Fade to Blue

by Julie Carobini

  Shocked laughter flew out of me. “What?”

  He leaned one scrawny arm on my worktable and dipped his head to the side, his eyes bobbing at me through his spectacles. Except his hand slipped and caught the bottom edge of a glass dish of shavings, sending it crashing to the concrete floor. Shards of glass mixed with dried paint shavings scattered like pollen.

  “Oops.” Timo continued to lean against the table, his sickly grin unnerving.

  I tied the bow at the back of my apron. “Are you planning to clean that up?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “I know there’s a whisk broom around here somewhere . . .” I muttered. As I pushed past him, he grabbed my arm with bony fingers. I twisted back to face him and yanked myself from his grasp. I rubbed the skin on my forearm. “What do you think you’re doing? Are you out of your mind?”

  He jerked straight up and jammed his hands into his pockets. That disturbing smile melted until his face resembled a poorly carved jack-o-lantern. “I–I thought you were, you know, sending me signals.” He hung his head like a naughty child.

  I crossed my arms and looked into the studio’s rafters. Lord, why do I continue to have bad encounters with men? I glanced at Timo. And boys?

  With no answer forthcoming, I mustered up a deep breath and pushed it back out, determined to turn this kid around. “Timo, let me give you some advice. Number one: Engaging in passing conversations with a girl does not mean she’s into you; she’s just being polite. Number two: Unless you want to have to call your mother from prison, never grab a girl unless she requests that you do so. And number three: When a girl asks how she looks, the word fine is never an appropriate response.” I uncrossed my arms and brushed a stray hair from my face with the back of my hand. “Consider that last one a freebie.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And number four: Never, ever call a woman in her twenties—even one who is slightly older than you—ma’am. In fact, why not drop that word from your vocabulary altogether, hmm?”

  He nodded, eyes wide like a skittish puppy during a thunderstorm. He turned tail and jogged to the exit, stumbling over his exceedingly long pant legs.

  After he left, I swept up every sign of him, then filled a kettle with water, set it on the small stove against the wall, and switched on the burner. Strange day. Was it just this morning that I bounded in here like a kindergartner on her first day at school? Mercy, things had gone awry.

  I grabbed a chai tea bag and plopped it into my mug, tapping an impatient foot as I waited. How dare Seth say he still didn’t trust me? We were kids. Couldn’t he see how much I’d grown since our teenage years? The concept of telling him the dirty details of Len’s past—which incidentally was my past too—made me ill. Maybe I should have spilled some details so he might better understand the tough decisions I’ve had to make.

  The kettle whistled and I switched off the fire. I filled my mug with scalding liquid, then added two squirts of honey and some fake creamer. After giving the tea a quick stir, I sipped it, my mind still a hundred paces away.

  Seth may not be aware of the reason behind my singleness, but couldn’t he see how hard I worked to make a decent life for Jer and myself?

  Maybe not. Gingerly, I blew on my chai tea and took a slow sip, its spicy flavor heating me from the inside. I stared into the expanse of emptiness before me, the creak of the studio door registering as an afterthought.

  “Suz?”

  I blinked and turned to see Seth peeking through the gap. “Hi.”

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. As he approached, he glanced around the airy space, looking for what I didn’t know. The walls stretched wide and blank, empty as a street after the sweeper had gone by. “Saw your car here and thought you might have decided to work late.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I’m planning to get back to it after my tea.” I took another sip, wishing he hadn’t decided to come here, bringing judgment along with him, and yet wondering what he wanted.

  He cleared his throat. “Well. Since I was here, I figured I’d check on you. You know, since you’re all alone up here.”

  Check on me? This from the man who so blithely stated he’d never trust me again? There would always be some things I would never understand. I remembered the teakettle on the stove. “Can I offer you a cup?”

  He shook his head. “Thanks. No. I’m good.”

  I watched him over my mug, waiting. Was it always up to me to herd along the conversation?

  “So . . .” he said.

  I tilted my head to the side. “Yes?”

  “You enjoyed the tour then?”

  My nod included a noncommittal shrug. “It’s always helpful to get a feel for the life behind the art.”

  He nodded the way some people do—as if they understand—then he paused and shook his head. “Okay, I tried.” A single laugh escaped him. “But I’m not sure what you mean.”

  I set down my mug. “Sometime after you left, I started painting art on people’s walls. As a hobby. Sometimes they knew what they wanted, like my friend Renee who asked for a daisy on her ceiling. Most of the time, though, it helped to spend some time walking around their homes. I usually could figure out what they wanted even before they knew.”

  He moved closer. “So you’re going to suggest adding a mural to Hearst’s place?”

  I allowed myself a smile at this, but just a small one. “Not a chance.” My eyes found his. I waited a beat and then blurted, “Was there something you wanted?”

  He blinked several times, his gaze falling to the ground before he raised his chin and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve got some questions for you, Suz.”

  “Really.” I sat back against the wall, keeping my eyes level with his. “Ask away.”

  “It’s about the elephant in the, uh, art studio.” He glanced around. “So to speak.”

  “You’re going to have to tell me what you’re asking.”

  “It’s hard.”

  I swallowed, sympathy whittling away at my pride. Still, I waited.

  He released a harsh sigh. “What happened between you and . . . that guy?”

  Here it comes. “Len?”

  His shoulders drooped. “You’re saying I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Don’t put words into my mouth.” My forehead bunched. “I never said that.”

  He looked almost forlorn, waiting for my answer. “So?” His expression took me back to that day on the porch when I refused to join him on his crazy adventure. Surely he was long over that.

  “We divorced last year.” I raised the tepid mug of tea to my lips in an effort to buy some time. How much did I want Seth to know about what happened with Len? Did I want him to know that I’d chosen a man to give me stability in life, only to have him pull my very foundation from under me? “Jeremiah and I came out here to live with Gage. Of course, you probably already guessed that.”

  He rocked forward and back, eyes down, as if thinking of his next line. Would it be sympathetic? Or an attack?

  He raised his head. “You’ve had it rough, then.”

  For the first time in months, pressure built behind my eyes. I blinked it away. I had already been through the shock and pain of Len’s betrayal. I had already climbed out of the pit of depression followed by the wallowing that comes from being rejected by a man I trusted with every part of me. Somehow, though, seeing my old friend—my first love, really—standing before me, offering pity, threatened to rupture the dam I’d worked hard to erect.

  “I guess Gage is a father figure to your son now.”

  I swallowed hard to erase all trace of tears. “He really is.”

  Seth relaxed his shoulders and walked toward me. He slid onto the stool next to me. “Can you tell me what caused you to run?”

  You mean ‘this time’? I could see it in his eyes. Seth had made up his own mind about who made the decision to end our marriage. And why shouldn’t I have? Not only had Len broken my trust by committing his crimes, but he ch
eated on me. Over and over again. Even the most devout Christian could support that decision. At least I hoped so.

  If I had actually been the one to make the decision.

  Len said he loved someone else and wanted to marry her behind prison gates. Although our marriage had ended long before the papers had been signed. Remembering the sting of his letter all those months ago never failed to inflict another gash to the wound.

  I pulled myself out of my trance to find Seth staring at me. “I don’t need to defend myself to you, but if you really want to know, Len wanted the divorce. Not me.” At least, not at first.

  He winced and I didn’t know if he did that on my behalf, or because he realized how much I had loved my husband. The expression of hurt on his face lingered for a long while. And then he reached over and laid his hand on mine. His skin felt warm and strong, like comfort wrapped up in his touch, and I gave in to it, allowing my eyes to close. I didn’t feel any need to fill the quiet with words and, as usual, neither did Seth.

  I opened my eyes, hoping to see again a glimmer of our old friendship in his. “Thanks for caring, Seth. I appreciate that.”

  He dragged his hand away, leaving my skin to cool. “I’ve been there.”

  I tipped my head to the side. “Really?”

  He shrugged and looked away. “Don’t talk about it much, but I know what it’s like to make mistakes you can never take back.” He glanced back at me. “Just didn’t want you to be overcome with guilt.”

  I shrunk back. “Why would I be?”

  “I’m trying to offer some support here.”

  “But why do you think I should be the one overcome with guilt? Len left me.”

  “I heard that. But people in love don’t just up and leave. Not unless they’ve got a reason.”

  Sarcasm rose like bile. “You’re one of those people then who thinks if a man leaves his wife, it’s probably all her fault? What is it you think happened, Seth? You think I gained weight? Served up some lousy dinners? Maybe I lost one too many of his tube socks in the laundry?”

  Seth pressed in, something in his eyes unshaken by my outburst. “Take it from a guy who knows.”

  “I think you’d better go.” I slid off of my stool. “Work awaits.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Any fantasy about resurrecting something resembling friendship with Seth had been dashed during that moment last night when he took the position that I had anything to do with the dissolution of my marriage to Len. If believing someone at their word constituted fault then, whatever, call me guilty.

  I plunged a wooden spoon into the morning’s oatmeal, stirring it away from the pan’s edges as it began to thicken and bubble. Callie appeared on the other side of the kitchen window with her pup, a beagle mix she found and named Moondoggy, in tow. They bounded up the outside steps, and the screen door creaked open.

  A few seconds later, she peeked through the kitchen doorway. “What’s for breakfast, Sis?”

  “Head on a platter.” I pivoted, smiling sweetly. “Care to join me?”

  “Sounds delish.” She pulled out a chair, and Moondoggy danced around her, nails clacking against the floor. She sat and he curled up under her chair. “It’s a delicacy, I hear.”

  I switched off the burner. “You bet.”

  “Anyone’s head in particular? Or just your garden-variety noggin?”

  “I picked this one out myself. Like lobster.”

  She laughed as I served up four bowls of creamy oatmeal and left two on the stove to stay warm for Jer and Gage. I slid one bowl in front of Callie, set the other at my place, and took a seat.

  “Something on your mind?” Callie topped her breakfast with a pad of butter and watched it slip down an oatmeal mountain.

  I huffed out a breath. “Do you trust my brother?”

  “Of course.” She poured cream on her oatmeal.

  “What if he started staying out late or suddenly began working nights and weekends? If he drastically changed his schedule and ran around with a silly grin on his face, telling you how great his work was, well, would you still trust him?”

  Callie stopped sprinkling brown sugar on her oatmeal, her spoon hovering over her bowl. “What are you saying exactly?”

  I reached over, removed the spoon from her hand, and finished dusting her oatmeal with sugar. “It was a hypothetical question. Don’t worry about Gage. He’s golden, you know.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  I batted the air with one hand. “Ah, pssh. Forget it.”

  Gage showed up with Jer on his back. “Forget what?” His eyes lighted at the sight of breakfast. “Ooh, oatmeal. You girls save us any?”

  I pushed my chair away from the table, wincing as it scraped against the floor. “Yes, yes. Come sit.” Jer climbed on my chair and grabbed me around the neck, preventing me from reaching the stove.

  Gage brushed past me. “I’ve got it.”

  I kissed Jer’s head, his hair smelling of baby shampoo—although he didn’t like me to call it that since he’s not a baby anymore. Still, he wriggled on my lap like one, teetering left and right. “I’m hungry!”

  Gage plunked a bowl in front of him. “You’ve come to the right place, kiddo. Camp chow in honor of Auntie Callie being with us for breakfast.”

  Callie snorted. She sometimes did that when laughter caught her off guard. She covered her mouth with one hand. “I had nothing to do with the grub. That was all your sister’s doing. I just showed up here—like she really needed another mouth to feed.”

  “It’s not camp grub,” I cut in. “It’s comfort food. And you’re always welcome, Callie. If anyone’s on her way out of this charming coastal cottage that would be me.”

  Gage shook his head. “Not this again. Is that what you were talking about when I came in?” He slathered a less-than-healthy amount of butter on his oatmeal.

  Callie and I exchanged a glance. I hadn’t had a chance to explain my cryptic remarks, but surely she had guessed they involved a man.

  “Sort of.” I tossed my spoon in the bowl and sat back, lacing my fingers around Jer’s waist. “Well, not really. Although I did find a darling place to rent once I save enough.”

  Gage’s brows rose. “Where?”

  I motioned toward the hills with a nod of my head. “My boss, Fred, owns a log cabin up there. It’s darling.”

  “The red one?”

  I nodded, grateful to avoid talking about what really gnawed at me this morning. “Cute, huh?”

  Gage whistled. “It’s a beautiful place. Fred owns it? That’s a property I wouldn’t mind owning myself one day.”

  I slapped his arm. “No way. This one’s mine. If you took that sweet cottage over, you’d put solar panels on the roof and tear down all those logs in favor of some kind of green insulation.”

  Gage jerked upright. “I beg your pardon.”

  Callie watched us with an amused expression. “Careful there. Don’t mess with my boyfriend’s sense of stewardship.” She winked.

  “All I’m saying is that it’s a Hearst-era cottage and I’d hate to see a lawn on the roof or something strange like that.”

  Gage tossed his napkin at me. “Sheesh. You sound like some of my clients. You obviously have no idea what I do.” He raised his voice above Callie’s laughter. “On another note . . .”

  “Yes?” I prompted, trying not to laugh.

  “You never told us about your impromptu trip to the castle yesterday. How’d that go?”

  “Ah, well, that. Climbed a mountain, saw some art, went back to work. The usual.”

  This time Callie and Gage exchanged a curious glance followed by something peculiar and familiar at the same time, something that often passed between our parents. With a simple wink of an eye and nod of her head, Callie seemed to telegraph a message to her beloved, one that said, “Let me try.”

  Did they not know how obvious they were?

  Callie perked. “Did you get to see the Neptune Pool up close?”

 
; I nodded. “Last time, I did. This time, I only got a glimpse.” Laughter bubbled up from me. “Fred swears that in the good ol’ days, after the state took over the castle, some of the neighbors were invited to big soirees up there. He has a picture of himself lying on a longboard in that pool.”

  Callie snorted. “No way. Really?”

  “There’s a bigger question at stake here.” Gage pointed at me with his spoon. “You saw Fred in swim trunks. What was that like?”

  I waved both of my hands in protest, then covered Jer’s ears. “Stop. Please. We have an impressionable young man in our midst.”

  Callie cleared her throat. “Speaking of impressionable young men . . .”

  Jer wriggled from my grasp and rolled off my lap. “I’m gonna go get my shoes on.”

  “You do that,” I encouraged.

  Callie sat poised to continue speaking, but over his bowl of oatmeal Gage made a teepee with his fingers and eyed me with intensity.

  “You want to know what happened yesterday? I ran into Seth. Again. And you know, I’m a little tired of these coincidental meetings with someone I once knew. Someone who used to . . .” I stared at my less-than-appetizing oatmeal. “Anyway, I thought I knew him.”

  “So he’s changed a lot, then.” Gage’s expression never wavered.

  “Yes, he’s different now.” I shrugged, leaning my forearms onto the table, fatigue setting in. “Or maybe he’s really just the same old Seth.”

  “Funny that you should mention him. I saw Holly and Seth taking a walk along the Kitteridge property the other day, and well, he didn’t seem that into her. Not very attentive, in my opinion.”

  I shook off her comment. “Seth’s life isn’t any of my business. I remember him being full of life, always coming up with wild ideas and taking them on. Now he seems bitter almost. Then again, maybe I allowed myself to forget the things I didn’t like.”

  Gage nodded. “And the more you get to know him again, the more you remember.”

  I nodded, as if to agree, then gave my head a sad, slow shake. “No. I don’t know.” I pushed myself away from the table. “Sorry, guys. Kind of distracted today, but I’d better clean up and get to work.”