by Gun Brooke
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear anyone approach, but suddenly she just stood there. Three brushes in each hand, Hayden looked uneasy as she gazed around the room, then returned her focus to me.
“Why are you up here, Greer?” She shifted from one foot to the other.
“I’m not quite sure. You were busy teaching and I needed to stretch my legs. I saw the door was open and…I just came up.”
“I don’t like it here.”
“I don’t blame you. Let’s go downstairs again.” I got up, but she held up one hand and stopped me.
“Wait.” Just like I knew she would, she studied me closely. “Your eyes.” She frowned and moved the brushes in her right hand over to the ones in her left. Running her fingertips along my eyebrows and down my cheek, it was as if she tried to absorb my feelings by touching me.
I couldn’t keep her guessing. It simply wasn’t fair. If Hayden and I were going to make it as a couple, I needed to be as transparent as it was humanly possible. “I sat here and thought of both our pasts,” I said, and captured her hand. I kissed her palm, charmed by her familiar scent of soap and paint. “It made me sad for a while. You were miserable up here in the gym hall, yet it was where I first got to talk to you properly. If I hadn’t barged in here after seeing your painting that Luke and the others had ‘borrowed’ from you, who knows…?”
Hayden listened intently. “I was unhappy here. Yes. I missed my grandmother. I didn’t see Oliver very much. I was alone.”
“And now neither of us is alone anymore.” I wanted to see that desolate expression on her face disappear so badly, I pinched myself for coming up here and causing her distress in the first place.
“I like where I live now. I like your house.”
“Our house, Hayden,” I reminded her. “Don’t you feel it’s your home too now?”
Hayden stood silent for a few moments, clearly giving my question due consideration. “I do. I like everything about our house. Especially the studio, the kitchen, our bedroom, and the TV room.”
“That sums up half of the house, so I take that as an overall approval.” I winked to show her I was only teasing. “I’m glad. If you ever want to change anything about it, please tell me. You have a good eye for colors.”
“Okay.” Hayden took my hand and tugged gently. “Can we go downstairs now? I want to kiss you, but I don’t want to do it here. This room doesn’t deserve that.”
Charmed again at her way of reasoning, I squeezed her hand and we left the gym hall. I knew we would most likely never return there again. As soon as we stepped out into the corridor, Hayden put her arms around me and kissed me. I had already noticed the corridor was empty of students, not that I would’ve truly cared, but their absence made it even better. I held her close, and the kiss burned all the way to my thighs.
“Mmm.” Hayden pulled back a little and smiled. “I like our kisses too.”
“That makes two of us.” I nuzzled her cheek. “Guess we need to go back to the classroom?”
“Yes, in four minutes.”
I merely stood there for a while, inhaling her scent, knowing no matter what, I would make this relationship work because the alternative was unthinkable. A future without Hayden by my side would cause me such pain, I would never entirely recover. I knew this. Had anyone told me I’d feel like this only a few months ago, I would have scoffed at such drama. Now I knew better.
“A mural,” Hayden said and smiled broadly.
“What? Where?” Yanked out of my reverie, I tried to catch up.
“On our wall just inside the door, to the left. You have a few paintings there, but that wall lends itself to a mural.” Hayden looked so happy about her idea that I chuckled and hugged her hard.
“That’s a great idea. Why don’t you sketch a few ideas and we’ll brainstorm together?”
“Brainstorm? Yes. Lots of ideas.” She tapped her temple. “Lots of storms.”
As we walked back to our students, I thought of her sudden inspiration. A mural on our wall at the house—something permanent. This possibility made me feel encouraged and infinitely better.
*
Hayden had been acting uncharacteristically mysterious the last couple of days, and for some reason, I hadn’t been allowed into the studio. I’d worked from home the first three days after the showdown at the clinic. Or the Leyla Rowe Meltdown, as India referred to it. Hayden became a woman of even fewer words when I brought the incident up; she clearly didn’t want to talk about it. I was worried but had to respect that.
We spent Tuesday evening with Penelope, India, and Erica, the five of us having dinner, which turned out to be an interesting evening. India, like me, was a decent cook, but Erica was phenomenal in the kitchen. Hayden had shadowed her every move, asking questions about the exotic spices, and looked mildly horrified when Erica talked about winging it.
“You have to follow a recipe,” Hayden stated, her eyes darting back and forth between Erica’s hands and the pots on the stove.
“Nah. I have a basic recipe, but I like to switch things up. Like when you paint, you know? Once you have your technique down, you use it to create new pieces of art.”
Hayden’s lips formed an O as she looked at Erica as if she’d said something Nobel Prize–worthy. “I want to try.”
“Sure, go ahead. Pour into your palm so you can estimate how much you’ll use, okay?”
“Estimate?” Now uncertain again, Hayden poured some oregano in the palm of her hand. “This makes tomato sauce taste good.” Her forehead creased as she debated what to do with it. I followed her every move, so happy she was enjoying herself. Against all odds, the tall, strong Erica didn’t intimidate Hayden like she did most other people. “Since there are tomatoes in this pot of vegetables, it might have the same effect in there?” Tilting her head, Hayden looked at Erica for confirmation.
“I agree. Go right ahead.”
Hayden carefully sprinkled the oregano into the ratatouille, a broad, genuine smile on her face. She glanced over at Penelope and me. “I’m learning new things.”
“Works for me.” I raised my glass to her, and she hurried around the kitchen island and grabbed her own glass. Clinking it to mine, Penelope’s, and India’s, she wrapped her free arm around me. “What are we toasting?”
I thought fast. “To improvisation!”
They echoed my words and we all laughed. I hadn’t been that relaxed in years. Me, enjoying a double date with friends? Who would’ve guessed?
*
Oliver came by on the Wednesday, bringing news. As it turned out, he had to give it to me, as Hayden wasn’t interested. She waved dismissively at both of us from inside her studio, and we knew better than to push her.
“Mother refuses to talk to me. I don’t think she’s forgiven Father for interfering with her crazy idea either.” Oliver sat down across from me in one of my wicker chairs on the roof.
“She’s not…well,” I said diplomatically.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Oliver said, his voice sad. “She’s never been this irrational. On Monday evening she was close to paranoid, according to Father. He’s openly concerned, which is a first.”
“Has Hayden always been her focus? Her target?”
“Not the whole time. They didn’t even see each other for long periods when Hayden was younger. As she became an adult, Mother was concerned about her rocking the boat. The boat being Mother’s social circle of influential friends. She’s worked hard, cultivating these relationships with Boston’s high society. Being married into the Calthorpe family was just the start for her.”
“To such a degree she made life a living hell for Hayden and forced her to keep her talent and creativity a secret.” I could see how this fit together.
“And then you entered the scene. On one hand, you’re the person she needs for her school to be recognized as one of the best on the East Coast. On the other, you challenge her, contradict her, and what’s more, you bring Hayden into the spotlig
ht.” Oliver wiped at his eyes, and I could tell his heart was broken over his mother’s actions and his sister’s situation. It couldn’t be easy for Oliver to be the child completely lost in the shuffle through the years.
“I bet you went to an Ivy League college and did everything you could to please your parents.” I wasn’t sure why I said this, but I suppose I wanted him to know.
“Well, yeah. I figured if I got brilliant grades, well, that’d make them see me…and it’d give Hayden a break.” He shrugged. “The thing was, if you look at Hayden’s high-school diploma, her grades were way better than mine in most subjects. She never went to college other than a few distance-learning courses, but she did really well in those.” Oliver smiled and glanced over his shoulder at his sister. She was still ignoring us, focused on a large canvas. “I’m truly happy she’s met you. I’ve never seen her so out of her shell and happy.” He turned back to me. “Do you love her?”
I wanted to say those words to Hayden before I let anyone else know, but this was her brother and he was worried. Oliver had been to hell and back the last few weeks. “I’m going to tell her that, yes,” I said, sort of letting him know without using the actual word. “I’m not sure if she’ll ever say it to me, but she will hear it.”
“She’s never spoken of love as far as I know. Not even when it comes to Nana, who until now has been the most important person in her life.” Oliver winked at me. “She can easily express when she likes or dislikes something, but the word ‘love’…I think in her mind, it’s such an abstract word, it’s sort of illogical. If that makes sense.”
“It does.” I nodded slowly. It did. If Hayden never told me she loved me, I would learn to live with that. She showed me in so many ways that she cared about me, and her affection was very passionate and physical.
Oliver left without having had the opportunity to speak to Hayden.
The master class on Thursday went surprisingly well. Leyla wasn’t present at the school, so her office manager acted as headmaster. It was as if the entire student body relaxed and did a better job. I doubted anyone would ever dare tell Leyla how detrimental her presence was.
Luke, Ulli, and Mio had set up the classroom according to our instructions. Four objects sat center stage on the dais, and the easels were spread out in a semicircle around them.
“All right,” I said, and motioned toward the objects next to me. “We’re going to take a vote here. Which one of the objects on the dais do you want to paint? You can use any medium, any technique, but you all need to agree on which one.”
Luke’s eyes lit up, and he quickly leaned over to Ulli and whispered something. She in turn whispered to Mio, who smiled and nodded vigorously. My suspicions grew as the entire class broke out in smiles and seemed to agree on their choice unanimously. That never happened, normally, during the times I’d done this exercise.
“All right, you clowns,” I said, and placed my hands on my hips. I shot Hayden a look. She appeared calm and held loosely onto a few brushes. “Which item did you choose?”
“We chose you, Ms. Landon,” Luke said.
“What?” I wanted to thud my head against the whiteboard behind me. “That’s too funny, but—”
“You did say any object on the dais.” Ulli grinned and motioned at me, where I stood next to an old kerosene lamp. “You’re the most challenging object up there. I think you should be proud of your students for not taking the easy route.”
Oh, for the love of… Shaking my head, I knew I was beaten. If I chickened out on this one, I’d lose face, and they knew it. And I didn’t want Hayden to think I was a coward. She was entering new territory every single day. I should be able to take this in stride.
“All right. Just so you know, I’ll be twice as hard on you as if you’d chosen one of the inanimate objects. I see this face in the mirror every day. You won’t be able to wing it. You have four hours, and I get a ten-minute break every hour. And I expect you to fetch me coffee. With milk. No sugar.”
“Got it, ma’am.” Luke saluted and began squeezing oils onto his palette.
Mio jumped up on the stage and removed the objects next to me and brought me a tall stool. I assumed a comfortable, relaxed pose. They all started working, some painting directly, some creating a few pencil sketches first. Hayden made her rounds among the students, and some of them asked her questions. I didn’t realize until then what an amazing opportunity this was for her to teach the master class independently. She moved with such poise and self-confidence, and I figured it had to be because she knew she had something to offer. This was her area of expertise, and clearly these students looked up to her. She was no longer the strange person known as Rude Girl they’d created myths about before.
Reduced to an “object,” I merely sat there, letting my mind wander. As usual, it was filled with images of Hayden. I thought of how we’d spent every night in the same bed this last week. When it came to making love, Hayden was as insatiable as she was uninhibited. In her eyes, nothing was wrong or too much. She could go from tender to strong and passionate within minutes, and still she always took me with her. Ever attentive, she focused on my pleasure with complete dedication, making me virtually howl beneath her hands and lips.
I had very rarely sat for portraits or any other artwork, but as I was comfortable and not asked to hold a painful pose, the four hours passed very quickly. Hayden had kept an eye on the time and gave the students a heads-up when only fifteen minutes was left. I was grateful to get up and stretch my legs. During my ten-minute breaks, I’d deliberately refrained from even glancing at any of the students’ artwork, but now I was looking forward to it with terror-filled delight.
Luke had painted me with his usual strong, bold style. True to form, he’d managed to incorporate secret patterns showing something entirely different, depending on what part of the painting you focused on. Clearly, he saw something powerful in me, as he made me look quite superior and close to arrogant. It dawned on me that this depiction might be less than flattering for me on a personal level. I supposed unless someone portrayed me as a virtual witch, I had to suck it up. Hayden had already said what I thought, so I mainly concurred with an appreciative nod and moved on.
Ulli surprised me with a soft, stunningly beautiful watercolor rendition of me. My blond hair was like a halo, and she’d switched my chinos and black shirt to a long, sweeping organza dress.
“This is a nice change,” I said, smiling at Ulli, who was chewing at the end of a brush, clearly not the first time, as it was totally demolished. “You’ve used a good technique and actually made me look pretty. No small feat in itself. You should develop your expertise in this medium more as it seems to bring out yet another side of your art.”
“Thank you,” Ulli said, preening.
If Luke and Ulli surprised me, Mio blew me away. Using only charcoal pencils, she’d created a detailed portrait of me that was close to a photographic likeness. She’d also captured the dreamy look in my eyes. I was glad nobody knew exactly what had brought out that particular expression.
Hayden and I went through all the paintings, and to my delight, we didn’t find a single bad one. One actually made me laugh out loud. One of the girls, whose name I could never remember, had painted me as a marionette, someone cutting off the strings with a huge pair of scissors. You couldn’t see who was attempting to pull the strings, but a distinct pink cloud hovered above the Greer-marionette. Hayden looked at the painting and then back at me, where I was wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
“You have a strong point of view and an odd sense of humor. I’d say you’ve succeeded in impressing Greer as well as making her laugh.” She patted me on the back. “Can you breathe properly? You’re turning very red.”
“No wonder.” I choked, literally, on my mirth. Coughing, I managed to compose myself. “Brilliant, eh, what’s your name again?”
“Britney.”
“Well, Britney, you may have a future in several fields where humor and paintin
g skills are required. Keep it up, and don’t let anyone repress this side of your art.”
“Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.” It was Britney’s turn to go red. “I mean, I’ll try not to.”
“Good,” Hayden said.
Once we’d critiqued the last of the paintings and the students had left the classroom, I turned to Hayden, studying her playfully. “And, my darling, if you’d been painting today, what would you have done?”
“I can’t say.” Hayden gripped the brushes harder.
Concerned, I closed my briefcase and walked up to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Not yet. I mean, it might be. Or not.” She was rolling the brushes between her fingers, and I knew I needed to back off a bit.
“All right. Don’t worry. You know we always figure things out.” We started walking through the corridors toward the parking lot. “You didn’t feel like talking with Oliver yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Then why didn’t you?”
“I was working.”
“Ah.” I tried to decipher the short sentences. “The painting you’re working on—it’s important?”
“Yes.”
“More so than before?”
“More so than ever before.” Hayden drew a deep breath. “If Oliver comes today, I can talk to him.”
This I understood. “So it’s done.”
“Yes.”
“Will you show me when we get home?”
After a very short hesitation on her part, she said, “Yes.”
“All right then. Let’s go home. Are you driving?”
She gave me a what-redundant-question-is-that kind of look. “Yes.”
“Thought so.” I tossed her the keys and she slid into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes. She made sure the chair and the mirrors were set correctly, even though she’d driven the car to the school.
