by Julia London
Jane stepped hesitantly across the threshold. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and a sour, vinegary smell permeated the air. A set of shelves and cabinets were built onto one wall, two paint cans sat side by side, but there was nothing else. Across from the shelves on the opposite wall was a small table built into the wall. A stool was tucked up neatly underneath the bar, undisturbed.
Everything else was a wreck. Another stool lay broken under the bar. Construction paper and canvas littered the floor. Several easels were stacked like pick-up-sticks in a corner.
The mess of the room was pretty spectacular, but not quite as spectacular as the paint that had been flung about. The quantity astounded Jane. Paint cans were everywhere. Shoe prints, some of them on the end of a long slide, were all over the paint, almost as if someone had been dancing or fighting. In one spot, Jane swore there was the outline of an entire leg, as if someone had fallen. Gallons of colorful paint covered the walls, the ceiling, the windows.
And there, in a corner, was a child’s painting. It was a picture of a house, a sky and a sun, and a little brown dog lying on the porch. Jane thought it might even have been this little house. It was good, but it was torn, and paint had splattered on it, and strangely, a shoe print was stamped across the middle of it.
This room didn’t look artistic or creative. This room looked like madness. It took Jane’s breath away, really, and she wished she hadn’t opened the door and looked. She’d been wrong to snoop, so wrong. The last twenty-four hours of her life had been so off-kilter.
She turned toward the door, wanting out of there and away from the madness, but another painting caught her eye. It was lying on the floor near the door, another by the child artist. Jane bent down to pick it up, pushing the door closed a bit to dislodge it. The painting was of a person, a woman with long black hair. It was only half finished, and it had suffered the same fate as the other painting: a shoe.
Jane let it flutter to the floor and was about to leave the house when she heard the sound of someone running.
She froze. The footsteps were coming closer, and with them, the sound of someone sobbing. Great, wet gulps of air. Jane’s heart suddenly leaped with fear and began to pound in her chest. She looked wildly about, but there was no place to hide. So she crouched down below the window and held her breath.
“Riley!”
That was Asher. Jane put her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. He was coming after Riley, and she, Jane, was in deep, deep trouble.
24
Asher wanted to kill his mother. She could never let it go, could never stop talking. He’d known where Riley had gone when she’d run out of the house, and he found her on the picnic table outside the studio, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She had her head down on her knees and was sobbing.
Asher sat beside her. “Come here, baby girl,” he said and wrapped her in an embrace, held her head against his chest as she cried.
For a moment. She suddenly jerked up and rubbed her hand beneath her nose. “You’re probably on her side. Go ahead and say it, you’re on her side!”
“No, Riley, I’m on your side. I’ll always be on your side, no matter what.”
“I hate her, Dad. I swear I hate her!”
“No, you don’t,” he said soothingly. At least he hoped she didn’t. His mother didn’t mean to hurt Riley, but she could be incredibly insensitive.
“She always says mean stuff about Mom, and then me. Why does she have to do that?”
He didn’t know the answer to that. It was so clear to him that his mother’s offhanded remarks were agitating his daughter, and he couldn’t understand how his mother didn’t see it. Even when he’d asked her to stop, she’d looked at Asher and said, “Do you think I’m wrong? Don’t you think we should at least have her evaluated?” It was his mother’s standard refrain: Bipolar disorder could be hereditary. Better to know sooner rather than later.
“She’s not trying to hurt you, Ri,” he said. “She’s just . . . she just doesn’t understand things.” And she was opinionated. And could be something of a bully.
“I can’t stand it, Dad,” Riley said tearfully. “I know what Mom was like, but still, I miss her so much, and it’s not like I don’t already hear about it at school, and then from my own grandmother. She was my mother!”
“I know, honey, I know,” he muttered, and felt a familiar, painful ripple through his heart. It was so unfair that Riley had to suffer his mother’s cruel remarks on top of losing her mother. Asher would do anything to make her life happy and whole, to take all the pain and suffering from her young shoulders and return her to a state of happy childhood innocence. It was such a hopeless feeling to know that he couldn’t protect his daughter from the truth. There was nothing he could do, nothing that could change all that had happened in her young life.
“It’s like no one misses Mom but me,” Riley said, rubbing her nose again.
“That’s not true,” he said. “Mom was so vibrant, so alive, and a lot of people miss her. She loved you so much, Ri, more than the air she breathed.”
Riley smiled a little, thankfully; the tears had stopped, but her eyes and nose were swollen from crying. “What about Levi?”
“Oh yeah, she loved Levi just as much, but in a different way. Levi was a surprise, and he was early, remember? He had those health issues at birth that really scared her, and she was always a little protective of him. But you? Riley, she planned you. She couldn’t wait to have you. She even had your name picked out before she knew she was pregnant. Your mom wanted you as bad as she’d ever wanted anything, and she loved you even more for it.”
Riley’s smile deepened. She was so pretty when she smiled, but she smiled so rarely. He brushed the hair from her eyes. “Do you know what Mom would say to you now?”
“Not really.” She looked down. “I can’t remember some things anymore. Like what her voice sounded like, or what she’d say.”
“Well, I know what she would say,” Asher said. “Right now she would tell you that it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks, the only thing that matters is what is in your heart. Riley, you knew your mother in a way that no one else on this earth knew her, including me. You knew Mom like you know yourself, and she knew you the same way. No one can ever take that from you. No one can ever change the special bond you two had. Everything Grandma said today is just words. She knew Mom from a distance, but you knew her up close and for real.”
“Yeah,” Riley softly agreed, nodding. “I did.” She looked up at the cottonwoods towering above them almost as if she were looking for Susanna.
“Don’t worry about Grandma,” Asher said. “She’s not all bad. In her own way, she loves you very much. Besides, once we get to the ranch, you’ll be out riding horses and she’ll be in the air-conditioning.”
Riley smiled. She rubbed her eyes and stood up. “Thanks, Dad.”
His heart swelled. “No need,” he said. “Grandma and Grandpa took Levi for ice cream. Why don’t you go back and pack in peace?”
“Yeah, good idea,” she agreed. Riley stepped away from the table, but when she realized Asher hadn’t moved, she looked back. “Aren’t you coming?”
“In just a minute. I’m going to check on things around here. Go on, and I’ll be right behind you.”
Riley obediently started up the path.
Asher watched her until she had turned the corner onto the broader path, then stood up and looked at the door of the studio. It was only slightly ajar, and he might not have noticed it at all if he hadn’t stopped by here the other day to check on things when he’d been out for a run.
He guessed teens or someone up from the lake had found it and used it to do whatever kids did these days.
Asher walked up on the porch, gave the door a push, and watched it swing slowly open. He expected to see graffiti or beer cans.
He did not expect to find Jane, or for his heart to drop.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded
, his mind racing through any plausible explanation, then wondering if he cared. He’d not seen her since the night he had so impulsively and foolishly kissed her, the night when he’d felt himself crack open like parched earth and felt her seeping into his bones. He’d thought of little else but Jane since, struggling with the monstrous desire she stoked in him, knowing it was wrong, feeling disoriented, guilty, and perhaps even a little happy.
“Ah . . .” She looked around. Rubbed the back of her nape. She looked . . . delectable in running clothes that hugged her curves, her hair in a big knot. She looked moist, damp, and oh so guilty. But when she looked at him, her eyes were full of sorrow. “I am so sorry, Asher. I . . . I was curious. I know what you must be thinking,” she said, holding up a hand. “You must be thinking that I have no right. That this studio was locked and I came in and I have no right.”
Yes, he’d thought that. But at present he was thinking of how much he wanted to touch her.
“And you’re right, I shouldn’t have. I was leaving, and I . . . I didn’t want to overhear,” she said, looking contrite.
“Yet you did overhear. Quite a lot, too.”
“I did, but I honestly don’t know what I overheard. I know that Riley is . . . she was obviously in pain. She obviously came here for solace, but it must be so hard for her.”
“I doubt she came here for solace,” he said, looking around at the ugly walls. “She doesn’t know, Jane.”
“Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t know everything about Susanna. She obviously knows her mother died in a horrible crash. She and Levi both know it. And they know there was nothing identifiable about their mother, that she was just bits and pieces, and we couldn’t see her to say good-bye.” He would never forget the DPS trooper at his door, the harrowing news of how Susanna had died. It had been so horrific, and guilt had grabbed him by the throat and forced him to his knees, right in front of that trooper. It felt as if someone had ripped his heart from his body. For all her faults, for all their troubles, he had loved Susanna once, and he couldn’t imagine how painful her death must have been.
Nor could he have imagined that Riley would witness their final argument, here, in this very room.
“They know some, but they don’t know all.” It had been so long since he’d thought of that awful day. “I don’t want them to know all. Riley adored her mother so much, and Susanna adored Riley. I have never told Riley that the night her mother died . . .” He swallowed. He couldn’t say it. This room, this horrific scene of madness, brought back painful memories. He wondered what Jane saw in this room, if she could sense the insanity.
“Don’t,” Jane said. “You don’t need to say more.”
“Yes, I do. My daughter is a very talented artist. Her talent is raw yet, but it’s an obvious talent. Susanna saw it, too. She nurtured it along, she taught Riley what she knew. But . . . but Susanna struggled with drinking,” he admitted. “And vanity. That’s a very dangerous combination. The day she died, she’d been drinking vodka. Down here, with Riley. And she’d had enough that when Riley showed her some painting, Susanna couldn’t handle the idea that Riley might one day be a better artist than she. She flew into a rage of jealousy and destroyed Riley’s paintings.”
“You’re kidding,” Jane said, her gaze shifting to the pictures Riley had drawn that still littered the floor.
“I wish I were,” he said. Asher had never been able to clean this room after what had happened. He wished it had burned with Susanna. “She said some terrible, hurtful things to Riley. So horrible that Jorge came to get me. She and I had a hellacious fight, right in front of Riley.” If he’d had the chance to do anything over, it would have been that. He would have sent Riley to the house, he would have spared her that, but he hadn’t thought, he’d been so angry. “Maybe I was dismissive of Susanna, maybe I could have handled it differently, but I told her I wouldn’t speak to her until she sobered up.” He looked at the walls. “I was pissed, Jane. I was so very angry with her for tearing down Riley’s talent—for Chrissakes, she was only eleven. But there was no talking to Susanna when she drank like that. I took Riley and left Susanna here. Riley was devastated, as you can imagine.”
“No,” Jane said, her amber eyes wide. “I can’t imagine.”
Who could? What mother would begrudge an eleven-year-old her painting? Only a bipolar alcoholic. “I heard her come in a little later, heard her go up to our room. I never thought she’d leave, but that evening, when I went to check on her, I discovered she was gone. She’d taken my car, she was driving, and she was drunk. She killed herself and that poor woman.”
“Oh, my God,” Jane whispered. She looked sick; she folded her arms across her body.
“Fortunately, grief has a funny way of making us remember things. I don’t think Riley remembers a lot of that day. Not yet, anyway, and if I have my way, not ever. I know people say things about Susanna, but I am doing my level best to protect my kids from the truth as long as I can.” He looked at Jane. “Riley hasn’t been in this studio since the day her mother died. It holds too many painful memories.”
“Oh, dear God,” Jane said, her voice and eyes full of sorrow. “And here I was, trying so hard to get her down here.” She looked down. “Asher . . . I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for . . . for everything. That must have been horrific.”
It had been the blackest day of his life, and Lord knew that he’d known a few. Black was the color of the days and weeks that had followed. He’d struggled with guilt and grief and trying to work at the same time he’d been learning to be a single parent to Riley and Levi. There had been moments when he’d felt relieved of the burden that was Susanna, and moments he’d longed to see her face. “You just don’t know how much you love someone until they are gone,” he said quietly and felt a dull twist in his gut. “In spite of her problems, I had truly loved her.”
He’d never said that to anyone, and oh God, there was a time he’d loved Susanna deeply. It was strange—he’d wanted to leave her so many times, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do it. He’d always believed it was for the sake of the kids, but on some level, he’d understood how much Susanna had needed him. Even when the romance was dead, the marriage in shambles, she had needed him desperately. Yet in the end, he hadn’t been able to protect her from herself. He’d failed her.
“I’m so sorry,” Jane said.
Asher suddenly felt very drained. He hadn’t talked about Susanna to anyone in a very long time. His life had been spent on pins and needles for so long that he was still getting used to terra firma. He looked away from Jane, remembering.
“How are you?” Jane asked.
He didn’t understand.
“Are you doing better?” she asked.
Better than what? The wound didn’t feel open anymore, but the gash, the scar, was there. He studied Jane’s face, her pretty, open, expressive face. Yes, maybe he was healing a little, or at least beginning to heal in the sunshine Jane had infused in their lives.
“It’s none of my business,” Jane said apologetically. “But I think you worry about the kids so much, and, you know, you have to think about yourself, too.”
Unthinking, drawn to her softness, Asher took a step toward her.
Jane’s eyes widened slightly. “I just wondered if you were okay because I know how that is, how you keep busy thinking of what you need to do for everyone else and you don’t leave time to think about what you need for yourself.”
At the moment, he was thinking of her. Gentle Jane. Such a contrast from his late wife! He moved toward her, his eyes on her lush mouth, the memory of their kiss suddenly racing in his blood.
Jane backed up, held out her hands as if she thought he meant to tackle her. “I mean, I do it, too,” she said, speaking quickly. “I forget that I have to take care of myself, and it was only recently that I finally understood I need—”
He caught her by the shoulders. “What do you need, Jane?” he asked low. “Tell me. Te
ll me whatever it is you need.”
Her lips parted. She looked as if she meant to speak, but instead, she melted, curving into him. She smelled like lotion and lavender, and her skin was warm. Asher shoved his hand into the knot of her hair, splayed his fingers against her jaw. “Whatever you need,” he said again, and kissed her.
Her lips singed him; he could feel her in every pore, his body drinking her in, hungering for more. He had not remembered a kiss could be like this, so full of want and hope. He pressed his hand to her breast and covered it, felt the blood in his veins turn to fire. He was erupting, his desire so powerful that he feared he’d not be able to control it. “Jane,” he whispered and pressed his lips to the salty hollow of her throat.
Jane’s hands were moving on him, inflaming him. They were in his hair, on his shoulders, on his chest. He pushed her back, up against the windowsill, fighting himself as he wildly sought her mouth with his. Jane arched into him, clung to him, countering with as much heat as he gave her.
His hands explored her shape, moving over her full hips, her slender waist, her lush breasts. But when he cupped one breast and began to knead it, Jane suddenly twisted in his arms. “No,” she said, gasping for breath. “No, Asher.”
It took all of the strength Asher could muster to lift his head from her mouth, to slacken his hold of her. He gritted his teeth, tried to catch his breath.
Jane touched his face, her fingers light on his skin. “You astound me,” she said. “And as much as I would like . . . this,” she said, “I can’t. I didn’t come here for this. I came to Cedar Springs to find my birth mother. I have put my life on hold for that single quest. I came to put all the pieces of me together, and I don’t know how to fold this . . . this incredible attraction into that.”
God no, don’t say that, please don’t say that. Asher groaned. He made himself step back and away from her. He slowly ran his hands over his hair and locked his fingers behind his head, trying to find reason and duty and the suffocating responsibility that had guided him these last few years. “I’ve taken advantage of you,” he said roughly and dropped his hands.
