Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) (17 page)

He shook his head. “No. The real Carly is the woman who goes and helps out in the indie hub, the one who is so involved in her programming that she doesn’t register lunch being put in front of her, the one who goes to her mother’s every couple of weeks and spends time with her family.” He grabbed his sketchbook from the table and showed her the picture he’d drawn.

She stared at him. “When did you do this?”

“While I was having lunch. You were distracted.”

She examined the drawing. “It’s like a completely different person.” Her fingers entwined themselves in her hair. “I look so different with curly hair.”

“I like it.”

With a sigh, she put the sketchbook down. “This isn’t the type of person who runs a billion dollar company.”

Anger stirred in Evan. “You can look however you want. Steve Jobs wore turtlenecks, for heaven’s sake.”

“But he was a man.”

“So?”

“A woman is seen as more vulnerable by the men around her. Why do you think Softco arranged for me to be at their table the other night? They thought they could get to me.”

Evan had no experience in that kind of thing. He had no idea if she was right, but it galled him to think that maybe she was. “Surely the way you wear your hair doesn’t matter.”

She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Should we think about dinner?”

He let her change the topic. It was getting dark, and on cue, his stomach rumbled. “Yeah. I’ll grill a couple of steaks and make a salad.”

“Sounds good.”

He led her into the kitchen and grabbed the makings for a salad out of the fridge.

“You’ve got far more in your fridge than I do,” Carly said.

“It’s too much of a hassle to go out every time I need to eat.”

Evan fed McClane, who had turned up as soon as he’d heard them in the kitchen. Carly chopped vegetables for the salad and he marinated the steaks. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a woman in his kitchen, the last time someone had helped him prepare dinner. It had to have been in Michigan, but he struggled to remember details. Normally the women he dated didn’t stick around for too long. They got tired of being ignored while he painted, thought he should drop everything to be with them when they wanted it, because being an artist wasn’t really work.

He and Carly had slipped into a rhythm without any fuss. They saw each other when they could, and she was even busier than he was. It didn’t faze her when he worked for hours, because she did exactly the same thing. There weren’t any expectations from her. Evan appreciated that. He’d spent way too much of his life not living up to his parents’ expectations.

“Do you want a drink?” He held up a bottle of sparkling apple cider. He’d made sure he had a bottle in his fridge since the picnic.

She grinned. “Yes, please.”

Her smile sent warmth through him and he put the bottle down and pulled her into his arms. She fit snugly against him and he kissed her. A shiver of lust went through him as her arms encircled him and she kissed him back just as fiercely. This woman was incredible. How could no one see it?

He reluctantly broke the kiss, and Carly looked up at him with desire in her eyes. He wanted to drag her off to bed, but then they’d never get dinner. He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you that drink.”

When everything was ready, they decided to sit outside to eat.

“What should I expect tomorrow?” Evan asked. He’d been to Halloween parties before, but never to a Day of the Dead event.

“We’ll go over early and honor the dead. Mama will have already built the altars for each person.”

“What do you do with the altar?”

“We decorate it and then tell stories of the person we are honoring.”

It was different from anything he was used to. “Who will you be honoring?”

Her smile was a little sad. “My father, two of Mama’s brothers and Mama’s father and grandparents. The girls will all have people to honor as well. You’ll get to meet some of the foster girls Mama has cared for over the past nine years.”

“And after that?”

“Then we party. Food, drink, music and celebration. Mama invites whole communities around and we celebrate together. You might want to bring your sketchbook.”

“That wouldn’t be inappropriate?”

“Not at all. We’re celebrating life and you’d be capturing it. Though you may want to dance instead.”

“I didn’t think you danced.”

She shook her head and her curls danced around. “I don’t, but it’s mandatory to have at least a jig.”

He wanted to see that. He wanted to see Carly really relax and let go.

“It goes until late, but I usually leave early because I need to work the next day.”

“Why don’t you crash here again? That way you’ll have a chance to rest before driving.” And he could spend another night with her.

“All right. That would be great.”

He liked that she wasn’t presuming to stay. He didn’t have to deal with her disappointment if he had wanted to paint instead.

“Do you have some more work you want to do tonight?” he asked.

“No, I’m done. My brain can only take so much at once.”

There was a twinge of disappointment. He’d wanted to finish the painting of her tonight.

“If you’ve got more painting to do, I can watch the next
Die Hard
movie with McClane.” She stretched. “Though that might even be too much for me right now.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. You’ve got the exhibition coming up. I don’t want to stop you getting your work done. It’s important.”

She understood. It was probably the first time that anyone really understood what he did. “Thanks.”

After they’d cleaned up, he set her up with the movie and some popcorn and went back to his studio.

She was his kind of woman.

***

I
t was past midnight when Evan signed the bottom of the painting. Had Carly come to say goodnight and he’d ignored her? He couldn’t remember any interruption. He cleaned his brushes quickly and then walked into the living room. Carly was lying on the couch asleep, and McClane had climbed up next to her. The DVD menu screen kept repeating over and over.

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the couch. “Carly, you need to go to bed.”

She slowly opened her eyes and stretched. “Did I fall asleep?”

He nodded.

“What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

She sat up. “I didn’t see the end of the movie.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock outrage. “You fell asleep on John McClane?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it! We can no longer be friends.”

Carly sat up, put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She was genuinely concerned.

“I was kidding.” He kissed her lightly. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

He helped her up, flicked off the television, and followed her to his bedroom.

What kind of life had Carly led that she couldn’t recognize his joke?

Probably a lonely one. He should be more careful with her.

***

E
van’s stomach was imitating a washing machine as he and Carly walked with McClane over to her mother’s house on Sunday. It would not stop churning. This was a family event and not just some random lunch. He was going as Carly’s partner, not Zita’s friend, and that made it seem serious. He didn’t do well with family stuff.

They strolled up the drive and Zita’s two dogs raced out to greet them. McClane wagged his tail and soon all three of them were running around the front yard together.

“I give McClane about five minutes before he’s run himself ragged,” Evan said.

Sure enough, by the time they walked up the steps of the house, McClane was lying panting under a tree.

“Is he going to be all right?” Carly asked.

“Yeah. I’ll get a bowl of water from Z and he’ll be fine.”

Carly opened the door and called, “Mama, we’re here.”

Her mother appeared wearing a traditional bright red skirt and a white shirt, her hair loose. “
Hola, mi niñita
! Evan, how are you?”

“Great, Carmen. Thanks for having me.”

“You are practically family,” she said, kissing both his cheeks.

He froze. Did she really think that? He and Carly had only been on a couple of dates. The mantle of belonging tried to settle on his shoulders, but he shrugged it off. He knew better than that. Carmen was just being polite.

“How is the painting?” Carmen asked.

He blinked. He wasn’t sure if she was referring to his painting of her garden, or painting in general, so he simply said, “Fine.”

He was relieved to find Zita in the kitchen. After greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, he got the bowl of water for McClane and called him around to the backyard. By the time his dog was settled with Zita’s two, Bridget and Jack had arrived, and there were also a dozen or so young women chatting excitedly, mostly in Spanish. He made his way over to Jack, who also appeared completely adrift.

“You understand any of this?” Evan asked.

“I catch the occasional word is all,” Jack replied. “They talk so fast.”

Carmen clapped her hands together and called, “It is time.” She took a large basket from the bench and walked outside. The others filed after her, also picking up bags or baskets to take with them.

Evan fell in next to Carly. “Where are we going?”

“To the altars.”

She took his hand and they wound their way through the garden to the back of the property and a large clearing surrounded by big, shady trees. There were over twenty white crosses set up around the clearing, each with a name on it. It was almost like a graveyard.

Carmen stopped in front of the cross in the center and everyone encircled it. Carly squeezed his hand and he looked at her, but she was staring at the cross. It had the name Brendan Flanagan on it. It must be for her father.

Carmen made the sign of the cross, and took a deep breath. “My husband, Brendan, the father of my three girls, taken from us too soon.” She placed a small bottle of whiskey beneath the cross. “You always loved a drink, always ready with a story or to help others. You appeared in my life like a comet, bright and mystical, and swept me off my feet. You gave me three beautiful daughters, who you loved with all your heart.” She knelt and placed a harmonica and a packet of cards on the altar. “To keep you entertained like you always entertained us.” She turned to face the group. “The day I met Brendan was
Semana Santa
. We were going house to house with the priest and this tall, pale man caught my eye. He was ever so handsome.” She put a hand to her chest and sighed. “He joined the procession and walked next to me, not saying anything. I felt him there every step of the way. By the time the ceremony was over, I had to speak with him.”

Some of the girls smiled.

“He spoke only a few words of Spanish but it did not matter. Our hearts spoke to each other. From that day on we were inseparable.”

Carmen stepped back. Carly let go of Evan’s hand and moved forward.

“It is usually so difficult to decide which story to tell about Papa, but recently I saw a painting of the beach and I knew.”

Was she talking about his painting? Bridget was smiling and nodding, Zita just looked sad.

“It was a hot summer and we lived inland, far from the ocean. One day, Papa said he’d had enough of the heat, so he packed us all into the pickup and drove almost two hours to the beach. None of us had seen the ocean before, and it was like he’d taken us to another world. We splashed in the water, built sandcastles and chased birds. I must have fallen asleep in the car on the way home because when I woke up I was in bed, and wondered whether it had all been a lovely dream.” She stepped back, her eyes glistening.

Evan squeezed her hand. This was why she’d been so sad when she’d seen his painting. It had reminded her of a happier time when her father had been alive. Bridget stepped forward to tell her story, but he wasn’t listening. He put his arm around Carly and pulled her close to him. A single tear ran down her face and she brushed it off.

It had been over twenty years since her father had died and still it brought her to tears. He didn’t know what to say. He’d never lost anyone close to him.

Bridget finished her story and Zita stepped forward. “I remember him putting me to bed, kissing me goodnight.” She stepped back.

If Carly had been about eight when her father died, it meant Zita was only three. Perhaps she had few memories of the man who fathered her.

Carmen was finishing her prayers for her husband when Bridget spoke.

“Mama, will you tell us how Papa died?”

Her mother put a hand to her chest. “Today is not the time for such stories.”

“Please, Mama. I always thought he died at work, but Carly told me recently I was wrong.”

By his side, Carly stiffened and then sighed.

“No. Today is for happy memories,” said Carmen.

“Mama, the girls are old enough to know the truth,” Carly said, moving over to put a hand on her shoulder.

Carmen looked at her daughter. “What do you know of it?”

“I was awake when the soldiers brought the news.”

She shook her head, sorrow on her face. “No. Not now. We must honor the others first.” She moved on to the next altar.

Evan wanted to ask what that was all about, but Carmen had already begun to speak, in Spanish this time.

“The rest will be in Spanish,” Carly whispered. “The others we are honoring do not speak English.”

Evan nodded. He was happy to stand and listen. There was a lot he could tell from the tone of someone’s voice and the way they stood. He didn’t need the exact words.

They moved from altar to altar; each time the person who spoke would leave gifts for the deceased and tell a story. When it came time for the foster girls to speak about their families, they often stood alone, or if they were upset, one of the other girls would comfort and support them.

It was a lovely tradition, so far removed from the cheap, commercial Halloween celebrated in the United States. It would be far nicer to celebrate all those people who had passed out of your life, to remember what they had meant to you.

When they were finished, Carmen said something in Spanish and the foster girls all moved back toward the house. Carmen went to join them, but Carly stopped her.