Dustin begrudgingly took the card, neither committing nor refusing.
“Just…think about it. I live in Bentwood. It’s only about an hour and a half from here.”
“Oh I know where Bentwood is.” His mouth quirked up. “Just follow the trail of diamonds.” With a slight turn of his head, Dustin tapped the business card against his hand. “Of all the crazy luck.” He rolled up the window before Tyler could respond, and slowly eased away from the curb.
Tyler watched the truck disappear in awed silence.
Mitchell blood. This was the message Norman alluded to in his letter. It was never about a bunch of knickknacks.
All this time… he had a brother.
Chapter 11
Distracting herself had become a full time obsession, and her phone was now deemed public enemy number one. Mostly because its silence magnified the proof that Ty really did intend to keep the space he’d asked for.
“That’s beautiful, Ms. Eloise,” Journey said, leaning toward the elderly woman who’s room was three doors down from her grandmother’s. “Maybe try and add a little shading right around the pond so it looks like a shadow.”
Eloise dabbed her fisted paintbrush into the gray container and attempted to do as Journey instructed. The woman suffered from severe arthritis and yet came faithfully to Journey’s class every Wednesday.
Journey had begun the art lessons a year ago after she’d reluctantly moved her grandmother into Yellowtree–a nursing facility specializing in neurological disabilities. It had been the toughest decision she’d ever had to make, and one that should have been made by her father. But Timothy Hawthorn was too busy at the time with his hidden affair to bother with such trivial decisions. As long as his aging mother funded his business and extracurricular activities, he really had no use for her.
Journey, however, loved her nana like a second mother and this time with her, even if she had to pretend to be just an art teacher, was too precious to waste. Alzheimer’s was stealing more and more pieces of her grandmother’s fragile mind, the only deteriorating part of her otherwise healthy sixty-eight-year-old body.
“Like this?” Eloise asked.
“Perfect.” Journey rubbed the sweet woman’s silk-covered back and continued on around the circle. Being around art, watching her students, young or old, find that picture within, was always a solace for her hurting soul. What did they say? Those who can’t do, teach. She’d been living out that phrase for over a year.
Stopping next to the only male in her group, Journey surveyed his work. “Wow, Ralph, you’ve improved so much this week. Good job.” He held the brush like a professional, his dark olive skin wrinkled at his knuckles like grooves in wood. As usual, Ralph had painted his daughter, Alma. She was the only relative he could still recognize, though at times he called her by his late wife’s name.
Journey stared at Ralph’s painted memory—a beautiful brunette in a flowing red gown. Her Quinceañera, he’d once explained, though today, he hadn’t bothered to speak at all. Journey often wondered what it would be like to have a doting father whose best memory was of her.
She continued on, checking resident after resident until she reached her grandmother’s chair. Victoria Hawthorne looked regal as always, even in the tarp-like apron she wore over her fine salmon-colored blouse. The resident beautician kept her hair colored a pale blond and gave her a vintage cut that hung to her shoulders in billowing curls.
Nana had chosen to paint her usual—crimson-colored roses—and a blanket of disappointment fell over Journey at the sight. Unlike the other residents, her grandmother never painted from memory. She simply imitated the beauty she saw through the adjacent glass windows overlooking the lavish gardens. Gardens she was instructed to never walk through with her grandmother as the risk of unsupervised wandering was too great. Although Journey doubted any of the residents would get too far, not with the entire building rigged with security cameras and alarms at every exit.
“That’s lovely, Nana,” Journey placed a careful hand on her shoulder, and the familiar scent of orange blossom took her back to when she was ten and would give her grandmother ghastly makeovers with sinfully expensive supplies, yet Nana never complained. “Wonderful choice of color.”
“My dining room is this color,” she said, brushing a spot of green by the red petal. It had been twelve years since her dining room was painted red. Her grandmother used to bring in a new interior designer every couple of years. To stay current, she’d say. Now the room was a putrid gray, a choice by Journey’s thirty-three year old stepmother.
“What other rooms do you remember?” Journey urged, pushing away the sharp burst of anger that came every time she thought of her father’s wife.
“A blue carpet,” she said, her brows pinched. “Somewhere….”
“In the bathroom, next to your claw-foot tub.” The same one Journey had bathed in most of her childhood.
“Yes!” She touched her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry, dear. What is your name again?”
“Journey.”
“Yes, of course.”
Journey pulled up a chair and swallowed the lump in her throat. There was a time when she could tell her grandmother anything and she would know exactly what to say, always with great wisdom. Until today, she hadn’t understood Ty’s anger, but now, looking at the aging blue eyes of her grandmother who rarely remembered her, Journey realized that her life would be so much less without this woman in it. And she’d robbed Ty of his grandfather.
“Do you remember anything else?” Journey whispered.
Her grandmother paused and studied Journey’s face long enough that maybe today she would recognize her, but her gaze landed on the locket around her throat. “Oh, how lovely. I had a locket once. My sweet Ronny gave it to me as a wedding gift.”
“Did it look like this one?” Journey lifted the rose and yellow gold octagon locket. Diamonds were embedded in the etched floral design, offering a uniqueness only an heirloom could provide. Her grandmother had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday and told her the antique piece would strengthen the love of any couple that was placed inside. That very night, she’d slid a picture of her and Ty inside the locket. She was still waiting for her grandmother’s words to be true.
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t really remember.” Her grandmother turned back to her painting, and Journey sadly tucked the necklace back inside her shirt.
Their time was almost up and the orderlies would be in soon to clean up and escort their patients back to their rooms. Journey preferred to walk her grandmother herself, but only on the good days. The confusion was too much otherwise.
Minutes later, the facility director entered and clapped her hands. “Okay everyone, it’s time to get cleaned up for dinner. The chef has a special treat for you tonight.”
Like programmed robots, the group slowly set down their supplies, eager to move on to the next activity. Journey watched as her grandmother stood and untied her apron. She was one of the few residents who didn’t need physical support. A vicious reminder that if her mind hadn’t succumbed to the disease, her grandmother would still be the energetic, vivacious woman she remembered. Instead she was disappearing, slipping right through Journey’s desperate fingers.
The residents filtered out of the room, her grandmother at the rear, not even bothering to tell her goodbye. And why should she? To her, Journey was a stranger, just a polite young girl who came to help them paint once a week. Whatever love she’d once felt from her nana was, like everything else, a cruel memory.
She gripped her grandmother’s canvas, staring at the crooked vines and blobs of red paint. It wasn’t even a picture, just a blurred regurgitation of something that should be clear, yet never would be again.
A rush of anger slammed against her chest so crippling she thought she might scream against the injustice of it all.
For her grandmother—robbed of the life she was meant to live.
For Ty—unwilling to open up
his heart.
For her father—abandoning her under the pretense of love.
And for herself—letting all the things she couldn’t control rob her of her most precious gift – Art.
Grabbing keys from her purse, Journey fled the building, not even bothering to sign out on the visitors’ log. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she sped into the parking lot of her school. The principal’s car was there, along with the new athletic director’s truck. Knowing the hours they kept, she’d have plenty of time to do what she hadn’t had the courage to do in over a year.
Fogged by emotion, she stormed down the empty hallway to her classroom and flung open the storage closet at the far end of the room. In the back, covered in cloth, sat the only ten paintings she’d allowed herself to keep.
Forcing herself to continue, Journey lifted the white sheet and pulled out the last canvas she’d ever worked on. The lines were jagged, the colors dark and dreary, the tone ominous and desperate.
She set it down almost as quickly as she lifted it. She wasn’t ready to go there yet. Not to that painting. Not to that time. Replacing the sheet, Journey fought the bubble of panic in her chest.
There was a time when art was untarnished, when it brought joy, safety and peace to her heart. When everything else in her life faltered, it was the one thing she could truly count on.
What if it never felt that way again?
Another fear she refused to linger on.
On the shelf behind her lay the white, untouched canvases she used with her students. Taking one from the top, Journey forced herself out of the closet and to the easel at the front of the class. The one she used to demonstrate various brush techniques.
Carefully, she set the canvas in place and stared at the endless possibilities. Her heart slowed as swarms of color barreled through her mind.
And for the briefest of moments, she felt a wave of hope.
What if the feeling stayed exactly the same? What if it was better? What if all the hurt she’d been through these last couple of years could be turned into something beautiful?
She tugged a stool over, never taking her eyes from the blank canvas. Then her hands took over, eager, as if they’d been waiting forever for this moment. She mixed and poured, separated and lightened, until finally, her brush dipped into a soft pale yellow and made its first stroke against the void.
Chapter 12
The sun had set by the time Tyler finished unloading the last box. He’d been working like a slave, non-stop, without breaks, spurred on by a rage that wouldn’t calm.
He pulled down the storage door and clicked the padlock. A brother. A real, flesh and blood, brother. Not a close friend, not a label he’d picked because it made him feel like he mattered, but a real family.
His mind kept replaying the same question: Did the Kinders know about Dustin? He shook his head, unable to even consider the depth of that betrayal.
After returning the U-Haul and grabbing a quick shower, Tyler jumped in his car and headed to Beck’s office. Whatever hesitation he’d had last night was gone. He wanted the whole truth. And he wanted it now.
The two-story headquarters was on the edge of Bentwood, off highway 71, surrounded by cypress trees and undeveloped land. Tyler swerved into one of the many open parking spaces going triple what he should. Lighter fluid ran through his veins, urging his body to strike a match.
The exterior doors were locked tight, the reception empty long ago. Tyler scanned his ID badge, twice, unlocking the inner office barriers and stalked down the dim hallway. He rounded the corner, feeling like a torpedo as he passed the closed door of his own abandoned office, and propelled upstairs toward the executive suites. Beck’s new promotion came with a rock star location only two doors from his dad’s.
The double etched glass doors felt as if they were on the opposite end of a long tunnel, not a few feet away. He shoved them open, anger reverberating between his muscles and bones. Without even a glance to Mr. Kinder’s closed door, Tyler burst into Beck’s new corner suite, his steps as quick as his pulse.
The entire room throbbed with the same chaos in his mind.
Beck’s mahogany desk was cluttered with spreadsheets and color graphs. Two large file boxes sat near the corner. Paper fanned around each side. Beck’s office was usually meticulous to the point of obsession.
The door slammed. “You must have read my mind.” Beck walked past him to the opposite side of the desk. His cheeks were red, his hair sticking up like he’d been nervously tugging at it. “I was just about to call you.” Beck dropped into his chair. “Pierson walked. Said he was signing with Baker.”
Tyler lowered himself in a chair opposite him. The anger had turned into an eerie calm. The center of a hurricane before the eye wall strikes again. “Does your dad know?”
“No, and I have no intention of disrupting his vacation to tell him. I can fix this. If I put enough data together, I can show Mr. Pierson why we cost more. I can convince him to stay.”
He watched his friend shuffle papers around his desk, frantically looking for an answer that wasn’t there. “Some things can’t be fixed, Beck. Some things are too huge to get a take back.”
He put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his temples. “Are you using some kind of sales metaphor, because honestly, I can’t process anything right now.”
“No, it’s not a sales metaphor. Nor am I here to discuss George Pierson.” There were a million questions in his head. Questions that belonged to a sixteen year old kid who wasn’t given a choice. “I went to Elgin to pick up my grandfather’s stuff.”
Beck’s fingers stilled. “Oh…you did? How was it?”
“Enlightening.” Tyler swallowed carefully. “Turns out I have a brother.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He showed up at the house.” Tyler went on to recount the interaction he’d had with Dustin outside his grandfather’s garage.
Beck swiveled his chair back and forth with an unnerving tick. “Ty, I know you want to believe this guy, but I gotta tell you, this whole situation is sending me all kinds of red flags.”
His chest burned. “Did you know about him?”
“Who?”
“Dustin. Did you know I had a brother?”
“Of course not, how would I know that?” Beck’s voice hitched and he stared at Tyler like he was going mad.
“You knew my grandfather tried to see me. And don’t even try to play dumb. Journey already told me what you saw.” Tyler reached in his pocket and tossed the letter on Beck’s desk.
Beck opened it slowly, his eyes bouncing left then right as he read the handwriting. Without a word, he folded it back up. Set it down on the desk. “You’d only been in our house for a couple of months and you were finally starting to heal. Dad just wanted you to have a safe place to live.”
“It wasn’t his call to make!” Jaw clenched, Tyler squeezed his knee with his hand so he wouldn’t pound it on the desk. “It was mine.”
“You were sixteen,” Beck fired back. “What you did expect him to do? Hand you over to an intoxicated lunatic whose only reason for tracking you down was extortion? You’re lucky dad intervened. He probably saved your life.”
The air turned cold. “What do you mean…extortion?”
Beck flinched as if he just realized what he’d said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Tyler shot forward. “Beck, if you have any respect for me at all, you will tell me everything you know.”
Neither one of them blinked as they stared at each other.
“Fine.” Beck stood and anxiously paced. “He said he’d been in touch with your mom. I don’t know how, but he knew you here living with us and he knew we were wealthy.” He paused by the window. “The minute Dad got him outside, he started negotiating.”
“Why would he even have leverage?”
“Because he was your next of kin. With your mom being deceased, he could have petitioned the State for legal guardianship and he would have won.”
Vibrating with frustration, Tyler grabbed the handwritten note off the desk and shook it. “He said he tried to do the right thing. He said your dad ran him off.”
“Maybe his intentions were good at first, but by the time he got to Dad, they were very, very skewed.”
Tyler closed his eyes, fought back the nausea. “How much?”
Beck hesitated.
“Beck.”
A sigh and then, “$15,000 to leave you alone and to sign a nondisclosure so that if anyone else tried to find you, he wouldn’t divulge your location.”
“Are you saying your father bought me?” Pain leaked from his voice before he could stop it. He’d been reduced to a commodity. If he hadn’t worshiped the Kinders, hadn’t behaved like the perfect houseguest, would they have changed their mind? Traded him for the next appropriate substitute?
“It wasn’t like that.” Beck sat back in his chair, the weight of the universe visible on his shoulders. “You’re part of our family. We wanted to protect you.”
“Fine…you wanted to protect me then. I’ll buy it. But why not tell me five years ago? Two years ago? I haven’t been that messed up teenager in a long time.”
“Honestly, I never thought you’d care.” Beck lowered his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t you realize what you have? People worship you, everything you touch is a success. You have a beautiful woman who loves you, who would marry you tomorrow if you asked her. You have my dad’s respect, which we both know is impossible to earn. How in the world could that not be enough for you?”
“I’m not you, Beck. This amazing life you think you gave me…it’s not MINE.” Tyler rose to his feet and walked to the door. On the outside he was rigid as stone, but the sixteen-year-old on the inside had collapsed into tears. Buckets of tears. Tears he had no capacity to shed. Not when every day seemed to expose a new layer of secrets.
Chapter 13
Caroline was beyond exhausted. Her feet ached, her muscles screamed at her for overusing them the last few days, and her mind couldn’t focus on anything. Not even the idea of rummaging for food in her mostly empty pantry.
Until I Knew Myself (Bentwood Book 1) Page 9
