences that need mending.’ I have something for you. It’s in the car. I’d planned on giving it to you in the tearoom, but I want to give it to you right now. If it’s okay.”
“Of course.” Suddenly they were surrounded by the sounds of dinging and bonging and cuckooing all coming from the clocks around them, announcing the passing of the hour.
Lane brightened a little. “See? It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“Let’s go. I have to do this now.” She squeezed Trudie’s hand.
“Okay.”
They walked out of the shop toward Lane’s SUV. When they were both inside the car, Lane reached behind the seat, brought out an elegant hat box, and handed it to Trudie. “This is for you. You should have had this years ago.”
Somehow Trudie knew. It was the tiara. She opened the box gingerly, and nestled inside the black velvet was their mother’s crown. “But you know I’ve—”
“There’s more.” Lane touched her arm. “The stones...I had them all removed. The tiara is now the way it was meant to be...with rhinestones. I sold all of the sapphires and diamonds. Got a very good price.” Lane handed Trudie a check. “And this is yours. It’s all the money from the sale, and the rest is from me. It’s so you can get that art degree you wanted. You deserve to have that dream. You deserved it all along.”
Trudie stared at the check and the large amount. “But you can’t do this with your own money. I won’t let you. I know those stones were valuable, but they couldn’t possibly have been worth this much.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You just can’t.” Trudie held the check out to her. “It’s too much. I won’t let you.”
“I’ve already given it to you, and I’m not taking it back.” Lane pulled her hands away and smiled. “And why shouldn’t I? You’re my sister, and I love you.”
Trudie shook her head, trying to take it all in. She felt so much emotion build up she wasn’t sure what to say. How would she ever be able to pay Lane back for her generosity? Certainly not by showing her the art studio. The idea no longer felt appropriate. Instead, tears streamed down Trudie’s face as she took in a few gulping breaths of air.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Lane turned over in bed and wiped the tears off her face with her pillowcase. She’d never been in the habit of going to bed in the middle o
f the day. What was the matter with her? Her clothes were getting all wrinkled, and she didn’t even care. Giving Trudie the tiara and the check had brought her great joy, but her emotions were jumbled with grief.
She scooted up in bed and looked out the window. Clouds had rolled in, and she could already hear the rumbling of thunder. Lane knew her anxiety had nothing to do with the money she’d given Trudie—she’d been happy to add some of her own cash toward her sister’s degree. But plenty of other feelings tugged at her spirit, feelings that caused her sorrow.
Lane rose from the bed and stood near the window. In the distance, she could see the lightning flash over the golfers like flickering florescent lights. How many people were struck each year while they were out playing golf? She couldn’t remember the statistic, but she knew it was enough to make her want to throw open the window and warn them all. But she knew it would be ridiculous since people were determined to do what they pleased, no matter the consequences. No matter what.
Hmm. That thought certainly opened a cerebral can of worms. Lane crossed her arms as she thought of the one man who had indeed finished his life as he pleased and had cared little for the consequences of his actions. When she’d seen, really seen, the anguish on Trudie’s face that day in the bathroom, Lane had wanted to shout at her father for his self-indulgence. But he was long gone to hear her rebuke, which was probably best, since she had some serious questions for him.
She placed her palm on the window glass, feeling its warmth. How could their father have done it—taken Trudie’s money for something so frivolous? Mother would never have approved of such a scheme. Or their grandparents. And then for their father to suddenly sell the farm, pull Trudie out of school just before her senior year, and move them all to another state was needless and wounding. Grief had turned their father into a selfish man.
Lane let her head roll back and forth against the window. But until their mother’s death, he’d been a fine father. How could such a good man do such a bad thing? Was it his own fault, or did he feel helpless and pushed over the edge?
And what about her own guilt? She suddenly pulled away from the glass, pondering that hard fact. If she’d been paying more attention to her sister she would have known what her father had done. Perhaps she’d even vaguely remembered him mentioning something about Trudie’s artwork and how it had made the tiara what it should have been. She was never sure what he’d meant, but had she really wanted to know? She’d been too busy spinning in her new world. Scenes came back to her as she recalled entering a new high school after thinning down to a size six. To have heads turn as she walked down the hallway had been intoxicating. Maybe the sudden attention had blinded her to the needs of others.
Lane thought how unusually brooding she’d become. She’d always been lucky to have more than her fair share of the sanguine temperament, so she tended to be somewhat oblivious to the grim emotions that her sister had always suffered with. What was happening to her? She reached down and picked up a pile of clothes off the floor, amazed at how disorganized she’d gotten even in a week’s time. She shook her head. Her life had become like a ball of yarn unwinding willy-nilly until it was all gone. That’s me. I’ve reached the end of my yarn.
As Lane hung up a skirt and tossed a couple of blouses into the hamper, her thoughts continued to dance around the greatest of all mysteries—Mason. For a moment Lane thought she smelled his cologne on one of the dresses in her closet. She held the fabric to her face. Could she detect the faintest hint of it there? Or was the desire to have him near her so strong that she was conjuring up an illusion? The mind could be a friendly apparatus at times, and it could be quite an enemy at other times. Was the interest she’d seen in Mason’s eyes really all in her imagination? Perhaps she saw hope where there was none. But what would she do if Mason never chose to ask her out again or move forward in a relationship? Would she be able to let him go?
God, please don’t make me do it. Anything but that. I love him. What if he only needed a little more time to see that he loved her? Just a little more time. But was she being fair to Trudie? Surely the money was enough. Shame pinched at her. Had she given up some of her savings as compensation? Had she become that manipulative? Lately nothing seemed right in her heart and mind. Nothing seemed as uncomplicated as it had been before. She was out in deep water. And drowning.
Tears filled her eyes again. Lane dropped the clothes in her hands and shuffled to her bed. She crawled back under the covers where she felt safe. Was that what love had done to her—made her into a whimpering child?
She remembered the moment of the change, when her heart had softened toward Mason. The day of Trudie’s birthday luncheon. She’d seen qualities in him that she’d never noticed before—qualities she deeply admired. There was no doubt that Mason was a man she could love for a lifetime, but she was beginning to wonder if her affections would ever be returned.
Chapter Thirty
Mason knocked on Lane’s front door. He rarely went to anyone’s home without an invitation, but he felt she would forgive him for the intrusion. Phone conversations and e-mails just didn’t seem like the right move with something so personal and important.
He mashed the doorbell, wondering why his plan concerning Lane hadn’t worked. He’d thought she’d quickly give up on him. He hadn’t shown any interest in her romantically since those first dates months earlier, and he’d made her very aware of his potential career change. But he’d learned over the years that women were far from simple creatures. They were like complex roads to be navigated with a watchful eye, since there were plenty of potholes for men to fall into. Just as Mason thought of leaving, he heard the quiet sounds of someone unlocking the deadbolt.
Lane peeked around the door. “Hi, Mason.”
She looked surprised to see him, but she also looked so unlike herself he paused, trying not to stare. “Lane?”
“Would you like to come in?” She opened the door.
“Sure. Thanks.” Mason walked into her entry. He felt uncomfortable immediately. Should he offer an explanation? “I’m sorry I didn’t call first.”
Lane shook her head. “No...you never need an invitation, Mason. Why don’t we sit down?” She motioned toward the living room.
Mason followed her and then eased down on one of the lush couches. Its softness almost swallowed him whole. He sat up straighter, wondering what he’d planned on saying. He should have practiced something. Maybe he should pray. A lot. Maybe he should just leave. He rose. Then he coughed. Finally he sat back down again. There was no reason to do the upside/downside routine. Both were pretty obvious. He just needed to open his mouth.
Lane leaned forward. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, knowing he looked pretty antsy. It reminded him of the strange sensations he’d felt when he’d given blood and then tried to stand up too quickly.
“Would you like something to drink? Iced tea or Perrier?”
“No, I’m fine. But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Lane smiled at him and folded her hands in her lap, looking refined and pleasant as always.
But he could also see that her eyes were red and puffy. Even though she wore a smile, underneath she seemed, well, distraught. And she’d been crying. He wondered what could be wrong, but he was afraid to ask, in case the matter was too private. Mason looked around at the furnishings, trying to figure out a way to ease into the subject he’d come to discuss. “Your couch. Is it new?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Mason crossed his arms and studied the floor. “Well, and the rug on this hardwood floor. It looks good.”
“Thanks.” A confused look crossed Lane’s face. “Was there something you wanted to talk about...in particular?”
“You’re right. I do...have something...that needs talking...about.” Oh, brother. He couldn’t even construct a sentence. I’ll be grunting out syllables soon. “Well, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time. So, this is good that you’re here.”
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“Well, I would be. It’s my home.” Lane grinned at him.
“Oh, yeah, right.” Mason shook his head and laughed. “I’m coming off like a real idiot, aren’t I?”
“Not at all. I’m just teasing you.” Lane lit up then, looking more like her cheerful self. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you too.”
“Really?” Mason put up his hands. “Well, ladies first.” He suddenly felt like such a coward.
Lane leaned forward. “Well, we’ve known each other for some time.”
“Yes, we have.”
“And I cherish your friendship.” Lane looked at him, her brown eyes almost twinkling now.
“And I yours.”
“But sometimes that little bud of friendship can blossom into a flower.” Lane placed her hand over her heart.
“Flowers are good.” Aren’t they? Mason wasn’t totally sure what Lane was trying to say. Was she saying their friendship was in good shape, or was she saying something else? “Maybe I don’t understand what you mean.”
Lane took in a deep breath. “Well, I know how important it is that we tell people how we feel. I was reminded of that recently. To speak our feelings clearly and never hold back.” She sighed. “Well, I’m in love with you. I am. There it is. I’ve said it.”
Mason tried not to show his shock at her words. He hadn’t considered the idea that Lane would feel so strongly. He knew she was interested in dating again, but he’d no idea she was in love with him. He smiled and tugged on his necktie. The goofy thing had him in a strangle-hold.
In the meantime, Lane seemed to be holding her breath.
Then his blasted cell phone came to life. “I’m sorry. I’ll turn it off.” Mason glanced at it and saw that it was his mother. Since he was concerned that the call was about his father’s health, he looked back at Lane, hoping she’d understand. “My father has been ill. Do you mind?”
