Ashlyn shook her head.
"Would your dad care if you had this before a healthy lunch?"
Ashlyn repeated the negative shake of her head.
Mia laughed. "Ask a silly question, right?" She handed the bar to Ashlyn, and they both sat down at the table.
"That woman who came by was named Kara," Mia said conversationally. "She was really friendly. She wants to have a party to introduce me to some of my aunt's friends. I think it's a good idea. And she thinks we should color at the party." She reached across the table and picked up one of the patterns. "This does look fun to color. What do you think?"
Ashlyn nodded. Despite her unwillingness to give a verbal answer, she was paying attention.
"Maybe we should try one of the pictures out, see if it is fun," she added, reaching for the top piece of paper. While she did want to make copies before using all the originals, she didn't think one large peacock picture would be missed. She put it between her and Ashlyn and then grabbed some markers. "Let's do it together."
Ashlyn hesitated for a minute, and then picked up one of the markers. It was navy blue, so dark it was almost black. She colored in one of the peacock feathers. Mia chose a bright red and started working on the opposite side of the bird.
She found the coloring surprisingly stress-reducing. It was a nice break from cleaning, and Ashlyn seemed to like it, too. Although, as their efforts got closer together, she was struck by how dark Ashlyn's side of the page was: nothing bright or hopeful, just blacks and browns and heavy blues.
The sadness the little girl was mired in showed in every stroke of the marker. Maybe the coloring would help ease her pain, too.
She wondered what exactly had happened to Ashlyn's mother. Jeremy had said that she'd been killed, but he hadn't said how. Her heart went out to the little girl, and she wished she could do more for her than offer her lemon bars and the opportunity to color.
Ashlyn finished coloring in the last feather with black and then pointed to the lemon bars.
"Uh, I think we should wait on another one of those until after lunch." It was almost noon. Jeremy would probably be back soon.
"Now," Ashlyn said.
The demanding word didn't surprise her, but the voice did. She looked Ashlyn in the eye, and for the first time the girl did not break eye contact with her. In fact, there was defiance in her dark gaze.
"No," Mia said, even though it took every ounce of strength she had not to say yes.
Ashlyn looked shocked by her answer.
"You need to eat a healthy lunch first. I'd make you something now, but I have no food in the house. Your dad will be back soon."
Ashlyn threw her marker in Mia's face and then slid off her chair and ran toward the gate. She'd slipped through the gate before Mia could open her mouth. She jumped up and ran after her, yelling, "Ashlyn, come back."
Five
As Mia got to the front of her house, Jeremy pulled into the driveway.
He jumped out of the car, concern in his eyes. "What's going on?"
"Ashlyn got mad at me and ran home."
He hurried down the driveway. "She must have gone in the back door. Didn't you tell me everything was going to be fine, that I should feel free to leave her with you?"
She knew his angry words came from concern, but they still stung. "She slipped away from me really fast."
They walked into the backyard and up the steps. The sliding glass door was open.
"Ashlyn," Jeremy called, moving quickly through the hallway toward the stairs.
Mia stayed on his heels all the way up to Ashlyn's room.
Ashlyn was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Ash, are you all right?" Jeremy asked, sitting on the bed next to her.
Ashlyn didn't respond.
Jeremy looked to Mia for an explanation. "What happened?"
"She wanted a second lemon bar. I told her she had to wait until after lunch. I would have fed her lunch, but I didn't have any food. I haven't gone to the store yet." She looked past Jeremy to Ashlyn. "I thought we were having fun coloring together, Ashlyn."
"Why didn't you just give her another lemon bar?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.
"Because I thought it would be too much sugar." She paused. "When I said no, she said now."
His gaze swung back to her. "She spoke to you?"
Mia nodded. "She seemed pretty upset about my answer."
"Damn," he muttered. "A little extra sugar wouldn't have killed her. She doesn't want anything, Mia. It's the first thing she's asked for in weeks."
"Well, I didn't know that." She looked at Ashlyn. "Ashlyn, I said no, because I care about your health. It's not good for little girls to have too much sugar at one time. But we can have lunch, and then if it's okay with your father, you can have another dessert. What do you think about that?"
Ashlyn finally turned her head to look at her.
Mia's heart tore at the streaks of tears on her cheeks. Why hadn't she just said yes to the damn lemon bar? This little girl was suffering. But it was too late to change the past.
Ashlyn sat up and slid off the bed.
"Okay, good," Mia said with relief. She looked at Jeremy. "So what's for lunch?"
"Whatever we want to order off the menu at…" Jeremy paused, looking at Ashlyn. "Dina's Café?"
Ashlyn nodded.
"Good," he said, getting to his feet. "Why don't you wash your hands before we go?"
Ashlyn walked down the hall to the bathroom.
"Sorry," he said to Mia. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. Connecting with her is so difficult and frustrating that I probably would have given her anything she asked for if she'd said the word out loud."
"Maybe it's good that I didn't give her the second lemon bar. Kids need boundaries, even kids with a lot of issues."
"I suppose."
"What happened to her mom, Jeremy?"
He cast a quick look at the door and then dropped his voice. "She was killed in a robbery at a convenience store. Ashlyn was with her when it happened."
"Oh, my God," she said, horrified by his answer. "No wonder she's so troubled."
"She's seeing a therapist. The doctor told me that it's going to take time and that I shouldn't ask questions about what happened, which means you know as much as I know."
"But surely you spoke to the police."
"I did, and I know the basics. I know who killed Justine. There were a dozen witnesses to the incident. He's going to jail for a long time, and, thankfully, Ashlyn does not have to testify at the trial. I don't want her to ever have to see that man again."
"No, she shouldn't have to do that."
"But what I don't know is exactly what happened that night, other than that they were in the convenience store. I don't know if Ashlyn's mother was killed instantly or if she said anything to her daughter…" His voice trailed away. "I don't know what Ashlyn saw or heard or thought. It's all locked up in her head."
"Maybe one day she'll let it out."
"I hope so. Besides that horrific incident, I know nothing else about Ashlyn's life, which is also disturbing. The social worker I spoke to had no records on her. She lived with her mother; that's all they knew. She had no other living relatives. Apparently, Justine and Ashlyn had been in San Francisco for a year and before that they'd been in Los Angeles. As for friends, no one came forward to try to take care of Ashlyn after her mom died."
"There must have been someone who knew Ashlyn and her mom. She must have gone to school. They had neighbors."
"The apartment they'd been living in was already rented out to someone else by the time I was informed of Ashlyn's existence. Their meager belongings were put into storage, and I didn't take anything. It's still there waiting to be gone through. I thought it would be more painful for Ashlyn to see her things all boxed up, so I left it alone. I did ask her if she had a favorite doll or stuffed animal, but she just shook her head."
"Where was she living?"
"With
a foster family. They had three other kids they were taking care of. They said she was no trouble, but that she didn't speak to them, either. I can't imagine what was going on in her head. She loses her mother. She's placed with strangers."
Her heart went out to Ashlyn. "It sounds awful. No child should have to go through that."
"I thought she'd be happier to see me or that at least she would have questions, but she doesn't."
"I'm sure she does," Mia said, seeing the discouragement in his eyes. "How could she not?"
"Then why won't she talk to me?"
"I'm sure the doctor could give you a better answer than me, but maybe she just needs time to feel safe with you and then she'll open up."
"I hope so."
"You could always try holding a lemon bar hostage," she said lightly, trying to defuse the heavy mood.
He tipped his head. "Good idea. Ash did say something to me last night."
"What was that?"
"I want Mommy."
Mia sighed at the poignant words. "That's rough."
"Tell me about it. The one thing she wants, I can't give her."
"I'm sorry. I guess I understand now why you would have given in on dessert. I was trying to be a responsible babysitter."
"It's not your fault. At least she spoke to you."
"Because she was mad."
"Anger is better than the nothingness I get."
"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll piss her off at some point."
A reluctant smile crossed his lips. "You think so?"
"I think it's pretty much a guarantee. I adored my father, but he still annoyed the crap out of me at times."
"Good to know. So is Dina's Café all right with you?"
"You and Ashlyn can go to lunch on your own. I need to go to the market this afternoon."
"You can shop later. I'm buying you lunch. No arguments."
"Well, I am hungry," she admitted. "I could have eaten a second lemon bar, too."
"How did you bake if you didn't have any food in the house?"
"Kara Lynch brought me a welcome dessert tray. Do you know her?"
"I went to school with Kara. I haven't seen her in years."
"She was really nice. She wants to introduce me to everyone in town."
"That sounds like Kara. Her family has always been at the center of town activities."
"That's what she said. I liked her, especially because she didn't laugh at my new idea."
"What idea is that?"
"I'll tell you over lunch," she said as Ashlyn gave them an impatient look from the hallway. "Someone is hungry."
"I can see that. Let's go."
* * *
Dina's Café was crowded with both locals and tourists, but they were able to snag a corner booth after just a short wait.
"I came here once with my aunt," Mia commented, glancing around the restaurant. The décor in the café was warm and friendly: seascapes decorated the walls, along with a display case of all the local kids' sports teams sponsored by the café. "It hasn't changed a bit."
"No, it hasn't," he muttered, his lips tightening as his gazed settled on two older men seated at a table by the window.
"Do you know them?"
"Yes. The tall guy with the glasses is Hal Conroy. The white bearded man is Bill Hooper. They're friends with my father. Hal works at Buddy's Bait and Tackle, and Bill runs a bar on Shellview."
"What does your father do?"
"He's a fisherman."
"And you said he's on vacation?"
"I did say that," he replied. "Do you know what you want to eat, Ash?"
She pointed to an item on the menu.
"Cheeseburgers are my favorite, too," he said. "How about some fruit to go with that?"
She shrugged and then sat back in her chair, her gaze turning to Mia.
Mia was happy to see the anger gone from Ashlyn's eyes. "Are we friends again?" she asked. She heard Jeremy's quick intake of breath and thought he probably didn't like her blunt question, but she had a bit more experience with pissed-off eight-year-old girls than he did.
Ashlyn slowly nodded.
"Good, because we have lots of work to do this afternoon, if you still want to help me. And I hope you do. You did so well on the coloring, I thought we might try some paint."
A light entered Ashlyn's eyes, with a more vigorous nod of agreement.
Mia smiled and turned her attention back to Jeremy, who looked a little confused by their exchange. "As I mentioned, I have a lot of siblings. We fought all the time, often about nothing, but we got over it faster if we just put it out in the open. My father hated drama. He always told me not to go to bed mad at anyone. If we were having problems with each other, he tried to get us to talk things out, not let them fester."
"And that worked?"
"Most of the time. There was still some sulking, and forgiveness didn't always come quickly, but at the end of the day, we always remembered that we were family."
"It sounds like you had a good family."
His tone told her that he had not had that same experience. She wanted to ask for more information, but he'd made it clear he did not want to discuss his father.
The waitress delivered their drinks and took their order, then headed back to the kitchen.
As Jeremy settled in his seat, he rolled his left shoulder and winced with the motion.
"How was your physical therapy?" she asked.
"Painful, but necessary."
"Can I ask you how you got hurt?"
"I fell," he said shortly.
She couldn't imagine that was true. Jeremy was physically fit and athletically gifted from what she could see. If he'd fallen, someone had pushed him. But apparently his injury was also off-limits. She frowned, not liking the boundaries he was setting up. Grayson had done the same thing, deciding what she could and couldn't talk about. "You know, conversation is a two-way street."
"Tell that to Ashlyn," he said dryly.
"I'm not talking to her; I'm speaking to you."
"If you want conversation, tell me about the big idea you mentioned earlier."
It was a good dodge, she thought, but since she suspected that some of his reticence had to do with Ashlyn's presence, she decided to go with the change in subject.
"After taking quite a few paintings out of the studio, I was impressed with the quality of the art. I think it would be a shame to give the paintings away or recycle them as if they were disposable when in reality they represent someone's artistic vision. So I'm thinking that I should display them somewhere, put on a show to pay homage to Aunt Carly and all the talented artists who stayed in her studio to pursue their dreams. Kara suggested I contact the museum or one of the galleries in town. What do you think?"
"I don't know much about art, but since you mentioned you worked in a museum, I'm guessing you do. Although, you skipped the part about why you're unemployed."
"Well, it wasn't because I wasn't good at my job."
"Now who's decided our conversation is a one-way street?" he challenged.
"It's not an interesting story. Right now I'm more interested in discussing my idea. I was thinking I could call the show Freedom in honor of the artists who found freedom from their emotional problems through art."
"Are you sure they all ended up free?"
She frowned. "Well, no, I don't actually know anything about the artists. But Aunt Carly did tell me once that she thought art therapy was an under-used method for freeing the soul. She got very spiritual and philosophical after her trips to India and Tibet. I think she even got to speak to the Dalai Lama."
"I wonder what that conversation was about," he mused.
"Knowing Aunt Carly, it was about living well, loving deeply, and peace in the world."
"Peace in the world—what a concept," he said, a cynical note in his voice reminding her that he'd seen a far different world than she had.
"Where did you fight, Jeremy?"
"All over the place. There are a lot
of battles going on in the world right now, but let's get back to art. Did you like working in a museum? The few I've been to seem too quiet and too pretentious. I guess I'm just not a museum kind of guy. I know I should appreciate art, but I can't understand why swirls of paint command hushed reverence when they look like nothing but a mess to me."
"You must have been looking at abstract art. The swirls of paint represent the artist's vision of the world."
"Twisted and colorful?"
"You're being too literal. The Russian artist Wassily Kandisky believed that colors provoke emotions. Red is confidence, green is peaceful, blue is deep and sometimes supernatural, yellow is warm and white is silence. He even assigned instruments to go with the colors. Red is a trumpet and light blue is a flute."
"I think I'm just too practical for art. I deal with what's real in front of me, not what someone wants me to imagine."
"I understand, but I like to be open to possibilities, to be transported through art to another time or place or level of realization." She laughed at his bemused expression. "It's fine. You don't have to like art. A lot of people don't get it."
"But you do."
"Well, I don't love everything. I have certain periods and styles that I enjoy more than others, but I have an appreciation for the artist, for their ability to create something out of nothing. I respect their dedication and the way they put their heart and soul on the line when they put their art up for public consumption. It's a brave moment, and I like bravery, even when it's very, very small." She paused. "I feel kind of silly talking about bravery to you. What I'm discussing is nothing like the kind of courage required to go into war. I don't want you to think—"
"I don't," he said, cutting her off. "I know the difference. One of the reasons I fight is to protect the freedom of people to create art, speak their mind, and live their lives the way they want to."
She stared back at him, feeling herself moved by his words, by the passion in his voice, by the perfect male beauty of his strong face and clear eyes and extraordinary mouth. Her body tingled with feminine appreciation and suddenly she couldn't remember what they were talking about. She just knew that she wanted to keep on looking at him, keep on talking to him. He was quite simply the most fascinating man she'd met in a very long time. He was very different from the men in her usual circle and she liked that even more. She had a feeling he liked her, too, and that was a little scary. She'd come to Angel's Bay to get over a mistake with a man. She didn't need to make another one.
If I Didn't Know Better Page 6
