by Renee Fowler
Liam held me still with a hand on my shoulder, and leaned in to ask in a whisper right against my ear. “It moved you, huh?”
I manage a nod. The caress of his breath against my neck is moving me more.
“Me too.” Liam lifts his head and grins down at me. “I’m starting to think honesty runs in your family.”
I laugh hard. “Paige is just high, in case you couldn’t tell, but I guess she’s pretty honest as well. At least about her art.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“It’s just Foster, my stepfather, and he lies like crazy.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Liam doesn’t ask for further details. Maybe he can tell I don’t want to give them.
If I had been by myself, I would’ve left immediately after seeing Paige, but we wander around for a couple of hours. Every innocuous touch from Liam sets my skin on fire. Each time he leans in to ask in a whisper if this or that moved me, I yearn to tilt my head so his lips fall against my ear or my neck.
There was only one other piece there that moved me at all. It was a photograph, I think, of a blue-green ocean lapping frothy waves against a shore of black volcanic rock. I stand close enough my nose almost touches the canvas, and I can tell it’s not actually a photograph after all. I slowly start shuffling backwards to take it all in.
I know I’m being strange, and usually I try to hide it better, but it’s kind of freeing with Liam. He’ll leave soon and forget all about me. He’s only here with me tonight out of a sense of obligation or boredom. The thought should hurt, but for some reason I’m okay with it.
Just like every other time, Liam asks all the appropriate questions of the artist, a ghostly pale redhead with watery blue eyes. “It’s mixed media,” she explains. “It’s collage, graphite, acrylics…” Her words fade out as my focus sharpens.
I find that perfect line. Not too close. Not too far away. It looks so otherworldly, like an alien landscape, but it seems tangible enough to climb inside of and poke around from this precise vantage. “If you look at it from right here it’s-” I flap my hands out a bit, frustrated. I don’t know how to describe it, but Liam gets the idea. After a moment of back and forth, he declares that perfect spot is about six inches closer. The artist, who is named Ruth, ends up about a foot behind me.
“I wonder why it’s different for all of us?” I ask.
“I think it’s just variation in eyesight, probably,” Ruth explains.
Her sound, logical explanation takes a bit of the magic out of it for me, but only a bit.
We’ve seen everything there is to see, and the crowd is thinning out. When we drop back by to say goodbye to Paige, she’s gone, along with the other Passerine.
“A Passerine isn’t just a bird,” I inform Liam, reading from my phone once we’re back in his car and ready to pull away. “Passeriformes include more than half of all bird species. Sometimes they are known as perching birds, or song birds.”
“You learn something new everyday.” Liam gives me a smile and rests his arm along the top of my headrest as he backs out of the spot. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m not hungry.” My phone bleeps for my attention. It’s Seth. “Do you know what gothabilly rock is?”
“Afraid not.”
“We could find out together,” I suggest, before I can bite my tongue. “Seth’s friend is in a band.”
“I’m not sure if us showing up to meet Seth… It might be a bit awkward, and we wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.”
“Right. You’re right. That’s smart. Seth is really chatty.” And so am I for some reason. Shut up, Penny. I take my own advice for the rest of the car ride back and remain silent. Things usually work better for me when I say the barest minimum.
“Thank you for inviting me, Penny. That was fun.”
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I try to ascertain the truth of his words from his eyes, but it’s too dark inside the car. It wouldn’t matter anyways. Some people can lie very well. “Thanks for coming. Bye, Liam.”
The rain has tapered off to a fine drizzle, but I flee from his car with the passerine clutched against my chest. It’s not until I’m upstairs in my apartment that I realize I should’ve offered him one of the sculptures. Why didn’t I? When he asked me if I was hungry, why didn’t I lie and say yes?
Chapter 13
Liam
When Penny stared at me for so very long at the end of the night, biting her lip the whole while, why didn’t I kiss her? A number of reasons really. There are so many reasons not to kiss her, but god, I wanted to. It actually straddled the line between want and need. I lay awake for hours half regretting that choice, and half thankful she got out of the car before I could do something foolish that would only serve to complicate things further between us.
And thanks to those hours of restless rumination last night, I am miserably exhausted this morning. I still need to coordinate a few of the orchestra players for the upcoming opening night, and I want to check with the printer about the large blow-ups for outside the theater, and the programs. Not to mention rehearsal in a few hours. Penny and Seth are the least of my concerns, but a few of the dancers filling minor roles are still a bit unpredictable. One run through, they nail it, the next they come up short, but we’ve still got a little over a week to get it right.
In the long, narrow hall that runs the length of the building, I hear muffled music, and see a flicker of movement beyond the crack of the door. I don’t pause to see what she’s wearing today, and I definitely don’t pop my head in to say good morning like I want to. Penny still seems leery of me at times, perhaps. I can’t get a read on her, and I silently chastise myself for even trying to in the first place as I continue on to my office.
I’m also chiding myself for not locking my office door when I open it to find Roselyn perched on the edge of my desk. Either she is a little slow on the uptake, or just incredibly persistent.
“Was there something you needed, Roselyn?”
“Sorry. I hope you don’t mind that I waited in here for you.” She leans back on her elbows and gives me a crooked smirk.
“In fact I do. I actually have quite a few things to accomplish before rehearsal this morning.”
Roselyn’s bottom lip juts out. “This won’t take long. I wanted to show you something.” She hops up to her feet, and grabs a yellowed paper from the top of my desk. “My mom keeps everything. I had her dig it out so I could show you.”
It’s a program to a performance I did nearly a decade ago. I still haven’t decided if Roselyn is an over eager fan, or she wants something from me. Perhaps it’s both. Right now I’m too sleep deprived to give it proper consideration.
“It’s the first ballet I ever saw. We went for my birthday,” she explains.
“How old were you?”
Roselyn had to think for a moment. “Ten? I think I was ten.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Mayerling seems a bit risque for a ten year old.”
“I was very mature for my age,” She is quick to point out. “And I don’t think my mom knew what it was about beforehand. I just wanted to see you perform.”
“Well, I hope you enjoyed it.” I shoulder past her to drape my coat and bag over the chair.
“Oh, I did. Your wife… well, you ex-wife wasn’t there that night. What happened?”
Laughing a little under my breath, I try to think back. “That was a long time ago, but I recall her sustaining an injury around that time to her foot, maybe?”
“Did she ever get jealous when you danced like that with other women?”
Yes, irrationally so at times. “No, of course not. It was just a performance. She understood that.”
“Are you still friends?”
“Not exactly, but we parted on good terms.” Another lie, and a practiced one. Being in the public eye added another layer to that whole ordeal. Outside the world of ballet and dance, very few know who I
am, but within those circles, the dissolution of my marriage was whispered over and wildly speculated about, I suppose because Elise and I partnered for so long.
Roselyn flings her hand out and stares up at me. “My ex wanted to do that for a while, stay friends, but it’s too hard. People always say they want to be friends, but that’s just something you say, right? Then he started dating my former best friend. Can you believe that?”
I can’t believe she’s telling me this at all. What I find even more unbelievable is that she thinks I might care about what sounds like petty, high school drama. “Roselyn, I really do have some things I should attend to.”
“It’s Heather, if you’re wandering who.”
“Ah.” I guess that explains the icey, death stares between the two during rehearsal lately. “That sounds very… stressful.”
“And it was Jace, in case you were curious.”
“In light of that, I certainly appreciate how professional you’ve been.”
“Isn’t there something you can do?”
“About?”
“I mean, there should be a rule against…” Roselyn snaps her fingers a few times. “What is the word I’m thinking of? You said it when I kept bringing you coffee last month.”
“Fraternization?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Look, that’s more of a personal edict of my own. Those type of policies are really decided by Andrea.”
Roselyn sighs heavily. “I already talked to her about it. She told me to stop basing my self worth on men, and to put on my big girl panties.”
I bite back a wide grin and hold the door open pointedly. “That sounds like solid advice. I’ll see you in rehearsal, Roselyn.”
As soon as the door closes behind her, my eyes fall on something sitting along the windowsill. I rush over to pick it up. The grey and white feather rests inside. I run my finger along the cracked and bowed intertwined twigs.
Does it mean something that she left this here for me? I want to think it does, but when I thank her after rehearsal, she mutters indecipherably under her breath, and flies away before I can ask her to clarify.
“Don’t be sad,” Seth says from nearby.
“Excuse me?”
“Sad, you know… sad.” He rubs his balled up fists in front of his eyes, pretending to cry.
“I’m not sad, Seth.”
“She’s just shy.”
“Penny?”
“She barely talked to me for months when I got here. Have you ever partnered with someone who won’t talk? It’s no fun. Let me tell you. I used to think maybe I stink or something.” Seth lifted his arm and took a whiff. “I do stink a little now. Time to shower. Later Li-am.”
Watching Seth stalk away, I tried to make sense of what he’d said. If Penny is so shy, why does she choose to perform? It doesn’t make sense. Sure, she does behave bashfully at times, but other moments she is very forthright, almost brash. This many weeks after meeting her, and I’m still not sure what to make of Penny Abbott.
It’s not my job to figure her out, I remind myself for what may be the hundredth time. It’s better for everyone involved if I stop trying, but when I leave a few hours later, it’s with that small bird sculpture cradled in my hands like something incredibly precious and fragile.
Four days later, Penny approaches me early in the morning. She appears out of nowhere, startling me as I’m unlocking my office. My keys fall from my hand and jangle across the tile floor. “I didn’t see you there.”
Penny stoops down to scoop them up before I have the chance, and holds them out for me to take. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I thought maybe you were in the studio already.”
She stares down to where she is kicking one foot back and forth. “My ankle’s feeling a little funny. I thought maybe I’d take it easy today.”
My head snaps up. “We should have someone look at it.”
“It was just a little twinge. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Penny nods solemnly.
“You should sit out rehearsal today.”
“Okay, if you think so.”
“With opening night so close, I think it’s for the best. Maybe tomorrow too.”
Penny lingers in the doorway to my office. “I just wanted to say thank you for the painting.”
I was wondering if it had arrived yet. “You’re welcome.”
“I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
“Not at all.” It was far from expensive. I actually paid more to have it professionally mounted and shipped. Briefly I considered delivering it myself, but that seemed presumptuous and a step over the line. Who am I kidding? Buying it for her was already a step over that line. As was accompanying her to the art show in the first place.
“She actually seemed extremely flattered when I contacted her about it,” I say after a lengthy lull.
Penny’s eyes fall on the window. “Where is your passerine?”
“I took it home.”
“Where did you put it?”
I’m reluctant to admit I left it on the nightside table, that it’s the first and last thing I see each day. “It’s in a place where I see it often.”
“I hung mine up in front of the window.”
“Have you decided on a spot for your painting yet?”
“I did.” Penny fingers stroked and twisted through her hair repeatedly. “It’s hanging in my bedroom. Right across from my bed. If I’m sitting up against the headboard, it’s the exact perfect distance.”
“That worked out well.”
“I stared at it for a long time last night. I think I was trying to make myself sick of it, or hate it.”
“Why?”
Penny looks away. “I don’t know.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
I’m starting to strongly suspect we’re not just talking about the painting. “Do you want to be sick of it? Do you want to hate it?”
“A little bit.”
“Why?”
“Because if something happens to it, I won’t miss it so much.”
“You own it now. It’s yours forever.” Perhaps I attributed that glimmer of fear and reluctance in her eyes all those weeks back to something altogether wrong. “How long were you with that boy, the photographer with the ponytail.”
“You’re being nosey again.” Penny laughs lightly and blinks at me a few times. “Three years, but he didn’t have that ponytail when we first met.”
“Three years is a long time.”
She shrugs. “I appreciate what you did, but if Seth hadn’t thrown his little hissy fit, it would’ve been fine.”
“It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to fly Cate in. We haven’t seen each other for a while.”
“Is she your sister?”
“My sister-in-law.”
“She seems nice.”
I murmur my agreement.
“Your plants are dying,” Penny says with a pointed look around the room.
“I’m surprised they’ve lasted as long as they have. I’m awful about remembering to water to them.”
“I noticed. I was taking care of it, but your office has been locked the last few days.”
I try and fail to hold back a huge grin. “Just how long have you been sneaking in here in the mornings?”
She angles her eyes to the ceiling, thinking silently. “Seven weeks and three days.”
I chuff a laugh at her oddly specific answer. “Why?”
“I hate to see things die.”
What I hate is standing this close to Penny and not being able to touch her. “I should’ve gone with you to see that band, even if they were bad.”
Penny purses her lips and stares straight into my eyes for the first time since we began talking. “I should’ve said I was hungry, even if I wasn’t.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. I love that you tell the truth, Penny. You don’t realize how nice that is for a change.
”
“Because you’re used to people kissing your ass.”
“A bit.” My light chortle dies out to an exasperated sigh. “It makes it hard to know who to trust sometimes.”
“That’s easy. Just don’t trust anyone.” She says completely deadpan.
I laugh, but she doesn’t join in, and I think to myself I may have finally met someone as equally jaded as me, if that’s even possible.
This whole thing has disaster written all over it, but I find myself saying the words anyway. “When do you usually get hungry, Penny? Because I think I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
Chapter 14
Penny
Overall I’m not lonely. In fact, I don’t mind being on my own. Going to sleep and waking up alone has never phased me. Before John I hadn’t so much as brushed up against in a man in more than three years, and for the most part I didn’t mind it.
So it’s not really loneliness that prompted me to agree to this. I’m curious about Liam. Okay, more than curious. I’m intrigued, and a smidge infatuated. But no more silly scrapbooks about Liam, or a wedding that will never happen, or anything else for that matter. I’m done with that nonsense. Lately I’ve been diverting all that wasted energy into my business. I’m not getting any younger. I won’t be able to dance forever and I’ll need something to get by on.
It’s kind of freeing in a way, I think to myself as I brush, brush, brush my hair to hold off my nerves. Since there is no chance of anything happening in the future between us, I simply told Liam the truth earlier. I don’t like eating in public. When he inquired about why, I told him the truth again. I don’t like people watching me eat, and I despise eating food that I didn’t see prepared myself. I rarely drink alcohol, and I never drink coffee past noon, so we’re going for tea.
It’s just a formality, I presume. A prelude to sex. Will I tell him the truth about that too when the time comes? I haven’t decided yet.
It might not ever get to that point. For all I know he may call any minute with an excuse. He’s feeling a bit under the weather. Some minor or major emergency relating to the upcoming show has cropped up. After a bit more time to consider, he’s decided that seeing me outside of work is a mistake.
