The Artisans

by Julie Reece

  “We make another break for it into the woods?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Do I even want to know how you found out about this place?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Fine. You win.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  My tummy flutters. I’m too exhausted to argue. More than that, I don’t really want to be alone, so I drop my protests. “Need the bathroom a minute or two.” I take his silence as a yes. Locking myself in, I let my head rest against the door.

  I run the water from the tap so Gideon won’t hear me pee. Awkward much? Next I wash the heavy makeup off my face. My hair has taken on a life of its own. My dress comes off but I leave my short black slip on. I take my time removing the last few bobby pins and combing my fingers through the tangles. I’m stalling, knowing a beautiful guy—the enemy I swore to hate for all time that I’m also attracted to—is waiting on the other side of the door. Triple yikes face.

  When I open the door, oh my stars in a blue heaven, Gideon is already lying on the bed. He’s taken everything off but his pants. Ankles crossed, his hands are tucked beneath his head. He’s watching the ceiling. Not me. I’m drooling over his long, chiseled torso like he’s made of chocolate. Long night, anyone?

  “Do you want the light on?” I hope he didn’t catch the funny quiver in my voice.

  “No, please turn it off.”

  I flip the switch. It hardly makes a difference as the neon from the sign out front shines through the cheap blinds. I lie down on my back as far from Gideon’s side of the bed as I can, which isn’t far, considering it’s only a double. My fingers lace over my nerve-ridden tummy. I clamp my legs together until I’m more fortified than a bank vault. “Gideon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you walk with a cane?”

  Holy crap. Where did that come from? I had meant to ask him about his visits to rehab to see Ben, or maybe about how his attorney will get my custody paperwork to the police. That’s so not what came out. “Sorry. Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I’m nervous. Sleeping with you is weird and …” Shut the hell up, Rae!

  His laughter shakes the bed. “I’m not sleeping with you. I’m sleeping next to you. Though I’m open to any discussion you’d care to have on the former, absolutely.”

  “Jerk.”

  More laughter. Electricity shoots to my toes when he shifts, his foot brushing my calf.

  “Let’s drop it. I don’t know why I said anything.”

  “It’s all right.” He takes a deep breath, letting his glee over my stupidity die. “I had cancer.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it isn’t, nor is it something I talk about … usually.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe I’m nervous, too.”

  Despite his teasing, my body is as rigid as death. My fingers twitch over my stomach, and I press my toes together. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want to tell you.” Gideon’s hand wanders over and finds mine. His fingers curl around my palm. “My mother lost four babies before me—the son my father craved, but I was a sickly child. Premature, weak, then a cancer diagnosis at four years old. As their only heir, the news devastated my parents. My father flew me to New York, Boston, even Europe, brought in specialists. I went through chemo, physical therapy, and an operation that took a third of my thigh muscle.”

  My throat is thick and closing fast. “I am … I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, Raven. I believe you mean that.”

  I lift off my pillow to glare at him. “Of course I mean it!”

  “That’s very generous, coming from someone who has vowed to hate me for all time.”

  So he remembered. My expression falls, and I lay back down. “About that—”

  “I spent most of my life in bed as a boy. And while my father sought a way to save my life, I sought relief from my pain. He brought me pets, magic tricks, and games that I practiced over and over.”

  I think of the coin he weaves through his fingers, the cards he’s always shuffling …

  “Do you believe in magic, Raven?”

  “I’m start—”

  “It’s very real, though most are too jaded to consider the idea.”

  His talking rolls over any attempt I might make to answer. Maybe this is the only way he knows to get it out. Quick and all at once, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I listen. Out of respect for what he went through. His suffering. I don’t know why he’s telling me all this, but it seems important to him.

  “Later, the doctors declared me in remission, and then a survivor. The following year, my mother died in a car accident, and my father sent me away to school. Several private boarding schools, in fact—only the best for Nathan Maddox’s boy.” His voice carries a bitter edge, and my heart goes out to him. “A kid with a limp wears a bull’s-eye on his back. I was different, so I was bullied.

  “I never told my father. I didn’t want him to see me as weak, but naturally he found out. There wasn’t anything my father didn’t know. He hired private tutors to educate me, personal trainers to make my body strong. Instructors taught me to fight and defend myself.

  Tears blur my eyes. I’ve seen enough of the world’s cruelty to imagine all he doesn’t say. My heart breaks for the little boy who wasn’t enough. Not for his father, not enough to win a single friend … never enough, even for himself.

  “We have a special brand of justice in the Maddox household.” His body stiffens, and he releases my hand. “Decades of injustice birthed the Maddox way of thinking. It’s my responsibility to carry on the legacy of my ancestors. We’re called Artisans … judges who blend law and poetic justice with a kind of magic in our sentencing.

  “It’s my heritage, and my calling, and my curse.”

  His words scare me. Gideon sounds just like Ben did with his vigilante talk after my mother’s remains were found. “I don’t understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I agreed with all my father taught me, unquestioningly, until recently. Until you.”

  Faster than my next breath, Gideon’s face hovers above me. Highlighted in glorious relief from the red neon outside, his brow, nose, and cheekbones catch the fierce glow, as though he’s on fire. The rest is cast in shadow, like secrets. His body presses against me. I can’t slow my heart rate. My chest rises and falls, pushing against his forearm as he traces the outline of my cheek with his fingers.

  He catches my tears as they escape, then brushes them across his lips. The act is personal, sensual. I think he might kiss me. Press those lips, salty and wet with the proof of my compassion, against mine. And I want him to. My pulse races, as I slide a hand up his chest. All at once, I feel the reality of my age and inexperience. Unsure, I shift beneath his touch. “Gideon …”

  My voice breaks the spell. He drops his hand and pulls away, but he’s breathing as hard as I am. My brow creases in confusion. I still have no clue what he’s been talking about, but whatever it is, he seems absolutely tortured by it. Or by me. I don’t know which.

  “You’re different. And that’s changing everything.” He rolls over on his back with a grunt.

  The guy who has it all together suddenly seems as baffled by life as the rest of us Schmoes. “You didn’t go to law school when you graduated, Gideon. Maybe it’s more than me that’s different. Maybe, deep down, you’ve known all along you were the one to change things in your family.”

  He says nothing more, and after a few minutes, his breathing slows.

  I squirm, trying to calm down. Trying not to think about what his words might mean, what an Artisan is, or how close I came to kissing my enemy. When he still doesn’t answer, I push a bit harder. “Listen, Gideon, if you’d just—”

  “Go to sleep, Raven. We’ll be home in forty-eight hours.”

  And that, it appears, is that. I don’t know whether to feel rejected or relieved. Until somewher
e in the night, I’m conscious Gideon’s hand inches over to reclaim mine.

  ***

  The song “Lawyer Up” from rap artist Keebo plays like it’s coming from a tin can. My eyes open a slit. Oh, no. Focusing on the open bathroom door in our Oak Winds Motel room, I remember where I am. Gideon’s chest expands against my back. His legs readjust, tangling with mine, and my eyelids snap wide. His arm hangs heavy and satisfying over my waist. I hold my breath as he flexes, arms tightening their hold on me. For the love of all things green, when did we decide spooning was kosher?

  I, for one, remember no such conversation.

  Gideon’s nose parts the hair at the back of my head. His exhale sends a deep, warm breath against my neck. The moths in my stomach alight in a riot of fluttering. Though I’m lying perfectly still, I must do something to disturb him, because he stops midway on the third breath. “Rae? You awake?”

  I don’t think he’s ever called me Rae before, but I don’t correct him. It doesn’t seem right considering we just pretzel-slept together.

  “Mm hmm.”

  His fingers lift, one by one, off my arm, then his hand, his forearm … I’m sad to lose the warmth. His chest rumbles as he clears his throat. Wow. Sleeping in the room with Dane was never this nice.

  I wiggle away. My heel bumps him as I slide my legs from between his. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I rather enjoyed that.”

  Me, too, but I’m not going to say so. One swipe pushes the hair from my face. “Was that your phone?”

  “Yes.”

  I scoot to the end of the bed and let my feet dangle over the edge. “Nice ringtone. You want the bathroom first?”

  “My, how thoughtful we are in the morning.” Though I don’t turn, I hear the smirk in his voice. “You go ahead, roomie. I’ll return my call.”

  “Shut it, Gideon.”

  He hollers after me as I close the door. “The motel furnished us with disposable toothbrushes, if you dare.”

  “I dare.” Anything is better than morning breath.

  A few minutes of private time and Gideon is pounding on the door like a grizzly bear. I open the door, a scowl on my face. “You rang?”

  “I did.” He’s beaming. “Richard’s got us fixed up. The cops and Mrs. Rodriquez with DSS are satisfied that they have the correct paperwork. They’ve even squared their mistake with Principal Myers.”

  My brow crumbles. “What about Ben, did the police contact him? I don’t want him upset.”

  “I called him.”

  My eyebrows do a one-eighty. “You did? When?”

  He nods. “Last night. To make sure they didn’t alarm him.”

  My throat constricts. Do I get mad at his interference or thank him for his consideration? I’d thought to call Pops today, but Gideon had acted on the impulse sooner than I had.

  “You’re going to see Ben this afternoon. Hurry, Jamis will be here any minute.” Gideon holds his shirt in the air, poised to put an arm through the sleeve but stops. “What’s wrong?” His face crumbles like I kicked his puppy. He’s done all this for me, I realize, every thoughtful act, every possible care and precaution—all for my benefit.

  I bolt toward him. With a running jump, I fling myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Thank you!” I choke down the sudden urge to cry.

  “Whoa, whoa.” His hand strokes my hair. His other arm tightens about my waist. “Shhh. It’s okay. Raven, I told you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. No one’s taking you from me.”

  Afraid speaking will lead to a full-on sob fest, I nod into his neck. I squeeze my eyes shut as he continues to hold me. So beautiful, I think I hear. I lose track of how long we stay like this before I come to my senses. Slowly, I unwrap my legs from his body, and let my feet slide to the floor. My hand is ridiculously sore, but I ignore the pain.

  “Ben told me the two of you talked. Twice. But what I don’t understand is why, about what? Me?”

  He runs his thumb along my cheek as I stare into his eyes. “Yes, among other things.”

  “Like … ?” The word is little more than a whisper.

  “He wants to be the one to tell you, Rae.” There’s my nickname again. The word melts like butter on his tongue and makes my knees do the same. “Jamis will drive you. You’ll be with him in a few hours. You and I can talk after that. Remember the place I told you about? The one I want to show you?”

  “Yes.” I can’t keep the tremble from my lip.

  His hand slides beneath the curtain of my hair to caress my neck. “Visit with your stepfather, it will do you both some good. Get your answers. Everything between you and me will keep until then.”

  I glance up, my gaze locking on his mysterious, mismatched irises. Gold flecks catch the light in his green eye, turquoise in the blue. I reconsider my earlier thought. The mystery has always been his mind, what goes on behind those remarkable orbs. “Will you drive me to see Ben?”

  His stunning eyes widen. “Of course. Anything. All you have to do is ask.” He leans forward. His breath warms my skin, sending delicious jolts of nervous energy throughout my body. “Then you and me. Tomorrow. All right?”

  I nod one last time. His fingers continue to stroke the stiff muscles of my neck. His touch is soothing … and foreign, making my legs as shaky as a newborn calf’s. He’s waiting for an answer, but I fear my voice will break. When I can’t stall any longer, I take a deep breath, managing only one word. “Done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ben and I sit together in silence. Not in the Palm Room this time. I wish. We’re in his dorm room. The place smells of antiseptic and bad air freshener. He lies in bed, smacking his dry lips together. I cringe at the pasty sound but don’t let my aversion show. Instead, I offer my stepfather another glass of water, his third since my arrival.

  His hand trembles as he accepts the cup. Small, red spider-like veins spread under his skin. I can’t remember if I saw those on my last visit. His color is off, too. A shiver goes through me, like someone walking over a grave. My gaze travels over his face. His skin has an orange tint, as though he rubbed himself with cheap self-tanner.

  “Don’t fuss over me, Raven. Sit with your old man and tell me more about your doin’s at that fancy-pants mansion.”

  My rump hits the seat of the straight-backed chair near his bed. I cross my arms. “I’d rather talk about you and Mr. Maddox getting all chatty down here and me knowing nothing about it.” With my tough-girl voice locked and loaded, my feigned anger is pretty convincing. Until a smile breaks through, giving me away.

  “Now girl, don’t get riled.” He scratches his elbow and fidgets. A sure sign he’s guilty of something. “I was angry at the boy and needed to speak my mind. I’ll get to that, but looky here; I got some other stuff to say first.” He pulls some papers out from beneath his sheets. What the heck is that? “I wrote it all out, so the words will come out how I want ’em to. You just sit there, and listen, and let me say this my way, all right?”

  “You’re the man.” It’s sort of cute, how bossy he’s being when he’s never been able to take charge of anything before.

  “First, I need to tell you about your dad. Your real one. And if I ain’t too tuckered, I’ll tell you more. Otherwise, well, it’ll have to keep.” He leans over, takes his reading glasses off the table, and pops them on his big, red nose. With a cough to clear his throat, he readjusts the paperwork in his hands. “Here we go.

  “This is the story of your birth, as your mother told it to me. Your granddaddy, your mama’s father, was a Cordwainer.”

  “A what?”

  “A fine maker of hand-sewn shoes.” He glares at me over his glasses. “Don’t interrupt. Anyway, he worked hard and was honest, but he wasn’t earning enough to support his family. One night a man came to the house. Tired and half-starved, he asked for any odd chores he might do to earn some money. Your granddaddy explained he couldn’t pay him, but he’d be glad t
o share a meal and give him the garage apartment to sleep in for the night.

  “Early the next day, your granddaddy went to finish the work he’d started the day before. When he went into his shop, and found the shoes already made and sitting on the table. Seems your father had done it to repay the old man for his charity. As your granddaddy studied the shoes, there was not one false stitch in the whole job. He’d never seen such craftsmanship, and done so quickly.

  “The same day a customer came in, and he willingly paid a higher price than usual for them. With the money, your granddaddy hired your father and bought extra supplies. Soon more buyers came, paying high prices for his goods. And so it went on for some time, and your granddaddy soon became thriving and well-off again.”

  I squirm in my chair, dying to ask about a hundred questions, but I keep mute.

  Ben squints, focusing on the next typed words. The vocabulary isn’t his. I wonder who helped him write his speech. “Your mama used to sit up nights with your father, assisting him, watching him work. He was charming, and talented, and …well, Ida was an innocent. He seduced her right under her daddy’s own roof.”

  “What the hell?” My eyes narrow. “How could he do that?”

  Ben’s head falls back, and he stares at the ceiling. “I’m never going to get through this with your infernal question asking. And don’t swear.” A long pause. “They sort of fell in together, but kept it secret on account of your dad being so much older and an employee and all.”

  “Seriously?”

  He frowns. “So I was told. Your father was a clever man, gifted even. It’s where you get your talents, but unlike you, he was selfish, and conceited. Seems he was caught messing around with another girl in town, younger even than your mama, but she wouldn’t believe it.”

  “That lowdown son of a—”

  “Raven!”

  “Sorry.” I hunch down and shut up.

  “To continue … When your mama found out she was pregnant with you, she was overjoyed. She thought he’d settle down and quit cheating. They’d get married. Have a big church wedding. She told him that night she was carrying his child. You. The next day, he disappeared.