Every Day

by Lexy Timms

  “It means I got Mom and Dad to stop talking about me making partner. They aren’t happy about it, and they refuse to think about me opening my own practice with Mom still under the assumption I’m taking over hers when I’m her age, but I got them to shut up.”

  “Well, there’s that,” I said. “Have they ...?”

  “I’ve mentioned your gallery, Hailey. I have. I told them that the grand opening was wonderful and that so many people from all over the community came. I told them about your classes and how you were starting up your art therapy again, but you know how they are.”

  “Meaning they didn’t say shit about it,” I said.

  “When you make your first million, we can tell them together. I’m sure they’ll talk to you then.”

  “Even though I wish that was sarcastic, I know it’s not,” I said, sighing.

  “It still amazes me that we came from them, you know.”

  “You and me both. You know who else is different from their parents?”

  “Hailey.”

  “Bryan. I couldn’t believe how different he was from his parents and how much he looks like his father. I mean, smack some white hair on him and add a few wrinkles, and he looks just like the man,” I said.

  “Hailey.”

  “And John. The spitting image of his mother. I almost couldn’t take my eyes off her. If you grew out John’s hair and gave him boobs—”

  “Hailey!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re doing it again,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but he’s permeated everything. I can’t look at my bed without seeing him. I can’t put my key in the lock without wishing he was behind me. I can’t make a damn cup of coffee without reaching for the mug he always used when he was here just to feel closer to him.”

  “I wish I could tell you I understood, but even I don’t understand what you’re feeling. I’ve never fully been in love with any man. Hell, I never had enough time to date with all the shit Mom and Dad put me through in law school,” she said.

  “You’re cussing again. You okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. My boss is giving me dirty looks.”

  “Wait. You’re at work? It’s nine o’clock at night.”

  “And law never sleeps,” she said, sighing. “I’ve got to get back to work. I love you, and I’ll fly out to see you soon.”

  “With a box of wine,” I said.

  “Yep. Maybe one for each of us, depending on where this Bryan thing sits when I get back out there next.”

  “You keep up with those voice lessons. I want all the details and a performance when I see you,” I said.

  “As long as you keep up that gallery and start coping with the fact that Bryan might not come back, I will,” she said.

  “I’ll send you pictures like I always do.”

  “And I’ll keep singing those high notes so loud you can probably hear them from Phoenix.”

  “So that’s why my window busted last week. Way to go, sis,” I said, grinning.

  “Love you, Hailey. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Love you, too, Anna. And I really hope so.”

  The phone call ended, and I dropped my phone to the floor. My mind circled back to Bryan, wondering what in the world he was up to. Had he been at home? Did he already get the painting? Did it bring a smile to his face? Maybe make him cry? I gazed out the window at the night-draped city of San Diego, watching as the few stars I could see twinkled in the far distance. Fall was slowly beginning to descend on the coast, pushing out the tourists and making way for the slow burn of the holidays. I closed my eyes and settled deep into my couch, still unable to sleep in my bed after everything that had happened.

  I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, still able to smell the faintest scent of his cologne as tears lined the back of my eyelids.

  I missed him more than I could stand, and I hurt him more than I could imagine.

  I wanted to keep convincing myself he would come back to me, but as I drifted off into sleep and allowed my body to relax, a small voice in my head fluttered to the forefront of my mind.

  He’s never coming back to you, you lying little girl.

  I woke up with tears on my pillow I didn’t remember crying, all the while wishing he was right next to me.

  Chapter 3

  Bryan

  October had finally hit the city, and already I could see the Halloween decorations flying up. Men were drawing pumpkin faces on our orange cones with washable markers while the temporary foreman’s offices on our sites had cobwebs strung up from the ceilings. I had to admit, some of them gave me a good laugh. The stickers and the banners that some of the construction crews bought and put up helped put me in the mood for the fall holidays that were approaching quickly.

  I was done wallowing in my own self-pity. The time Drew made me take off from work had been enough, and I was glad to be back out at the work sites. The foreman of our most prominent site yet had nothing but good things to say about the homeless man I’d employed for the job. He was keeping up with his drug counseling sessions and had just opened his own bank account. I stood around for a little while and watched as one of our crew members taught him how to use some of the power tools at his disposal.

  It felt great to be back out and working again.

  I hopped back into my truck and headed to another site. There was a homeless woman I’d found with a child she was trying to provide for. I had asked her a few days ago if she was up for work that required manual labor, and that’s when I got to chatting with her. Before she lost everything in a fire that ravaged her home, she’d worked as a part-time florist while going around to elderly people’s homes and fixing their broken things for whatever they could afford to pay her. I gave her the same stipulations I did everyone else. If she was on drugs, she had to attend counseling sessions and couldn’t ever show up to the worksite high.

  She had agreed to my rules, I helped her enroll her child in a daycare I’d cut a deal with, and I got her started on that site.

  It required odd jobs at first. Clearing away the sites and making sure the ground was flat before they could start laying piping for the plumbing work. I watched as she hauled wheelbarrows of stuff over to the massive dumpster we’d rented for the site, not once complaining about the pain I knew she must’ve been in. I could see her wincing with the manual labor and working her hardest to cover it up, but I pulled the foreman of the job site over and talked with him anyway.

  “How’s she doin’?” I asked.

  “She’s a hell of a woman. Informed us she can paint walls and install and fix just about any appliance you could find in a home. She’s gonna be very useful when these houses get thrown up,” he said.

  “Treat her the same way you would any other man. Give her the tools to do the job, coach her when she has questions, and don’t assume she can’t do anything,” I said.

  “Wasn’t plannin’ on it, boss. Though I have to say, I see her wincing every once in a while. I’ve been hesitant to ask her about it. I don’t want her thinkin’ I think she’s weak ‘cause she’s a woman, but I’m worried she’s straining something she shouldn’t be.”

  “I see that, too. If it continues throughout the day, just ask her. Tell her she’s an employee pulling a regular paycheck and that getting hurt doesn’t affect her job here. We have to formally document it so we can take care of her. I trust your judgment with whatever she tells you,” I said.

  “I’ll leave you a memo at your office with what she tells me,” he said.

  “Good.”

  As far as I could tell, she was happy. I saw her wince once more before I left, but the guys seemed to rally around her and really help. I could tell a couple of them were impressed by the sheer amount of shit she was able to haul in those wheelbarrows, and when I finally pulled out of the parking lot, she was laughing with some of them.

  It brought my heart a great deal of joy to see her assimilating so well.

 
I got a call from another foreman on a project across town. He was telling me the homeless man I’d employed for that job site came in ranting and raving about how he’d finally been able to move into a nice little studio apartment. The homeless man got on the phone and thanked me profusely for the job, stating that had it not been for me, none of this would’ve been possible.

  For the first time in over a month, joy welled in my chest as a smile crossed my face.

  “I’m glad I could help,” I said. “Is it a nice apartment?”

  “Real nice. Got these hardwood floors that are all shining and stuff. It’s enough for me, and I went on my first grocery shopping trip in five years last night. Five years. Thank you, Mr. McBride. Thank you so much.”

  “You just keep working hard. After this site’s done, you take your work history with us, and you start applying for jobs. I’ll write you a reference and put in a good word for you,” I said.

  “Thank you, sir. I’d like to chat more, but I gotta get back to work.”

  “You do that. I’m so happy for you,” I said.

  I got back on the phone and talked with the foreman for a little while longer on when that project was going to wrap itself up. I had people ready to move into those places, and I promised them they’d be able to move in before Thanksgiving. He reassured me the project would be wrapped up within three weeks, so I made a mental note to forward that information to those who had already purchased the homes we were building.

  I knew they’d be as excited to move in as I was to wrap up this damn project.

  That project had taken the longest, which was why I’d chosen someone who didn’t have any substance abuse problems. That man was one of the four homeless men I’d ever taken on who didn’t have any issues with addiction coming in. I wanted to help someone, but I needed them to be attentive from the very beginning. This development that was about to be finished was the first official neighborhood we’d ever decided to build into, a project that had been going on for well over a year.

  As I drove back to the office to log all the information I’d collected, my mind to wandered back to John. The way that homeless man had been so thankful for what I’d given him, it reminded me of a time where John had been truly thankful for something I’d done.

  It was the second time he’d gotten himself clean. I’d traveled all the way to Los Angeles to be with him during the last leg of his detox. He refused to do it in a hospital, and I refused to let him do it alone, so we compromised. I would leave him the weekend to do what he needed to do, and then Monday morning, I’d show up and walk him through the rest of the way. Drew had been pissed for ditching him with the company that week, but I didn’t care. My brother needed me, and it was the only time he’d ever truly reached out to me.

  I’d smoothed his hair back while he dry heaved into a bucket and held his head up while he drank water. I sat up with him night after night while he shivered and shook, trying to distract him with stories of how we used to explore while we were at the cabin.

  My mind switched over to the painting Hailey had left on my doorstep, the painting of the cabin that had sparked everything and connected us in ways I never really realized until that very moment. Hailey had known my brother, that much was for sure. So logically, she knew details about his life before he died. I didn’t know what types of details or what he might’ve told her, but I couldn’t the feeling that she knew me.

  After all, she was at the bar. How did she know what bar to come to? How did she know whose life we were celebrating?

  Did she know me even before we’d met?

  I honestly wasn’t sure how I felt about that idea. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this woman knowing me before I even knew she existed, this woman I’d fallen in love with and allowed myself to succumb to. Had she preyed on me somehow? Had she tracked me down intentionally?

  There were some people who would argue it was a comfort that she knew my brother and could regale me with stories I didn’t know about him, stories of him in L.A. while we were all back in San Diego wishing and hoping he’d come home. She probably had anecdotes that would make me smile and laugh, but the truth was, none of that made me feel better.

  It didn’t make me feel worse, but it didn’t make me feel better, either.

  Either way, I couldn’t contact her. As much as I hated it, my body still craved her. I still thought about her at night when I lay in bed alone. I still thought about her while I was in the shower, wishing her body was pressed against mine. I still thought about her whenever I got into my truck. I thought about how her hand would always slip effortlessly into mine whenever we rode around in it, taking in the ocean breeze and enjoying each other’s presence.

  But most of all, she’d lied to me time and time again, and I didn’t trust that she wouldn’t do it again. She could open her mouth and try to tell more lies to dig herself out of this hole. I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t know what part of the story was fabricated to try and get my attention and what was true. Her words still swirled around in my head while I tried to make sense of them.

  Needles and murder and threatening voices. That couldn’t be right. John had gotten himself into many things and took many wrong steps in his life, but throwing himself under the bus for someone wasn’t something he did. For all the good that John had inside of him, he was always out for himself. He didn’t want to accept any help from any person, and everything he did, he did to forward himself and no one else.

  The mere idea of John telling some random artist he’d help her with some bullshit like that wasn’t something I could believe. It had to be false. It had to be wrong.

  She’d lied to me from the beginning, and I couldn’t put it past her to lie in the end.

  I gripped my steering wheel hard as I pulled up to the office. I hurried up the steps, taking them two by two as I held onto all my files. My mind was obsessed with her as I barged through the door, slamming my stuff down as I groaned. Why couldn’t I let her go? Why wouldn’t she just go away?

  I knew what I could do. I could have a one-night stand. I could go out, find some pretty little thing, buy her a drink or two, and really rail myself into her. The alcohol couldn’t wash her from my body, but I bet if I found myself dipping into another pool or two of women who couldn’t keep their hands off my tattoos, it would erase the memory of her body by replacing it with another one.

  I could find myself a woman with long, blond hair and long, thin legs. I could find the absolute antithesis of Hailey to wet my lips with. I could move on to curvier women, showing my body it could find the same wonderful pleasures with their curves like I could with Hailey’s curves.

  That way, I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to Hailey and back to the sure thing I knew she was. All I had to do was step out into the nightlife of San Diego and find myself all the beautiful sure little things walking around this bustling city.

  That’s exactly what I would do.

  I’d find myself another woman to lose myself in.

  That way, my mind would drift to her instead of Hailey.

  Instead of the woman who had sucked my soul from my chest and drank it down for her own entertainment.

  Chapter 4

  Hailey

  Fall was beginning to crisp the San Diego air. The tourists had retired, and the ocean had become its frozen cove. The smell of pumpkins and apple cider was already permeating the air, and the diner across the street was already advertising their pumpkin spice milkshakes. Halloween was one of my favorite times of the year. It brought about so much inspiration and happiness to those who found the beauty in its costumes and morbid decorations.

  The gallery had been open for a little over a month now, and things were going pretty well. One of the first suggestions I’d ever received from a customer was how they wished they could see me painting. I’d originally set up the small back room as my painting studio, but I quickly started switching things around. I was in the process of making the original painting
studio a small shop for people to purchase things and started setting up my painting studio near the front of the store. I was exposed to everyone, which was a little daunting, but I set myself up where a cash register would’ve been in any other traditional store, just to see how things would pan out.

  Everyone coming in loved seeing and watching me paint, so I decided to keep the setup the way it was.

  The small store in the back was bringing in a good chunk of my weekly revenue. People were purchasing beginning painter’s packs and canvases for my therapy classes. They were requesting other tubes of colors be sold so they could purchase their paint right there before class began. I was able to stock and try selling some different wooden picture frames for the artwork that was selling and started offering framing services right there at the counter for those who wanted it.

  Business was booming, and I couldn’t have been any prouder.

  The gallery showing that showcased the grand opening included a bunch of paintings from other art therapy students. I stayed away from John’s because of everything that happened between me and Bryan, but there were still so many others that deserved to see the light of day. Fluid abstracts and beautiful portraits. Breathtaking landscapes and pictures that wrenched emotions deep from within someone’s gut. It only took me two weeks to sell all those paintings, and one by one, I replaced them with pieces of artwork I had been working on.

  By the third week of being open, the walls were lined with pictures I’d painted and crafted over the course of the last four years. For the first time, I got to see them all side by side. I saw the evolution of my own craft. My own emotions. My own presence. I got to study the brushstrokes and how they’d changed over the years. I got to take in the subject of the paintings and how my focus and my muses bounced around depending on my emotional circumstance.

  It was like peeling off my skin and holding myself up on a display for everyone to see, and it was a bit unnerving.

  I was restocking the back room that had now become my little store when a blonde woman walked through the front doors. Today had been a particularly slow day, so I’d gotten a great deal of painting done. She was attractive. I had to give her that. Tall and slender, with legs for days and white skin that had the slightest hint of a tan. Her hazel eyes seemed to change colors with the artwork she was surveying, and there was something about her that made it hard for me to take my eyes off her.