Dare to Surrender (25 page)

“Fine, but, Joy?”

“Yes, Grandma?”

“Don’t be late.”

S
itting at her desk in an empty gallery, Joy popped another Tums. The museum curator had canceled on her this moring, so she’d
had to reschedule returning the sculpture. Time was running out, and her stomach burned with nerves. Maybe she was getting
an ulcer. She swallowed the antacid tablet and popped another one, her third that morning. And it was barely eleven o’clock.

Why did she always make such a mess of things? Thinking back, she could recall several instances in which her reckless behavior
had ended badly. Like that time in Paris. She’d been strolling the tiny streets in Montmartre when the thumping bass of electronic
music had lulled her into a crowded but small bar filled with gay men. That was one of the few times she’d ever danced outside
of her house, and she’d gotten sucked onto the packed dance floor. All the men were very nice and bought her drinks. Lots
of drinks. By the time she’d finally left the bar, it was nearly 3:00 a.m., the metro had stopped running, and she had no
idea where she was; all the streets looked the same. She’d finally hailed a taxi after standing on a corner for an hour, but
she wasn’t sure where her apartment was so she’d had the driver drop her off at the only place she could pronounce, the Louvre.
From there, she knew how to get back to her housing, even though it was another forty-five-minute walk.

She’d had many such incidents while living in France.

Just thinking about it made her skin burn with embarrassment. And to make matters worse, many of the students knew she was
saying phrases wrong and had decided it was more entertaining not to fill Joy in on the joke.

Assholes.

As she glanced at her bag, envisioning what was inside, she nearly saw what everyone else saw—a fuckup.

She stared at her purse until her eyes began to burn. Oddly, a tingle of anger started somewhere in her chest and then spread
throughout her body, until she realized her hands were shaking from it.

Yeah, she acted impulsively sometimes, but so what? Why did people think that made her stupid? And sometimes it was better
not to overthink things. Sometimes going on instinct was for the best.

Sometimes you had to take a risk, and if something went wrong, you just dealt with it, like she dealt with her car situation.

She stood so fast her chair fell behind her in a loud clatter. She didn’t bother to right it. Instead she yanked her bag off
the floor and made her way toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Andrew said, looking up from his computer.

“I have an important errand to run,” she said. “I may not be back today.”

“Panos is gonna be
ma-ad,
” he said in a singsong voice.

Before she walked out, she paused with her hand on the door handle. “Tell him it couldn’t be avoided. I have to go take care
of some business for the show.”

Joy didn’t stop to think about it; she just went. Clutching her bag tightly to her side, she ran down the street toward the
bus stop. Without a car, she had to take the cheapest transport possible until she got paid on Friday. Her fifty dollars had
dwindled down a bit too quickly, and now she had only about twenty dollars to make it two more days.

At the corner, she ignored the red light and crossed anyway, nearly getting hit by a speeding taxicab. Jumping onto the opposite
sidewalk, she barely noticed him giving her the finger, and anyway, she didn’t care. She was going to talk her way into the
museum and return the sculpture. She couldn’t go one more minute like this.

Passing an alley, a flash of colors caught her eye, colors that hadn’t been there just the day before. The colors of the design
drew her in a familiar way, and she found herself walking toward it, making her way through the tiny, empty alley.

The buildings on either side of the small street were old and hadn’t been kept up, the exteriors painted a dull, peeling gray.
She passed a couple of huge garbage bins as she made her way to the mural, and she couldn’t help but love the contrast of
the beautiful art juxtaposed with the dreary surroundings.

When she reached the mural, she stopped before it and stared. “Just brilliant,” she murmured to herself. It was a modern,
urban rendition of Monet’s
Water Lilies
. Joy had never seen anything like it, and she knew if she could just nail down the artist, she could get him into a gallery,
maybe even some outdoor commissions.

Yeah, if she could nail him down. He was quick and must work at night; she was never going to catch up with him. With a sigh,
she pulled out a business card and taped it into a crack in the wall.

Then, for some reason, the hairs on her neck stood on end. The last time she’d felt such a sensation was that time in Barcelona
when she’d been robbed. Like now, she’d been alone, in an alley.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A tall figure, dressed in baggy jeans and a black jacket, was
walking toward her. Her instinct told her to get away—fast—but the alley was a dead end. There was only one way out, and it
included passing the man walking her way.

Clutching her bag to her side, she kept her head down as she walked briskly toward the street. But, as she approached the
man, she wasn’t surprised when he stopped in front of her, blocking her way.

“Gimme your purse, lady.”

Her heart beat a frightened tempo in her chest. But her purse had everything in it, including the sculpture.

How ironic. Someone wanted to steal the stolen sculpture.

“Come on, bitch!”

He pointed something and her blood froze. He had a gun.

“Here!” Quickly, she dug out her wallet and gave it to him. Grabbing it, he spit at her feet and ran back the way he’d come.

Shaking, she stared after him, every nerve in her body trembling in fear.

She’d been held up.

Oh, God.
Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. They kept coming and coming, even as she told herself she was fine,
that he’d just stolen her wallet and everything could be replaced.

It could have been avoided. She’d gone into an empty alley alone. Stupid! She’d done so many stupid things; she’d made so
many poor decisions. Just moments ago, she’d been lost in a beautiful work of art. And now? Now her legs could barely hold
her steady because they were shaking like leaves.

He’d had a gun.

She’d given him her wallet.

And now she literally didn’t have a penny to her name.

Finally she brushed the tears away, took a deep breath, and walked on. At that moment, there was only one place she wanted
to be and one person she wanted to be with.

A
sh. Be reasonable.”

Tapping his foot, Ash looked across the kitchen table to where his sister was picking from a bowl of blueberries. She popped
one into her mouth and met his gaze.

“Seriously, Ash. You’ve already done way too much for me, and I don’t need a full-time caregiver.”

He’d purposely come when he knew his mother would be out grocery shopping, getting ready for Thanksgiving dinner, so he and
his sister could talk privately. But his sister was being a lot more resistant than he’d expected.

“Violet, you’re the one who called me just a couple of days ago needing help. Remember?”

“I know.” She took a deep breath, glanced away briefly and then met his gaze. “I wasn’t going to discuss this now, but screw
it. I’m moving.”

Ash froze. “What? What do you mean,
moving
?”

She lifted a brochure from the table and pushed it toward him. “I want to move here.”

Ash picked up the brochure. “Shelter Cove Rehabilitation Center?” Shaking his head, he glanced at his sister. “I don’t understand.
You’ve already been through this rehab, years ago.”

“I won’t go as a patient. I’ll be a counselor.”

Why did everything seem to be slipping away? His world had been so orderly just last month and now… “Start from the beginning.”

“Well, over the last year, I’ve been counseling patients online. And Mom’s taken me over to the center a few times to meet
with the clients one-on-one. Now they’ve offered me a position as an in-house counselor—and, Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to do it.”

He glanced around the kitchen, at the improvements he’d made to the house to make it accessible. “I thought you were happy
here, Violet.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “I am. You’ve been amazing, the best brother a sister could ever have. But
I need more, Ash.”

“Like what? You have an equipped house, a special van, the latest technology… I don’t get it.”

“You’re right. Thanks to you I have so much, and I appreciate it, more than I could ever say. But I need more.”

“What more? You want more money? Because I can give you more, just say the word.”

But she was shaking her head, and Ash saw the stubborn look in her eyes, the same look she’d given all her life when her mind
was made up. Ash knew from experience that Violet had a mulish streak; it had been apparent since she’d refused to share her
piece of chocolate cake with him at her third birthday party.

“I’ve been putting this off for a while now, Ash, because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“Is it because of Mom?”

“No. It’s because of me. Ever since Dad died, you’ve had this need to take care of us.”

Stiffening, he drew his hand back. “I promised Dad.”

“Dad never should have put that burden on a thirteen-year-old boy!”

“It wasn’t a burden, and anyway, I failed.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” he snapped.

“Feeling sorry for yourself.”

“What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous!”

“You didn’t fail anyone. This,” she said, waving to her legs, “was a random act of violence. When are you going to accept
that there was nothing you could have done about it?”

He clenched his jaw. “I could have been here.”

“This isn’t your fault. And the more you dedicate your life to making up for what you think you did wrong, the worse I feel!”

“Violet, what are you talking about?”

“How do you think I feel being so dependent on you? Knowing you plan your entire life around my needs. And Mom’s.”

“That’s not true.”

“It
is
true. Ever since the accident, you’ve devoted your entire existence to taking care of me, making sure I have the best of
everything. But to you, it’s never enough.”

He clenched his jaw. “I just want to make sure you and Mom have security.”

“But where do you draw the line? Listen, Ash, I know you have a lot of money, more than enough to live on—
you don’t even have to work! And I’m going to get paid for this job. Mom can get back to work, back to her own life. Not to
mention, we could easily live off the stocks you put in our names.”

He just stared at her. “But… I thought you were happy….”

“I am.
We are.
But I think we’ve all been afraid to move on. Me, Mom. You.”

“Move on from what?” He couldn’t comprehend what his sister was saying. His family didn’t need him anymore? The thought left
him cold and anxious, and he eyed the door.

“It’s time for us to start a new chapter, Ash.
All
of us.”

“And this is what you want? What Mom wants?”

Nodding, she said, “It doesn’t mean we still don’t need you, Ash.”

“Right,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “For what?”

“As a brother and a son,” she said, her blue eyes watery and shining. “As a friend.”

The words echoed in his head after he left, and as he drove home, he expected to feel a sense of loss, a void. After all,
hadn’t he lived the last ten years with the sole purpose of supporting his family? Hadn’t taking care of them been the driving
force behind ninety-nine percent of his decisions? But slowly, bit by bit, another emotion crept through him, a feeling he
hadn’t experienced since…

Ever.

Reaching to the radio, he turned up the volume of the AC/DC tune and began tapping his hand on his thigh to the beat of “Highway
to Hell.” Driving, listening, he couldn’t help but feel it. A sense of freedom.

“Joy?” Erica ushered her inside her apartment. “What’s wrong?”

Joy lost it.

The tears burst from her eyes as she sank onto the sofa, uttering incoherent things. “The sculpture was just so beautiful…
in my purse… I didn’t think—I never think!” She hiccuped. “And then stupid Panos sold it and then I had sex against a wall…
and I have
no
money, no savings…”

Erica gently removed Joy’s coat and purse and set them aside. Taking a seat next to her, she silently put her arm around Joy’s
shoulders. Joy leaned against her friend. Erica was so good; she was always there for her.

“My car’s in jail; I had to borrow money from my grandmother… no tires… Ash thinks I’m irresponsible, and maybe he’s right!”

“You’re not irresponsible, honey. You’re just a bit preoccupied sometimes.”

“I’m a mess!”

“You’re not a mess. You have a unique way of doing things that is… endearing.”

“See?” Joy said with a sniffle. “You get me. Why can’t he?”

“Oh, honey.” Erica hugged her tighter. “You’re too good for him.”

Joy shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “He’s too good for me.”

“Bullshit.”

Startled by the vehement tone of Erica’s voice, Joy glanced up.

Erica gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Sorry, I just hate it when you put yourself down like that.”

“Erica, you don’t understand. I… I…” She swallowed. “I stole from him.”

“What?”

Joy told her the entire story, from the night she’d stolen the sculpture from the museum to receiving it back. Finally she
ended with a “He’s been so good to me, and I’m nothing but a thief!” And she promptly burst into tears once again.

“There, there,” Erica said, patting her back. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

“No, it’s not! Erica, I’m a thief, I’m broke, I can barely afford to fix my car, and I’m going to be th-th-thirteee!”