Every Day

by Lexy Timms

  I unlocked my office and sighed heavily. I used to hate being up here. I used to hate being cooped up in this space, but now I found it a relief. It covered me from the world just like my home did. It shrouded me from everyone’s prying eyes who felt the need to comment on my life. It hid me from all the bullshit I didn’t want to deal with. It cast out all the things that still reminded me of Hailey.

  I could still smell her scent on my skin after that encounter a week ago.

  I tossed my bag into my chair and slowly dragged myself to the window. The scruff on my face had grown up a bit longer than I was used to wearing it, and it was beginning to look ragged. I scratched at my face, noting the bags underneath my eyes that were growing more and more prominent. My hair was disheveled, and my eyes were dull. Even with their dark brown color, they seemed less full of ... something.

  I didn’t even fucking know anymore.

  A for sale sign across the street caught my eye. A row of empty shops was up for the taking. In any other scenario, I’d be interested in it. It was commercial property, and I was still under the impression we were trying to get that division of the company up and running. But I hadn’t talked to Drew since he told me he was considering opening his tattoo shop, and I didn’t have the stomach or the passion for commercial real estate.

  Plus, the shops reminded me of the renovation of the gallery.

  My mind threw me back to all those summer weeks when I’d sweated my ass off trying to get that thing up and running. I’d taken a substantial pay cut to fully pay everyone else on the job and had to dip into the company tank funds to get that damn building up to code. I did it without a second thought because I’d believed in the motto for the business and I’d believed in her.

  I turned from the window as Drew came into the office building. He went straight to his office, not even bothering to look to see if I was here. He barreled into his office and turned on his computer, but then he sat down and pulled out a book.

  A sketchbook, if I wasn’t mistaken.

  I took a deep breath and walked over, watching as his arm flew across the page. His eyes were focused with an intensity I’d only ever seen a few times before, and I stood in the frame of his door while I watched. I watched him erase and try to get something just right. I saw him turn the book, so he could draw something from a different angle. I’d only ever seen this kind of remote intensity a few times in my life, and each time was when he was tattooing my body.

  “Working on my latest tattoo, I see.”

  Drew jumped, the book flying to the floor as he whipped his wild gaze up. I stood there smirking, but I could feel his eyes studying me. He was clocking the same things I’d just witnessed on my face when I was staring out the window. The scruff. The bags. The sunken-in look of my eyes.

  But if it bothered him, he didn’t mention it.

  “Yeah. We don’t have that meeting until ten, and I finished up all the paperwork last night,” Drew said.

  “Then why did I come in to do that paperwork?” I asked.

  “Because you don’t like being out on the sites anymore,” he said.

  “I enjoy being out on them.”

  “Not when they remind you of her,” he said.

  I hadn’t told him yet about the encounter, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I needed to. It worked for a few days. I slept for a few nights without her popping up into my head, but then she came back with a vengeance. My mind wouldn’t let go of how she felt that night, how she wailed and moaned with my body buried in hers. My mind wouldn’t let go of the look on her face as I tossed her out onto the porch.

  My mind wouldn’t let go how she looked, sitting in her car weeping the way she had been.

  “You know, there’s some property across the street for sale,” I said. “Some commercial rentals that might be nice.”

  “We still doing that division, dude?” he asked.

  “I mean, if you did choose to leave, probably not. I have the option of doing some things that might help you,” I said.

  “Like?”

  “Well, I could liquidate,” I said.

  “You could what?”

  “Liquidate. Some of your stake in the company, that is. I could pitch in a little investment. You keep a five percent stock in this company, and I take five percent of the tattoo shop. You could set up a parlor over there and live the life you wanted instead of this life.”

  “What’s wrong with this life, man?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, really,” I said. “You’re the one drawing tattoos in your office. You tell me.”

  I looked at Drew for a long time. I’d known him my entire life. Drew and John and I, we used to run the beaches together when we were teenagers hitting on women and trying to teach John how to surf, swimming from sun up to sun down and coming home with massive sunburns on our backs. We’d driven our parents insane with those summer days, and when we were in school, our teachers had to always arrange our classes so we never ended up in the same ones.

  The three of us had been unstoppable, and with that kind of history comes an innate ability to read each other.

  “You think this area would be a decent one to set up a shop like that?” he asked. “Because I definitely can’t afford the buildings in the heart of downtown.”

  “So, you’ve been pricing out buildings,” I said, grinning.

  “Just looking around. You know, in my spare time.”

  “Drew, it’s okay. Seriously. Yes, I think this area would be a really good one to set up in. You’re on the dividing line of the opulent part of San Diego and the poor part. You could craft deals and things to support both communities, and you could use your business as a way to minimize the divide between the two.”

  “Or no one will come visit the shop because it does sit on that line, and it makes them uncomfortable to visit,” he said.

  “Have people gotten uncomfortable coming and seeing us?” I asked.

  “Well, no, but we’re a construction company,” he said.

  “No, we’re comforting people. That’s why. We treat everyone the same, no matter where they’re from. Our office space is comfortable, we talk to them with respect, and we give everyone the same options while being open to cutting deals for those who need them. That’s why people come to us,” I said.

  “And you think it’ll be no different for a tattoo parlor,” he said.

  “People won’t remember what you said to them,” I said.

  “But they will remember how you made them feel,” he said.

  “Drew. You’re pricing buildings. You’re looking at inventory prices. You’re one step away from coming to me and asking me to construct the inside of the building. When will you admit to yourself that you’re serious about this?”

  “Because that means leaving you here with all this. We built this thing together, man. You and me against the world. Against your parents. Against everyone.”

  “But that doesn’t mean this is your end-all-be-all. I’m still going to keep this thing going. This is my career. This is what I love to do. And yes, you enjoy it, too, but it’s not where your heart is. Not like it is with me. And you have to understand that it’s okay,” I said.

  “Do you know what the prices are on the shops across the street?” he asked.

  “No, but I could easily find out with a phone call. Why don’t I do that, and you start pricing out more supplies and equipment. And actually write the numbers down this time.”

  “Before we do all that shit, can I ask you a question?”

  I felt my blood run cold. Was he about to ask about Hailey? Was he about to comment on how I looked? I wasn’t sure where this conversation was about to head, but I wasn’t ready to tell him that it hadn’t worked. I wasn’t ready to verbally admit to anyone that screwing Hailey didn’t get her out of my system. I didn’t want to admit that feeling her skin against mine only served to enhance the truth I was scared to admit.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Have you ev
er thought about using that architect degree of yours?”

  “I do. With the blueprints and schematics.”

  “No. I mean, really doing something with it. You know, making that your thing like tattooing is my thing, dude.”

  “You mean have I ever thought about abandoning construction and opening up my own high-end architecture commission to make more money?” I asked.

  “So, you have thought about it,” he said, grinning.

  “On some rare occasions when this job becomes a bit too much,” I said. “I have considered liquidating this thing altogether and going in another direction. If I had more money, I could donate more money. Do more things.”

  Fuck, I was sounding more and more like my father, and I’d just chastised him for that exact reasoning a few days ago.

  “That doesn’t sound like you at all. You defend volunteering with your life. You’ve always told me that reaching into the community and giving people a chance to prove themselves is always better than handing them money without a way out. Hell, you have this whole diatribe on homeless people not being a cause, man. What gives? What’s happened?”

  “Nothing, but do you think I’m being selfish?” I asked.

  “Out of all the words on this planet, that is the last one I’d used to describe you, dude.”

  “I mean with my outreach. You think I’m doing it just to make myself feel better?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong with that? You lost your brother, dude. You see John in their eyes every damn day. You carry guilt around you shouldn’t for the death of your brother, so you help to try and calm that emotion down a bit. In the process, you change lives. Who the hell cares if the motive is selfish?”

  “But doesn’t that defeat the purpose of community outreach? Isn’t that supposed to be a selfless act?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing wrong with doing something because it makes you feel better, dude. The world’s filled with people who hurt others for that same reason, because it makes them fucking feel good. The opposite isn’t a big deal. It’s actually a relief. Who the hell got in your head so bad?”

  Just then, the phone on my hip rang out. I furrowed my brow, not recognizing the number scrolling across my screen. Everyone I’d ever come into contact with for a decent amount of time had a slot in my phone. I still had my parents’ numbers, and I still had Hailey’s number.

  Hell, I still had John’s number in my phone.

  “Take it,” Drew said. “I got some stuff to price out anyway, dude. Let me know who it is. I can tell you don’t recognize the call.”

  I answered the phone and put it to my ear as I was shutting Drew’s door.

  “Hello?”

  “Before you hang up or say anything, I just have something to say.”

  Her voice made me freeze. How the hell did Anna get my phone number?

  “Hailey told me everything. All the bullshit you pulled with her that night. But if it’s affecting you half the way it’s affecting her, that shit didn’t work. Now, I’m willing to put killing you aside if you come hear what Hailey has to say. Listen to her story, her side of it with your brother. Then, if you still want nothing to do with Hailey, then I’ll pick her up off her feet, and we’ll continue going. Without you.”

  Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. Anna was in town? How long had she been in town? Did Drew know? Drew would probably want to know. I knew they’d had a good time when she was here back in July, but as I walked back into my office I wasn’t sure how to answer her.

  “You can speak now,” she said.

  “I’m still thinking,” I said.

  “Don’t think for too long. Hailey doesn’t know I’m making this call,” she said.

  “So I figured. But fine. What if I come meet her in a week? At her studio when I’m not needed in the office or on site anywhere.”

  “Fine. But come with an attitude of listening. Whether or not you want to acknowledge it, she’s hurting like you are except she’s not drinking her sorrows away. She’s running herself ragged at this gallery, so much so that she’s giving herself stress headaches. Get yourself the relief you need, and in the process, maybe it’ll help her.”

  “Stress headaches?” I asked.

  “Like you give a shit,” she said. “One week. Be there or be ready for me to intervene for good.”

  She hung up the call as my eyes gazed back out the window. I could see the number on the for sale sign I told Drew I’d call, but my mind was whirling with all the things Anna had just thrown at me. Stress headaches? The gallery? Was Hailey all right? Why the fuck did I even care? She was a liar. For all I knew, her sister was too.

  But I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up, so I went to my calendar and wrote down a time for me to stop by the gallery.

  I’d schedule all the shit I had to do around it.

  Chapter 12

  Hailey

  Halloween was only four days away, and my studio was packed. My hand-carved pumpkins were flying off the ground displays faster than I could make them, Anna was trying her hardest to keep the slots on the walls full of appropriate paintings, and all the while I was trying to work through my headaches. The lunch hour seemed to be my busiest hour. People would come from work to see what I had to offer, and then they would cross the street and go eat at the diner. I loved looking over and seeing how packed they were. It made me feel like I had unintentionally helped their business as well.

  But once the floodgates closed and everyone left with their purchases, I went back into my little painting room and began carving out more pumpkins.

  I was annoyed that Anna was forcing me to meet with Bryan. I sent her home after the lunch rush, telling her I needed some space. I knew she had some bullshit up her sleeve when she told me she would do anything to help. She got his number out of my phone and called him without my permission, and I wasn’t happy with her about it. I was ready to cast him aside and keep trucking. I was ready to completely flush him out of my system and move on with my life.

  And now he was apparently coming to see me soon, at some designated time known only to him.

  In a way, I understood why she did it. She wanted to take care of me the way I was taking care of her. She wanted to exert her sisterly muscles over the man who had broken my heart, and she wanted to put him in his place. She wanted to rid me of the hurt and the anguish I was feeling, so I could get back to smiling again.

  I just wasn’t sure I was ready to look him in the face after what happened the last time we were together.

  I reached into the pumpkin and dug out the guts. I threw them into a clean bucket, so I could take them home. Then, I set to work on drawing the outline of what I wanted this pumpkin to be. I was going to be carving out a ghost on this one. A ghost that was floating underneath a massive tree. I had seven more pumpkins to get rid of before Halloween rolled around, and I was taking stock of the patterns that were the most popular. Ghosts, fall trees, and the ones that said ‘Happy Halloween’ were the most popular, so those were the three images I was sticking to for these last seven pumpkins.

  But the front door opening caused me to sigh as I put down my stenciling pencil.

  “Take your time looking around!” I called out. “I’ll be out in a second.”

  “Don’t stop your artwork on my part.”

  The accent hit my ears and a small smile crept across my cheeks. I dipped my hands into the water bucket sitting at my other side, quickly washing the goop off my arms before I grabbed a roll of paper towels. I dried myself off while I walked out onto the floor, and there he was in all his glory, Max Wentmore with his tailored suit and his broad shoulders and his light accent. He was staring at the paintings, studying them as he slowly walked around the room. I could see his face falling slightly, and as I threw the paper towels into the small trash bin behind the cash register, I felt my stomach slide to the floor.

  “I wish I could exchange artwork the way you can,” he said.

  “
Well, your first three paintings that you gave me finally sold. I’m ready to cut you a check if you’re ready to take it,” I said.

  “Oh, yes. I’m ready for it,” he said. “But every time I come in here, there’s something new on the walls. Not because you change them out, but because they actually sell. I wish I knew what your secret was,” he said.

  “How are the paintings doing that I gave you?” I asked.

  I watched him reach into his pocket while I wrote him his check. He put something on the counter as I tore the check out for him, but as I gave it to him my eyes looked down at the check amount he was handing me.

  It was over by one hundred dollars.

  “Here’s your check,” I said mindlessly. “Why is this check for so much? If the paintings sold—”

  “Your paintings did so well in my shop that people are starting to believe my gallery is an off-shoot of yours. They wrote you a check for a donation. The extra amount is that donation,” he said.

  I felt him slide his check off the counter as I picked mine up. Someone had wanted to donate to my gallery?

  “I’m so sorry that happened, Max. I can’t imagine how—”

  “This painting doesn’t look like yours. The style’s a bit brighter.” I saw him pointing at one of the paintings my in-home artist was doing. She was incredibly talented. Didn’t have her own gallery yet, but her artwork really resonated with the community I was pulling in. The painting he was looking at was a portrait of someone looking in a mirror. The woman sitting in front of the mirror was wiping tears from her eyes, but her reflection in the mirror was smiling. It was a very demure and saddening picture, which I knew would resonate with Max. But her use of bright colors to juxtapose the depressing nature of the picture is probably what drew people to her paintings.