As she prepared for bed, Kaya's mind wandered back to Jonah's comment about her making it harder to find a buyer for Ora's house. She would have to check with Ora when she saw her the next day. Who knew, there might be something she could do to ease that problem— not get rid of the horses, of course, but something.
Ora and Kaya's grandmother had been good friends for more than a decade before Grandma died and Kaya had moved in. Ora had stepped right into the grandmotherly role and made Kaya's transition so much easier when she moved to town. There was little Kaya wouldn't do to make things easier for the sweet old woman.
Even if it meant dealing with an unreasonable man like Jonah.
THE SKETCH OF THE LOCAL MOUNTAINS Jonah saw as he flipped through his sketch pad made him pause. He could remember the scene vividly, though it had been two years since he'd sketched the picture. He had envisioned a painting of it at the time, but then Janet had her accident and he hadn't gotten back to it. Feeling hopeful, he pulled up the watercolor paper and began to draw in the outlines, but nothing came together the way he wanted it to. The lines were right but they lacked any kind of emotion, or maybe that was him.
He was tired, probably too tired to do anything worthwhile, but he had to try. People talked about writer's block, but he'd had artist's block ever since Janet died. He missed his art, ached when he saw the beautiful things other people were creating. He missed them almost as much as he missed her. He couldn't get her back, and he couldn't live without art in his life. That's why he'd started the gallery.
He looked out the window and saw the snow piling up outside. He wasn't going anywhere in that weather, and his mind was too fuzzy to spend any more time pushing papers in the gallery. He'd put the final coat of shellac on the hardwood floor earlier that day, which meant he could start setting up the displays on Monday— he could hardly wait to see it all come together.
He stared at the watercolor paper in front of him, then gave up and put it away. Not painting was eating him up inside. He knew some people who found it easier to create when their life was in turmoil— their work took on a different edge as they spilled their fears, grief, or anger onto the paper or canvas. He needed hope to create anything he'd be willing to sell, and it hadn't been in big supply. Still, he gave it another shot.
After drawing, erasing, and redrawing didn't give him the results he had hoped for, he put his supplies away. It was late and he had a full day ahead of him.
He stretched, straightening his back, and rose, moving toward the window. He turned off the room light and stared out into the darkness. Snow had settled all around them and was still falling, coating everything in white. It was getting deep, the city snow plows had been running nearly non-stop since the previous day and it didn't look like the drivers would get respite in the next few hours.
Everything was beautiful and clean, at least for the moment. It wouldn't last long, though. With the rising of the sun, people would be rushing to their jobs. There would be slush and dirt and noise, messing it all up again.
And, apparently, he still wouldn't be able to create.
Losing his ability to paint felt like there was a big hole in his chest, growing bigger as time eroded it more every day. It was why he was opening the gallery instead of painting full time— maybe if he could be surrounded by art, use different creative skills to display it, he would slowly be able to fill that hole inside him. He just wished he'd decided to open the gallery at least six months earlier. That way he'd be open for business already and not in such a precarious financial position.
Jonah changed his clothes and got into bed, but all he could think about was what still needed to be done, so after ten minutes he rose again and headed to his makeshift office in the next room. Maybe if he got through some more of the paperwork piled up on his desk, he would be able to sleep that night.
Jonah heard laughter as he approached his grandmother's door in the rehabilitation center, then an odd sound like a soft whine. Another female voice chimed in and he rounded the corner.
At first he stepped into the room, not realizing what he was seeing. Then he stopped in shock, seeing his grandmother, lying in bed, holding a chicken. It was orange and fluffy and sat calmly in her arms, making a soft clucking sound while Kaya sat beside the bed, talking and smiling. She looked up, laughter still in her voice as she finished her sentence. Her smile disappeared when she saw him.
“What in blazes is going on here?” Jonah looked from the chicken to his grandmother to Kaya and back. “Chickens do not belong in a nursing home.”
Kaya glared at him. “It's a rehab center, not a nursing home. And Bella is a certified therapy chicken.”
“A therapy chicken?” He couldn't believe his ears. “That dirty, nasty, smelly thing is therapy?”
Kaya stood up to him, though she was at least six inches shorter than him. Her dark brows were pulled down in anger. “Bella is not dirty, nasty or smelly. She was thoroughly bathed just a couple of hours ago. She loves to be held and petted, and your grandmother— along with a number of other people who live here— loves her.”
“A therapy chicken cannot be legit. Who gave you permission to bring that thing in here?” Recently bathed or not, the woman obviously had no sense. “What if it poops all over the blanket?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized they had rigged up a diaper of sorts for the bird, but still. It was gross.
“What kind of idiot do you think I am? I wouldn't let your grandma get pooped on.” Kaya's voice went steely as she stared him down. “The head of the rehab center approved the chicken, because Bella is credentialed, just like a service dog, saying that she's been trained and behaves appropriately.”
That made no sense. How could they train a chicken? “You've got to be kidding me.”
“Jonah, sit down and calm yourself.” Ora shot him an imperious glare and he sat as he was bidden. He wouldn't dare do differently, even if he was still upset.
“I love to see Bella. Kaya used to bring her to see me all the time when I was still at home.”
“You like that bird?” he asked, confused.
“Of course. She's a sweetheart, aren't you Bella? Yes.” She spoke to the bird in soft tones, stroking it with the tip of one withered finger. “We're good friends. Mr. Taylor likes you too, doesn't he? He pretends to be an old battle-ax, but he's a softie when it comes to you. Because you're a sweetheart.”
Jonah stared. How could anyone consider a chicken sweet?
“Do you know what Kaya does for a living?” Ora asked after a moment.
“Of course. You've talked about her often enough.” He turned to look at Kaya more closely. Today's outfit was less fancy, she wore less jewelry and seemed far more relaxed than she had while shopping a few days earlier.
“Then you know she's good at her job and wouldn't bring a smelly animal to me.” Ora, apparently satisfied that they had come to an understanding, changed the subject, bragging to Kaya about Jonah's paintings and his gallery. Kaya appeared reasonably impressed, though it couldn't have been the first time she'd heard this about him. He'd certainly heard plenty about her over the past year or so. If she wasn't exactly impressed, then at least she didn't seem to think he was an idiot wasting his time, unlike some people he'd met. His work might not be philanthropic, but at least art was something he was passionate about.
When Kaya said she needed to move down the hall so Bella could visit the man Ora had mentioned, he was glad. He didn't have much time to spare and he'd rather have Grams to himself.
He glanced over his shoulder as Kaya disappeared down the hall, then back at his grandmother. She wore a happy smile. It was clear she held a lot of affection for the younger woman, but Jonah didn't care about her therapy work— he just cared that his grandma could lose everything after all these years. Thanks to her stinky animals.
“I'M HEARING COMPLAINTS ABOUT YOU,” Cecilia said to Kaya as soon as the customer Kaya had been helping turned to walk away. She didn't even let the man tak
e three steps. He glanced back over his shoulder at them, speculation entering his expression, but then he moved on.
Kaya gritted her teeth. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. “Really?”
“Apparently you couldn't help someone find the perfume he wanted. He said he spent nearly half an hour with you and you were useless.”
Kaya instantly knew who Cecilia was talking about. He had been in there just before the previous customer and demanded a huge chunk of time, then bought nothing. The florals were too floral, the musks were too musky. He didn't like the light body sprays because you had to get too close to the person to smell them and the few fruity scents they had in stock were too sweet. Kaya was convinced he had time to kill and hadn't intended to buy anything to begin with. “I showed him every one of our scents. Apparently we don't have anything in stock that pleases him. I did try my best to help him find something he liked.”
“Hmmm, well, I don't want to hear any more complaints like that one.” She looked past Kaya at the stack of boxes behind her. “And why isn't that inventory on the shelves yet? It looks like you haven't even started.”
Seriously? How many hands did she think Kaya had, anyway? “I've been busy with customers.” Hadn't Cecilia just gotten on her case about how long she spent with one of them?
Cecilia frowned, her brows furrowing in distaste. “You won't be working mornings anymore. It's not effective. I'll have you starting in the afternoons tomorrow.”
Kaya panicked. “I can't do that. I have clients most afternoons. That's why I'm working mornings.”
A gleam entered Cecilia's eye. “If you can't work when I need you, then you'll need to find a different job.”
“When I was hired through the temp agency, I specifically mentioned that I have appointments in the afternoon. I was told that wouldn't be a problem, that you could work around it.”
Cecilia sniffed. “Apparently they didn't check with me first. Be here tomorrow afternoon or don't bother to come back. The new schedule is posted in the break room.” She looked at Kaya, smug, and walked off.
Kaya signaled to Lola, one of the other temps, to come cover the perfume area, hoping to get away and check the schedule. If it was just one afternoon, or a couple of set afternoons per week, maybe she could reschedule the clients. She told Kenworth's she was free on Thursday afternoons, after all. She sucked in deep breaths, staving off her panic as best she could, but must have overdone it because by the time she skirted the Hope Tree, crossed the toy aisle, and walked back to the employee area, she was starting to feel light-headed.
And then she saw the schedule. Every weekday afternoon except Thursdays until New Years Day. Every. Single. One.
Kaya wanted to throw something. Cecilia had been gunning to get rid of her from the beginning. This was done deliberately to get Kaya to quit, since Cecilia had no grounds to fire her. A few curse words escaped and she had to step out the back door into the cold to keep from crying. Why did that old witch have to be so nasty?
The air was frigid and the wind whipped around her, blowing across her neck. She let out a short, quieter scream of rage than she would have liked, then filled her lung with fresh air before going back inside to deal with life. She would have to quit, but at least she could finish out her shift.
She called the temp agency and told them what happened and that she would finish her shift, but that was it. She also stopped into HR to let them know what happened. Then she called up from HR's phone and left a message for Cecilia on her voicemail that she would have to find someone else to fill the slots.
Kaya returned to her post, smiling and joking with customers as best she could, but all of the holiday spirit had melted out of her.
She would survive. Maybe she could pick up a shift or two per week at one of the boutiques in town for the rest of the ski season. Something was bound to come up. She hoped.
Merry Christmas indeed.
Jonah stared at the invoice and wondered where he was going to come up with the money. Was there any prayer that he would make enough in the opening two weeks of the gallery to actually pay the incoming bills? Never mind the artists’ commission on top of the expenses. His friends were putting a lot of trust in him and he didn't want to let them, or himself, down. He didn't know how to do anything but draw and paint— or at least that's what he'd believed. When he lost that, he'd realized he had learned a few things at his college job, and there was this option.
If he hadn't made so many contacts and so many friends, the gallery wouldn't have been an option. Only now he had to make good on his promises, and with a little over a week until the gallery opened, he wasn't sure that was possible. If sheer desire could make it happen, he would have no need to worry, but that wasn't enough, and the prep on the building still wasn't done. He just hoped the advertising and word of mouth he'd been working on would bring people in— no matter what condition the building was in on opening day.
He filed the invoice to deal with after he'd made a deposit or two then walked back out to the showroom. The work to restore the space had finished only a week earlier, and he'd been busy framing pictures and uncrating items since. It was going slower than he had expected. Then again, maybe that had something to do with Sam— his nineteen-year-old employee, who apparently seemed to think the start time for work was flexible.
Jonah sighed and checked his watch again. He only trusted the kid to work for a couple more days, and then he'd have to let him go. Sam wasn't a terrible employee, but he wasn't exactly stellar, either, and he wasn't someone Jonah trusted to handle some of the more valuable pieces— especially after some of the less graceful moves the kid had made: knocking over displays, dropping one canvas, and breaking one side support, making Jonah re-stretch it.
Jonah got back to work on a frame for one of his own paintings, one he'd done a couple of years earlier. It had been far too long since he'd put paint to canvas. Or maybe it had just been too long since he'd been able to do anything that wasn't plain mediocre. He ached for the way painting used to make him feel.
He looked at the painting of a mother and child playing in the park and remembered the way he'd planned the longer sweeping strokes, the care he'd used to select the perfect shades of color and the way instinct, coupled with years of practice had guided his hand. This piece had gotten attention at the previous gallery where it had been placed, but it was one of three pieces that hadn't sold during the consignment period, and when Jonah had been unable to produce anything else, the gallery owner had offered to let him take them back. Now he wasn't sure if it was more painful to see it as a reminder of what he'd lost, or more hopeful as a reminder that he might, someday, have it again.
He was almost loathe to sell the three final paintings, though he desperately needed the money.
Like painting, framing was both art and science, and took his concentrated effort. Thankfully, it didn't seem to need as much of the muse as painting had, though he could become just as engrossed. Another thirty minutes passed before Jonah thought about Sam again, then, irritated, he picked up his phone to call the kid.
Sam answered the phone, his words tripping over themselves. “Oh, Jonah, I'm so sorry. I should have called, I just wasn't thinking.”
“You weren't thinking that you were nearly an hour late for work?” Jonah knew he wasn't succeeding very well at keeping the irritation from his voice.
“I was in an accident on the way there.” His voice held a slightly shaky quality. “I didn't think to call you. I'm so sorry. It's been crazy.”
Jonah set down the stack of matting samples, focusing closer on the conversation. “What happened, are you okay?”
“I broke my leg. The x-rays just came back. The doc says it's going to be a couple of weeks before I'm up and around. Even then I'll probably have crutches. I still have to get my cast. I'm sorry I won't be able to help you out any more.”
Jonah felt bad for his earlier irritation. “Oh, man, that's terrible. Do you have someone there for
you?” Not that he could afford to lose even a little more work time if Sam was already out of the picture, but no one deserved to sit at the hospital by themselves.
“My sister is coming from Albany to pick me up. I'll visit her for a while. My car is totaled. Not sure how I'll get around. Idiot driver hit me at the intersection.”
“Don't worry about work. I'm sorry this happened to you. Take care of yourself.” Jonah wished him well and ended the call. He did feel bad for Sam, but dang it, he didn't know what he was going to do without the help. Sam was only hired on a temporary basis, but Jonah went from somewhat overwhelmed to super stressed in a heartbeat. “Eighteen-hour days, here I come.”
He remembered his grandma was expecting a visit in a little while and decided to put it off today. She would understand if he had to change his visiting schedule to every-other day until the gallery was up and running. The thought made him feel bad, but he didn't have much choice at this point.
He picked up the phone to call her.
ORA LAUGHED, TIPPING HER HEAD back and letting it loose from her gut.
Kaya watched, glad the old woman had enjoyed her story, and to see her doing so much better. Ora and her own grandmother had been close friends in the years that they had lived side-by-side and Kaya was grateful for the friendship she had developed with Ora since she had moved into her grandmother's house. This morning she had needed a pick-me-up, since the search for local job openings had not been fruitful. Though it had been less than a day since she finished work at Kenworth's, she was already anxious about being out of work. It seemed everyone had hired for the holidays, and the temp agency hadn't had anything on the books for the near future that would work.
She could get through January on what she had earned so far, but winter in ski country lasted a lot longer than that, and she would definitely run out of feed before the snow melted. She had needed the visit with Ora as much as the older woman had needed to be visited.
Christmas Kisses: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 1) Page 45
