by Gun Brooke
“Did anyone paint here besides you?” Hayden walked backward out of the studio.
“No. Only I did, until I realized I wasn’t very good. We tried growing a few plants here at one point. Tomatoes. Cucumbers.”
“Until you realized you weren’t a good horticulturist either?”
I burst out laughing. Hayden had asked from such an innocent and logical assumption. “Exactly.” It was true. I didn’t have a green thumb by any means.
“It should be used,” Hayden said dreamily as we walked downstairs.
“I think so too. I’ll get back to you about this. I promise.”
“Good.”
“Now’s a good time to head over to the Moores’. You all set?”
“I need my shoes.” Hayden walked into my living room and put on her loafers. I hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t wearing them as we walked outside on the rooftop. No doubt, Hayden’s changing facial expressions enthralled me too much.
“I’m ready.” Hayden stood by the door, the excitement back on her face.
“Want to get your stuff from my car?”
“Yes.”
Hayden seemed set on carrying everything herself but relented when I offered to carry the canvas.
“Mrs. Moore might not be able to sit for you very long today, but you can set a schedule that fits both of you.”
“Any day but Thursday and Saturday. Thursdays I teach with you, and Saturdays I visit Nana.” Hayden looked at me seriously.
“That gives you five days to fiddle with.”
“Yes.”
The Moores’ house was bigger than mine and located on a corner lot facing the park area. It was clear Penelope Moore enjoyed gardening. Tulips were already in blossom, as were several cherry trees. This gave the house a charming fairy-tale setting. Even I, who despised cuteness in art and design, had to admit that. I rang the doorbell, and it only took a few moments for a young woman to appear at the door. Dressed in jeans and a green golf shirt, she smiled politely. “Yes, can I help you?”
“Mrs. Moore asked us to come by anytime.” Hayden spoke up before I had a chance. “This is a convenient time for us. Is she home? She said she and her husband Edward are always home.”
“She is. Let me get her for you.” The woman looked curiously at Hayden before opening the door fully. “Please come in and wait.”
The Moores’ impressive foyer was also cozy. Antiques and art-deco pieces reflected the owners’ eclectic taste. White marble floors and stairs made it bright and airy.
Determined steps alerted us of Mrs. Moore’s approach. Hayden gripped some brushes and held them in front of her like a shield.
Penelope Moore walked up to us, extending her hand. She wore navy-blue slacks and a light-gray blouse, the latter badly wrinkled in a few places as if from being bunched up. “Ms. Rowe. May I call you Hayden?”
“It’s my name, so yes.” Hayden relaxed.
“Excellent. Please call me Penelope. I’m so glad you realized I meant what I said about dropping in. Greer.” Penelope turned to me and shook my hand. “This is long overdue. I’ve seen you around the neighborhood since you were a little girl.”
“Thank you, Penelope. I agree.” I stepped closer to Hayden. “Hayden’s really set on starting her work on your portrait.”
Penelope glanced back and forth between Hayden and me, her clear eyes proving she didn’t miss much. She smiled gently and nodded. “Actually, your timing couldn’t be better. Tina and I just helped Edward into bed for his nap. He gets tired so quickly these days. Especially after the visit to the restaurant. That’s why we seldom go out. It takes him a full week to bounce back afterward. Sometimes longer.”
“Who is Tina? Your daughter?” Hayden asked.
“No, dear. We never had any children, Edward and I. Tina is one of his caregivers. We have around-the-clock help.” Penelope motioned for us to follow her. She led the way through a living room decorated in a more modern style, but still with fantastic art and antiques everywhere. At the far end of the living room, a French double door led to the conservatory. Here exotic plants grew and blossomed in a multitude of colors. I heard Hayden whimper and guessed it was from the onslaught of beauty.
“Will this do, Hayden?” Penelope asked.
“Yes.” Hayden unfolded a portable easel as she gazed around, her eyes focused. “I want you over there, on one of the wrought-iron chairs. You might need a cushion so you don’t get sore.”
I covered my eyes for a moment. Hayden was direct and expected everyone to take her words at face value. I hoped Penelope wouldn’t be too stunned when she understood Hayden was concerned she may get a sore butt from the unforgiving chair.
“Very considerate. I’m sure you’re right.” Penelope turned to leave but stopped as Tina entered the conservatory.
“Excuse me, Penelope. I checked on Edward and he’s fast asleep already. Is there anything I can bring you out here? Perhaps some coffee?”
“Lovely idea, Tina,” Penelope said. She introduced us and then asked Tina to fetch cushions and coffee for all of us. Clearly, Tina functioned as more than Edward’s nurse. I guessed she also helped Penelope with the daily chores.
Tina returned balancing a tray on one hand and carrying red cushions under the other arm.
“Goodness, child,” Penelope said and moved as if to take the tray, but I beat her to it.
“Allow me.” I placed the tray on the round wrought-iron table and liberated her from the cushions. Tina shot me a broad smile in return. I placed the cushions on three of the chairs and glanced at Hayden, whose eyes had narrowed and gone close to black. Confused, I walked over to her. “Want me to help you set up?”
“Yes.” Glaring at Tina, Hayden pushed her bag into my hands. “Put my colors in order over there.” She pointed at a table normally used for work on the pots and plants.
“Yes, ma’am.” I began sorting her oils, looking at her sideways. What did she have against Tina?
“Please. I forgot to say please.” Hayden shook her head. “Nana tells me all the time.”
“Ah. Never mind that. You just focus on the portrait. I’ll be over here with my coffee.” I don’t know what I was thinking, or if I thought at all, but I kissed Hayden’s cheek. I did it as reassurance as well as with affection, and then it dawned on me and I waited for Hayden’s inevitable evasive reaction.
But no. Hayden stopped in mid-movement and seemed to hold her breath as she turned to look at me. She let go of her brushes—luckily they fell onto the table and not the brick floor—and raised her hand to her cheek. Touching the spot I kissed, she stared at me with huge eyes, now bright and wondrous. My heart boomed. I’d been so certain I’d overstepped Hayden’s boundaries once and for all, but instead she looked like I’d given her an unexpected gift.
The scraping of a chair being dragged against the bricks made me jump. Hayden blinked and refocused her attention on Penelope, who took her seat.
“Perhaps you want me to wear something fancier than this?” Penelope looked down at her outfit, plucking at the hem of her blouse.
“No.” Hayden was busy sketching using a pencil. “You’re perfect like that.”
“Why, thank you, dear.” Penelope’s eyes softened. She relaxed where she sat and didn’t ask any more questions.
I nursed my excellent cup of coffee and watched Hayden work. She drew the outline of Penelope and the surrounding flowers and plants. A faint grid suggested she wouldn’t leave out the fact that we were in the conservatory. I remembered Hayden had wanted to paint Penelope in an outdoor setting, but it seemed true to her nature to keep it real. The old structure was lovely, its old charm undeniable.
“Will we disturb you if we talk?” Penelope asked.
“No.” Sounding distracted, Hayden glanced at me and then back at Penelope. “As long as I’m not expected to answer.”
“You’re not.” Penelope turned her attention to me. “It made me glad to see you move into the neighborhood. Geoffrey often spoke of
you and kept us apprised of your success when you started out in the art business.”
“He did? Did you attend any of his music events?” Memories of Geoffrey Landon, my grandfather, flooded my senses. He had been famous for his music soirees. Small evening gatherings with friends and neighbors, one piano or a string instrument—his all-time-favorite was the cello—and he would be one big grin. I didn’t partake as much as he’d liked, but on occasion I did. I was particularly glad I had been present for the few private performances of Vivian Harding, one of the world’s most celebrated mezzo-sopranos. She had later gone blind, which might have ended her illustrious career, but it didn’t. India, who had her ear to the ground regarding everything to do with famous LGBT people, kept me updated on Vivian’s continued success and personal happiness.
“I did, until Edward couldn’t participate anymore. It was he who had the interest in classical music, but now he doesn’t respond to it anymore.” Penelope sighed. Then she lit up. “But you can never guess what he did respond to and hasn’t let go of lately.”
I had to admit, I had no clue.
“The drawing Hayden made of me at the restaurant!” Penelope beamed. “I had it framed for him, and he has it on his nightstand. He keeps touching it and looks at me and says, ‘But, darling, it’s you.’”
“It’s a fantastic sketch,” I said. “I guess you never know what’s going to resonate with people. What happened to Mr. Moore?”
“Just call him Edward, dear.” Penelope waved her hand. “He has rather advanced Alzheimer’s, I’m afraid. He recognizes me most of the time, but on his bad days, he calls me ‘Mother.’ On his worst days, he calls me horrible things. I think he forgets he’s married to a wrinkly old woman and wonders where his young Penelope went.” Her eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow, and I glimpsed the hell it could be to witness a loved one fade away and disappear little by little.
“Is he on any of the new medications?”
“Yes, for quite some time. Our doctor says they’re not working as well for him as they did initially.” Pressing her fingertips against her lips, as if to keep them from trembling, Penelope gently cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to this.”
“On the contrary,” Hayden broke in, indicating she’d heard every word. “I don’t mind listening to your story. My grandmother is in a facility, and I wish I could learn from you how you are able to care for your husband at home. I’ve been told it’s impossible for me to do so for Nana.” Hayden stopped working for a moment. “Greer cared for her grandfather until he died. We have an understanding and interest you can rely on.”
“When you put it that way.” Penelope looked stunned. “Thank you. I’m reluctant to share what our daily life is like with friends and family. They hate seeing Edward like this since it muddles their image of him as strong, vibrant, even arrogant and proud. Going from being the focal figure of every gathering and enjoying it immensely to becoming this husk of a man…It’s hard for the ones who loved the old Edward. Our friends adored our parties, and we were always honored guests at theirs since Edward loved socializing. He had a way of making every single person feel seen and validated and, God forbid, never bored. I was the introvert, the author who lived more in my head than outside of it.”
“And now it’s all changed for you?” I spoke gently.
“Now? Now Edward looks at them uncertainly, like a bashful child, and on occasion he’ll lash out when he’s frustrated for not recognizing them.”
“My granddad became frustrated when he had his second stroke and couldn’t even use the lift. He was confined to his bedroom if I wasn’t there, as he refused to let the staff help him downstairs. He didn’t trust them. I think he was a little paranoid, so sure they were out to get him. It was hard to see him struggle like that.” I blinked at the burning sensation behind my eyelids.
Hayden had started painting again, still laying down background by blocking in colors. “Nana gets angry and tosses things. She tries to speak and I understand most of what she says, but the staff doesn’t, and she pushes the dinner tray off the table and just yells. The staff says she’s hard to deal with. I don’t understand this. I understand her but not them. They’re supposed to be experts.” Hayden gripped her brush hard. She took an unused one and swept it under her chin. “I wish I was able to care for her. They say I don’t possess the skills because of my own condition.”
“Condition?” Penelope asked.
I held my breath, as I had never asked Hayden about herself regarding this subject. I was worried how she’d react to Penelope’s question.
“When I was two years old, my parents learned I’m autistic. At ten, other doctors tested me and confirmed the diagnosis but said also that I’m high functioning. Two years later, they concluded that it’s Asperger’s syndrome.”
“All I see is a lovely young woman who’s immensely talented.” Penelope smiled at Hayden, her eyes warm. “That said, I don’t mean to belittle any struggles you might go through, or potential intolerance.”
“I prefer to be treated like a person. I know my limitations. I don’t function well in crowds. Loudness of any kind induces symptoms. My mother’s presence does too. My nana used to tell me to avoid negative stress. This last year it’s been impossible.”
The mere thought of Leyla made me clench my jaws. “So this is perfect in more ways than one. We all understand some things about each other that few in the outside world do.” I wanted the other two to relax and trust in this understanding from experience. “We don’t have to explain in great detail to know we’re understood.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Penelope leaned against the backrest and tipped her head back, closing her eyes as the sun flickered through the leaves.
“Straighten up.” Hayden frowned. “Please.” She shot me a glance.
I smiled at her barely remembered politeness.
“Whoops.” Penelope raised her head. “Forgot.”
“Penelope?” Tina said from the living room threshold. “Excuse me, but you have a phone call.”
“Unless it’s an emergency or my sister, please take a message.”
“Will do.” Tina gave me a broad smile. “May I offer you something else, Ms. Landon? Anything at all?”
Now her flirtation was obvious. Some people’s gaydar ran on the highest setting. Not a bad thing at all, but as I wasn’t even remotely interested in the cute and perky caregiver, it annoyed me that my own was slow on the uptake.
As it turned out, whatever setting my intuition had at the moment, looking at Hayden showed it worked fine when it mattered. She glowered at Tina, and her full lips compressed to thin lines. She was clearly unimpressed, and had I not known better I’d say she looked jealous.
“No, thank you. I’m good,” I said, answering Tina. Cringing, I wanted to tell Hayden that if this was indeed jealousy on her part, it was totally uncalled for, as Tina couldn’t compare to her for a fraction of a second. Of course I’d never put it like that out loud, as that would be admitting to the world that I was attracted to and really cared about Hayden. I had to keep this professional. Loyal friendship at the most.
A sharp crack made us all jump. Tina blinked and left the doorway. I looked at the broken brush in Hayden’s hands and stood hastily. Rushing over to her, I took her hands in mine. “Did you hurt yourself?” Those brushes are made of hard, sturdy wood. For Hayden to snap one would take quite some force.
“I’m not…injured.” Pale, but not looking upset, Hayden let go of the broken brush and gripped my hands firmly. She looked into my eyes, broke eye contact for a moment, and then met my gaze again. She repeated this action a few times before giving up. She turned to grab a new brush but stopped in mid-motion. Her lower lip trembled as she inspected the broken brush on the floor between us.
I bent and picked it up. “You know, there’s nothing we can’t fix. In this case, with some glue.”
“And in other cases?” Hayden whispered.
>
“We can always find some medium to fix whatever’s broken. No matter what.” My promise was more than I could keep, but she needed reassurance. I knew this even if she was unaware.
“All right.” Turning to dip a new brush in some ochre, Hayden seemed to be done with the topic. At least for now.
I reeled, though, mainly for having confessed my true feelings to myself. I’m very good at denying my emotions to myself if necessary—it’s easier that way, but I couldn’t hide from the way I cared about Hayden. I didn’t want to dissect them. Not yet. I’d taken such a leap for myself; acknowledging my feelings held a personal element with traces of romance. This wasn’t just huge; it was monumental and scary as hell. What was I to do with such emotions when it came to a woman like Hayden? I could, of course, do what my nature dictated and ignore them. Why this turned out to be impossible, I had a vague notion. No matter what, I would need to keep things professional and still make Hayden understand that no woman like Tina—or anyone else, for that matter—was a threat. Was Hayden jealous, or did she just dislike the caregiver for some unknown reason?
I sat down again, sipping my now-cold coffee. Hayden focused on her work again, and Penelope seemed far away in her thoughts. I didn’t feel like talking either, so I passed the time studying the woman who’d consumed most of my thoughts these last weeks. Considering the questions I wanted to ask her, I wasn’t sure which to bring up first—the exhibition opportunity in Chicago or moving in to stay with me and use my empty studio. Then there was the issue of her legal status.
If Leyla called the shots or if Hayden declined either of my offers, I wasn’t fooling myself—it would hit me hard.
Chapter Eleven
Penelope sat for Hayden for more than an hour before Tina reappeared. We kept conversation to a minimum, and it was a comfortable silence, something I valued, as my days usually consisted of meetings and negotiations, which meant talk-talk-talk.
