“I was. I am.” Jimmy’s shrug sent him listing sideways, and he had to grab the arm of the sofa to right himself. “It was just a bad night.”
“Why didn’t you call your sponsor? Adam would have helped you.”
Another shrug. “He’s busy at the Aerie on Saturdays.”
“He’s made it clear he’s available whenever you need him. He wouldn’t be your AA sponsor otherwise.” Paul knew his words fell on deaf ears, because Jimmy wouldn’t have called his sponsor if it had been noon on a Monday. His brother had done this to send a message to Paul: Jimmy needed him to stay here in Sanctuary. Any thoughts he had of leaving should be banished.
Tears slid down his brother’s cheeks. “I thought I’d have Eric this weekend, so I didn’t plan anything to keep my mind off it.” He swiped at his face. “I hear you’re dating that famous artist who came to see Claire Arbuckle.”
Surprised by his brother’s change in topic, Paul nodded.
“You always were a son of a gun with the ladies. So was I.” Jimmy shook his head sadly. “You were with her tonight, weren’t you?”
Knowing how many people had seen them at the 1827 House, Paul told the truth. “Yes.”
Jimmy slammed a fist on the couch. “First your job and now your love life. I’m screwing up everything for you. I’m a worthless son of a bitch.”
“Let’s go home.”
“You must hate me.”
This was familiar territory when Jimmy was drunk. “You’re my brother. I love you. Now let’s get out of here.”
Jimmy nodded and tried to push himself off the couch. Paul caught him as he staggered and hooked his brother’s arm around his neck to hold him up. Jimmy smelled like stale smoke, sweat, and booze. Paul thought of how Julia had smelled when he had held her earlier. He tried to summon the memory of her fragrance of fresh air and flowers into his nostrils, but it was too delicate to survive the contrast.
He walked Jimmy down the hall and out the back door. Before rounding the corner of the building to get to his car, he propped his brother against the wall and did a quick survey to make sure no one was there to see them. Jimmy had been doing so much better, and Paul really didn’t want Terri to get wind of this backslide.
Nothing moved except the flashing red-and-blue neon of the Budweiser sign, so he hustled Jimmy into the ’Vette and quickly got on the road.
“Oh God,” his brother moaned as they rounded a curve. “I’m going to puke.”
Paul hit the button to put down the window. “Do you want me to pull over?”
“No, the fresh air’s good. If I’m going to vomit, I’ll lean out. Don’t want to mess up your fancy car.”
Jimmy had progressed to his nasty phase.
“I can take it to the car wash tomorrow, but you might be more comfortable if you got the alcohol out of your stomach.”
“Nah, I like it there. Makes me feel good, even though I’m a drunken loser. That’s what Terri used to call me, you know. Bitch. Not you. Her.”
Paul found himself hoping yet again that his brother didn’t call his ex-wife a bitch in front of Eric. He’d never heard Jimmy do it, and he’d never seen him drunk in his son’s company. Jimmy swore he never touched a drop when he had Eric with him, and Paul was inclined to believe him. His brother loved his son too much to jeopardize his safety or the amount of time he got to spend with him. They made it home without the car needing a wash, and Paul half carried his brother up the front steps. Inside the house he saw the evidence of Jimmy’s binge: three beer bottles and a liter of vodka stood empty on the coffee table. A fourth beer was lying on its side, its contents puddled on the table and creating a dark stain on the carpeting. That meant there were at least two more beers hidden somewhere. He would have to hunt for the stash after he put Jimmy to bed.
He got his brother onto his bed, pulling his boots off and tucking a plaid comforter around him. As he leaned down to adjust the pillow under Jimmy’s head, his brother’s eyes opened and he grabbed Paul’s hand. “Swear you won’t leave! If I lose Eric, I’ll kill myself.”
Desolation seared through him as he squeezed Jimmy’s hand and said, “I’ll be here as long as you need me.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy whispered. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he began to snore like a buzz saw. His grip on Paul’s hand loosened, and his arm dropped to hang over the edge of the bed. Paul picked it up and tucked it back under the comforter.
In the living room, he gathered up the bottles and found a plastic bag to haul them out in. He checked all Jimmy’s other hiding places, finding the other two beers and several travel-size bottles of Scotch.
Finally he sank down into one of the plastic-covered kitchen chairs, crossing his arms on the table. He put his head down and gave in to despair.
Chapter 16
I THINK YOU’RE ready,” Claire said, putting down the legal pad she’d been reading questions from. “I told Paxton you wouldn’t answer any questions you didn’t feel comfortable with, so don’t hesitate to take a pass.”
Julia slumped onto the gallery’s big couch. “Jeez, you mean there’s another question you haven’t thought of?”
But even as Claire had peppered her with questions, Julia kept thinking about Paul. He’d called her in the morning, saying he was still tied up and had arranged for Claire to prep her for the interview. His voice had been tight and apologetic. Julia hauled herself upright and locked her eyes on Claire. “Can I ask you a question about Paul?”
“You can ask. I can’t promise to answer it.”
“That’s fair. Last night we were at dinner when he got a phone call. From Jimmy. He said he had to take me back to the inn right away.”
Claire’s mouth tightened, and she crossed her arms.
Julia hesitated a moment but decided Claire’s disapproving stance wasn’t directed at her, so she continued. “He looked so…so bleak and unhappy and, well, I hate to see him like that. Is there anything I can do to help him?”
Claire glanced away, staring in the direction of a Len Boggs painting that Julia was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing at all. She pursed her lips, and Julia knew she was debating what to share with her. Claire gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head before turning back to Julia. “I can only guess about last night, so I think it’s better if you ask Paul.”
“I know it wasn’t his nephew, Eric, because I asked about him,” Julia said, hoping to shake loose some clue. “He really loves his nephew. His face lit up when he talked about Eric.”
“I think Paul sees his younger self in Eric, and he wants to keep Eric from making some of the mistakes he did.”
Julia wanted to ask what mistakes Paul had made, but she’d thrown enough questions at Claire.
Claire stared down at her pointed red pumps for a moment before she brought her gaze back to Julia. “I can tell you things that are public knowledge. Paul was on track to be partner at a big law firm in Atlanta, until his brother Jimmy’s marriage fell apart and he lost custody of Eric. Paul came back to Sanctuary and negotiated joint custody for his brother.”
Julia waited, but Claire added nothing further. Julia got the sense the other woman was trying to convey something she wasn’t catching on to. “Should I ask Paul about it or not?”
Claire bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
Julia huffed out a breath of frustration. These hints were almost worse than no information at all. Whatever Jimmy’s problem was, it was bad, but she couldn’t imagine Paul supporting him if he was doing something illegal or abusing Eric in any way. She needed to figure out a good angle to approach Paul from. Or maybe she should leave it alone, since subtlety was not her strong suit. She forced herself onto another sticky subject. “How did the phone call with my uncle go?”
Claire looked relieved at the change of topic. “He was charming but persistent.”
“And?”
Claire’s expression turned impish. “I was even more charming and persistent.”
“I wish I could
have eavesdropped,” Julia said, feeling a weight lift from her. She’d been afraid Claire would be cowed or upset by her uncle, but she should have known better. Claire had sold high-priced art in the most competitive city in the world. She took a deep breath and asked the question she dreaded the answer to. “He didn’t try to persuade you to keep me away from the show?”
“Well, he expressed some concern about your ability to handle criticism, but I assured him I would run interference on that.” Claire turned serious. “Not that I think you need me to. You’re as strong a person as I’ve ever met.”
Julia felt a twinge of guilt at the compliment, since she continued to hide an important part of her past from her new friend. However, relief also flowed through her; Carlos had not betrayed her secret.
“It was a pleasure speaking with you too, Paxton,” Julia said, forcing a smile because she’d always been told that people could hear it in your voice over the telephone. “I look forward to reading your blog.”
She pushed the disconnect button on the gallery’s fancy office phone, waited a couple of seconds, then picked up the receiver to make sure there was a dial tone. She didn’t want Paxton Hayes overhearing anything he shouldn’t.
Now she flopped back into the desk chair, sending it rolling backward as she stared at the ceiling. She half lay there with her legs stretched straight out in front of her and tried to remember if she’d said anything too embarrassing.
There’d been a couple of awkward moments where she’d stammered through an evasive answer, but she’d finally taken Claire’s advice and simply said she’d prefer not to respond to certain questions. Not that it stopped Hayes. He would drop the subject but circle back later in the interview, trying to elicit the same information by asking in a different way. He’d caught her the first time.
Maybe her uncle had been doing her a favor by handling all her interviews.
She hauled herself upright. She couldn’t let herself slip back into the cocoon she’d allowed her family to spin around her.
The office door swung open and Claire stuck her head in. “How’d it go?”
“Great! Paxton’s a charmer.”
One of Claire’s eyebrows arched. “You must have dialed the wrong number.”
“Okay, he’s a sneaky manipulator who tried to trap me into saying things I didn’t mean. And he succeeded a few times.”
“Now I know you got the right person.”
Julia grimaced. “The good news is you had almost every question he asked on your list.”
Paul followed Claire into the office. Julia’s heart did a little stutter step of surprised pleasure when he came straight to her and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. This was the Paul she understood and lusted after. If only she could forget last night’s glimpse of a darker side.
The thought shamed her. If she cared about Paul, she had to care about all of him, light and dark. As in her art, one required the other.
“Sorry I wasn’t here for the inquisition,” he said. Fine lines sketched exhaustion around his eyes, and she wanted to smooth them away. He pulled out a chair from the other side of the desk and flipped it around to face her. “How was it?”
“Exhausting. Exhilarating.” Now that the nervous tension had drained away, she realized she meant it. “I felt like we were two foosball players, probing for each other’s weaknesses.”
He smiled at the foosball analogy. “I’ll bet you got the upper hand.” He rolled his shoulders tiredly. “I just wanted to check in before I take Eric to the movies.”
“With pineapple pizza afterward?” Claire asked.
“It’s got all the food groups,” Paul said, unfolding himself from the chair.
Claire turned to Julia. “That’s why you should never go to Sunday dinner at Jimmy’s house.”
Julia dutifully laughed, but she would have eaten cardboard if it meant seeing Paul with his trouble-prone nephew.
Paul looked down at her, a shadow of longing crossing his face. “I have an obligation for tonight, but I want you to come to my office tomorrow morning at nine. With the show coming up, we need to discuss your situation with regard to your uncle.” He gave her a tired smile. “An office setting can sometimes make difficult matters seem less emotionally charged.”
She nodded, trying to hide how bereft she felt at the prospect of spending one of her precious remaining nights without Paul. “I’ll walk out with you,” she said. “I want to get a little work done on the auction donation before the light goes.”
Paul looked surprised, but Claire’s eyes lit up. She obviously didn’t know about Julia’s painter’s block here in Sanctuary. “What sort of thing are you working on?” Claire asked.
“Er, a close-up of Darkside.” She checked Paul’s face but it was unreadable.
“I can see the headline: Local Horse Models for World-Famous Artist,” Claire said. “Great publicity.”
Julia stood and preceded Paul out of Claire’s office.
“Glad to hear you’ve overcome your painter’s block,” he said, his voice low and so close she thought she could feel his breath stirring her hair.
“That feng shui you and I did at the studio seems to have made the atmosphere more conducive to creativity,” she said, throwing him a sly look as he came up beside her.
She caught the look of puzzlement, then the dawn of realization. “Feng shui, eh? That’s a new name for it.” He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Does painting Darkside require you to see him in person?”
“Possibly.”
He sighed. “Leave it to you to pick the world’s most dangerous whisper horse.”
Chapter 17
LOOK WHAT PA did to my room,” Eric said, leading Paul down the hall. “He got the idea from a TV show. It’s called penciling.”
“You mean stenciling,” Paul said, stopping in the doorway. He scanned the newly colorful walls, where soccer balls, horses, campfires, baseball bats, and dogs danced in a kaleidoscopic array. “Your pa did this?”
“Yeah. I got to pick what pictures I wanted and he pen—stenciled them. See, there’s a pony, although he’s not gray like the one at Sharon’s. Maybe Pa can repaint the colors for me.”
Paul took a step into the small room, pivoting slowly as he spotted Mario and Luigi from Eric’s favorite video game, Harry Potter, hockey skates, and a skunk. He laughed at his brother’s reference to the eventful camping trip. “How long did it take him?”
Eric bounced down on his bed, his brow furrowed in thought. “I dunno. A lot of weeks? It took awhile to find the right pictures. It’s awesome.”
“It sure is,” Paul said, sitting beside the boy and considering the amount of work and care that had gone into the project. So Jimmy hadn’t painted the outside trim because he’d been busy doing this. Paul felt his frustration with his brother ease.
“Eric? Paul?”
“We’re in Eric’s room,” Paul called out, “admiring the new decorations.”
Jimmy appeared in the doorway. “His room needed painting, so I, uh, figured I’d jazz it up a little.”
“You could give Martha Stewart a run for her money.”
Jimmy made a scoffing sound, but pride shone in his face. “It came out pretty good.”
“Pa, could you make the pony gray like Sharon’s?” Eric asked.
“Sure,” Jimmy said. “I can mix the black and white from the skunk and make gray.”
“Pa’s a pro at mixing paint,” Eric said. “He said he couldn’t buy every color under the rainbow, so we figured out how to make colors.”
Paul stared at his brother, searching for some outward indication of this new facet of his brother’s personality. All he saw was a two-day growth of beard and untrimmed dirty-blond hair.
He tried and failed to picture Jimmy experimenting with various combinations until he came up with all the colors on these walls. Come to think of it, he couldn’t imagine him taping stencils up and carefully filling them in, letting each color dry between coats.
Eric took off like a rocket.
Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his sneakers. “You don’t have to babysit me tonight.”
Paul levered himself off the bed. “Better safe than sorry.” He was still trying to wrap his mind around his brother’s unexpected artistic accomplishment.
“Suit yourself.” Jimmy spun out of the room while Paul followed more slowly.
When Paul got to the kitchen, his brother had his head in the freezer, rummaging for ice cream. Bowls, spoons, and a bottle of sprinkles sat on the kitchen counter. Jimmy backed out of the freezer, juggling three cartons of ice cream and an ice cream scoop. Paul was pretty sure Jimmy didn’t own an ice cream scoop a year ago.
Julia believed a killer horse could change. Maybe it wasn’t crazy to believe his brother was changing too.
“This is Verna Hinkle, the best legal secretary in the state of West Virginia.”
Julia put her hand out to the woman sitting behind the big oak desk in Paul’s reception area. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hinkle.”
“It’s Verna, hon,” the woman said, reciprocating with a hand covered in huge, sparkling rings. “A pleasure.” She winked at Julia, her thick false eyelashes turning the small gesture into a showpiece of drama.
“Is she typing words or just random letters?” Julia asked in a low voice when Verna turned back to the computer and began keyboarding at blinding speed.
“Whole sentences with nary a mistake,” he said, ushering her into his office and closing the door. “Before I hired her she used an IBM Selectric. She said word processing was for the weak fingered, but once I convinced her to give the computer a try, she took to it like a duck to water.”
Julia forgot about Verna as she looked around his office. A heavy golden oak desk was centered on a burgundy-and-blue Oriental rug. Two chairs with wooden frames and blue upholstery sat in front of it, a low table between them. Built-in bookcases filled with official-looking legal tomes lined one wall, while sunlight spilled through a large window on the opposite side. A framed print of what had to be Sanctuary in its earlier days hung over the credenza behind his desk.
Country Roads Page 15
