Read The Art of My Life Online
Authors: Ann Lee Miller
Tags: #romance, #art, #sailing, #jail, #marijuana abuse
The Art of My Life (3 page)
“What will you give me if I march my
butt to Stoney’s?”
Cal barked a laugh. “Like you’re not
going down there every day to pierce anyway.”
“If you think I’m pissing Stoney off
for nothing, you’re crazy.” She planted her hands on her hips.
“Face time. I want face time.”
He didn’t want to have this
conversation less than an hour out of jail. He sighed, emptying all
the air from his lungs. “All we do is fight. We’re toxic together.
We should have broken up two years ago and stayed broken
up.”
“We’re good together. The
sex—”
Cal rattled the boat keys in his
pocket. “You talking to Stoney or not?”
“I’m not doing your dirty
work—”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him
myself.”
Evie flipped him off. “Bite
me.”
Two boats down the dock, Fish paused
as he crossed Zeek’s gangplank and looked their direction as if to
say he shared the sentiment.
Cal turned his back on both of them
and walked down the deck.
Evie’s wrath he deserved, but he’d
stood by Fish when he sunk into a funk their whole senior year of
high school after Fish’s family left the country. He didn’t care
what Fish said, they weren’t done. Not if he had anything to say
about it.
He swallowed the lump in his throat
and skimmed his eyes over the
Escape’s
graceful lines, her
mast jutting into blue sky. He unlocked the hatch, tossed the dog
food through the opening, descended the ladder into the musty cabin
with Van Gogh hefted under one arm, and shut out the
drama.
Salt and stale marijuana smoke hung in
the air. Water lapped a rhythmic peace against the hull.
Van Gogh’s sniff-fest traveled the
length of the cabin from the forward bunk, to the dining nook, the
galley’s gimbaled stove that rocked with the sway of the boat, and
into the master suite.
He owned the
Escape
.
Amazing.
Hope lurked despite Evie’s crazy,
Fish’s anger, and his mother’s expectations.
But first he had to face Aly. And talk
her into loaning him forty thousand dollars.
July 16
Am I wacked, or do you ever
stand in front of your favorite picture and try to breathe it in
before you have to face something you dread? Does art bring
tranquility? Is beauty an outgrowth of the divine?
Thoughts?
Aly at
www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Cal followed his folks from the sticky
ninety-four degree parking lot through the double glass doors of
the PNC Bank branch. He tugged at the tie chaffing his neck. The
last time he’d worn a tie in Aly’s presence he’d fallen in love
with her—eight years ago when Jesse married her sister.
He scanned the teller line and the
office cubicles for a glimpse of Aly. Hunger and dread arm-wrestled
in his gut. He wanted to walk back across the tile—away from the
humiliation of his life—part-time jobs, living at Henna’s for free,
painting with art supplies his mother funded—and out the door. But
this was the only way he’d get a life, the only way he’d get a shot
at Aly.
Mom stopped at the office partition
laminated with
Aly Logan, Loan Officer
on a plastic strip at
the right.
Over her shoulder, his gaze collided
with Aly’s.
Her eyes widened and telegraphed
nervousness he was sure Aly didn’t want him to see. A piece of him
relaxed. On some level, she cared.
Aly’s gaze swept them. “Hi,
Koomers.”
Dad moved between them and took a
seat. “Aly! How’s my favorite banker?”
She warmed Dad with a look that oozed
affection, like the ones she used to give Cal. Before
Evie.
He took the chair in the entryway, the
only space left in Aly’s cramped office, as his parents settled
beside him.
God, Aly was beautiful sitting in a
beam of muted sun filtering through the window. His fingers itched
to sketch her. Maize-colored hair swept back from her pale face in
a loose ponytail. Hazel eyes picked up the olive of her sleeveless
blouse. Sun had honeyed the skin tone on her arms. Her small nails
were bare without the bumper car colors she’d worn in high school
and the iridescents she’d favored in college.
Aly, fake-smiled at his shirt,
avoiding his eyes. “Well, let’s get to it. You probably want to
know what the bank decided on your loan.”
He couldn’t pull his eyes away from
her. He’d been starved for Aly for too long. The last time he’d
seen her was four months ago at Easter. She’d treated him like a
pedophile uncle—as she had for the past two years.
“You’ve got the loan,” Aly
said.
Her words jolted his back against the
chair. Inside, emotions randomly beaded and separated like mercury.
Relief bumped and merged with a cringe that he wasn’t man enough to
conduct his own business. An educated guess about what lay under
the lace winking from the scoop of Aly’s neckline merged into hope
that he’d see it someday.
Aly grabbed a file folder from the
tidy stack on the corner of her desk and handed Cal the top sheet
to sign. Her fingers brushed his, and she jerked away. He’d touched
her hundreds of times, and he’d give just about anything to earn
back the privilege.
“This is the loan application,” Aly
said.
He signed and slid the page across
Aly’s desk to his mother.
Aly was careful not to touch Cal as
she passed him the loan agreement, then the loan origination
document.
His eyes met hers with a silent
communication that he’d noticed she didn’t want to touch
him.
Aly looked down at the stack of papers
in front of her. Message received.
“Your payments will be due on the
first of each month.” Aly steepled her fingers as she continued
explaining the repayment details.
His mind churned. Of course Aly didn’t
want anything to do with him. Two years ago he decimated her heart.
Yesterday he was in jail. Today he stepped from flat broke to forty
thousand dollars in the hole. What in that picture would make her
want to trust him again?
Aly rose, and his folks scooted their
chairs back and stood.
He sprung from his seat, as desperate
to get away from Aly as he had been to see her. The sooner he got
out of here, the sooner he could get to work becoming the man he
wanted to be—a man Aly would respect.
Mom reached a hand toward Aly.
“Thanks. Don’t forget we’re planning a picnic for Labor Day at Blue
Springs.”
Was Cal the only one who felt odd
shaking hands with someone who had shared Christmas, Thanksgiving,
and Easter dinners for nearly a decade?
Aly’s cheeks pinked as Dad shook her
hand.
Okay, so Cal wasn’t the only one
caught in a whirlpool of
Meet The Fockers
awkwardness. But
he could only reach across the metal desk. “Thanks, Al, I really
appreciate it.”
Aly’s small hand branded his lifeline
in the shortest handshake in the history of banking.
He hovered over the desk with his
empty fingers stretched toward her. The scent of forest mint filled
his head. He couldn’t help himself. It had been so long. He backed
away. He had to get out of here.
He stuffed the check and loan papers
into his back pocket and strode out of the lobby and onto State
Road 44 without waiting for his folks to exit the bank. It was just
as well he’d lost his friggin’ driver’s license. He yanked free his
tie and unbuttoned his already damp shirt. The two mile walk to
Henna’s was just what he needed to reconnect with reality. He was
crazy stupid for even imagining he could win Aly. But he wasn’t
going down without trying his best.
His folks’ minivan slowed, and he
waved them past. No way was he up for discussing boat repairs and
dry dock. Beaching the
Escape
and hacking the barnacles off
her hull—now that had possibilities.
But first he had to purge the longing
Aly surged up in him. He had to paint. He could almost smell the
comfort of the color and oils sucking the chaos out of him,
ordering it onto canvas.
And when sanity returned, he’d find a
way to make things right with Aly.
Fish sprayed the last of the marine
debris from the deck and coiled the hose. He hated to admit it, but
he actually liked running fishing charters for Zeke better than
working the counter at Circle K. It didn’t matter. Cal had gotten
him thrown in jail for the longest six hours of his life. Scared
the crap out of him. He never wanted to feel that helpless again.
Never wanted to stand in court, guilt pressing in on him from every
eye in the room—no matter how much he protested he didn’t know how
the marijuana got into his locker.
Should he even apply for law school?
Who would vote for a candidate with a record? One thing was for
damn sure, he had Cal to thank for reigniting his political
ambitions. He hadn’t thought about running for office in a long
time—till Cal’s betrayal had shaken him up.
The desire to make Cal understand how
he felt churned on a primal level. He eyed Cal two slips down,
polishing the
Escape’s
chrome work. His chest ached. He
missed Cal, the one constant in his life.
The gate clanged against its post at
the end of the pier. Evie strutted up the dock. His eyes drifted to
the breasts she wore like magnificent hood ornaments.
He couldn’t remember whether Cal and
Evie were on again or off again. An idea solidified. “Evangeline!”
He scooped out a left-over Coors Light from the cooler. “Want a
beer?”
She stopped on the dock behind
Zeke’s Ambition
and leaned toward the boat to grab the Coors
from his hand. His eyes traced the tattooed flower stem where it
trailed south into the depths of her shirt.
She straightened, narrowed her eyes,
and flipped open the beer.
“
I have to study for a
poly sci quiz. Stay and keep me company?”
She took a sip. “Looks like you’ve
already started studying.”
He shot a glance at the tattoo peeking
from the neckline of her blouse. “Botany. Dasies. One in
particular.”
“
Since when do you hit on
me?”
Since Cal pissed him off. “Since I
can’t fight it anymore.”
Her gaze slid to Cal as he walked aft
on his boat.
“
Hey, I’m only asking you
to hang out.”
Evie stepped aboard muttering
something about never measuring up. “So, I’m good enough for
you?”
His eyes moseyed over her wavy blonde
tresses down to her hibiscus-red toenails. “Uh, that would be a
yes.”
She plopped into a padded fishing
chair. “One beer. That’s all.”
Fish leaned against the side of the
boat and crossed his arms. “So, are you and Cal
together?”
“
I thought you had to
study.”
He zeroed his gaze into her eyes. “I
am.”
She took a drink, but not before he
saw her hand quiver. He was getting to her. Good.
“
So, about
Cal—”
Evie snorted.
“
I don’t get it. Why do
you stick to him? His four-figure income? Because he got three
months jail time, six months’ probation instead of the pre-plea
felony that would have locked him up for a year?” Never mind that
Cal had actually gotten a raw deal in court. Never mind Cal’s
surfer six-pack and his to-know-him-is-to-love-him
personality.
“
Cal’s got family. Ma left
me on that piece-of-shit boat with her pervy boyfriend and skipped
town when I was seventeen.”
Who knew they had something in common
other than a mutual appreciation for hood ornaments? “My family
ditched me the minute I finished eleventh grade to run an orphanage
in Peru.”
“
Not the same. Do you even
have a clue what it feels like to have a hole inside where family’s
supposed to be—since you were born? Even when Ma was around, she
didn’t, like,
care
.”
The ache in her voice unearthed his
own, and he reached for the last beer in the cooler. Yeah, he knew
exactly what it felt like to have a hole inside where family was
supposed to be.
“
I don’t know why Cal goes
all sea-urchin prickly about his mom. If Cal married me, I’d be a
best-freakin’-friend kind of daughter-in-law.”
“
Hey, I’ve got family.
Mom, Dad, sisters, a brother, one more sibling than Cal has.” He
sounded petty, even in his own ears.
“
Well, they’re not here,
are they? And why would I care?”
“
So, you’re in love with
Cal?”
“
Sometimes I hate
him.”
Fish squinted at her. Was it the beer
talking?
Evie stood. “I’m done puking out my
issues.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw
Cal moving around on the
Escape
. He followed Evie off the
boat. “I’ll walk you down to your boat.” He threw an arm across her
shoulders and darted a glance at Cal. But inside he felt like crap.
He was tired of superficial relationships with girls. And Evie
wasn’t a girl he could form a deep connection with.
He was better than this, better than
trying to make Cal pay.