Indelible (10 page)

The woman at the register dug something out from under a nail, too bored to notice him unless he brought something to be paid for. He wouldn’t. He moved to the end where the photo printing machines explained their operation. He read every step, removed the part from the camera that went into the machine, pressed the correct buttons on the screen, inserted the credit card, and waited.

A sigh of relief. The card had not yet been missed, one among so many, and of a lesser pedigree than those he’d left in the wallet, replaced exactly as he’d found it. Having been instructed and duly paid, the machine disgorged the photograph, taken at the moment Leviathan surfaced, inspiring maximum decibels from the star of the first act.

A tremor ran through him as he beheld his opening tableau, feeling, for the first time, something more than invisible.

Six

F
ive days after the opening, Fleur led Piper and her quirky giant, Miles, into the gallery. The event itself would have meant too many people, too many germs for Miles to bear gracefully, but they entered now with anticipation she could feel.

“Oh, look!” Piper exclaimed—to Miles, obviously. “What fun!”

“Yes, fun, very fun. Who could imagine such fun?”

Fleur pressed her fingers to the smile pulling at her lips, in case they were looking. She suspected at least part of what Miles said poked fun at himself and the world he had such a hard time in.

“Fleur, your paintings look fantastic here. Don’t they look fantastic, Miles?”

“Quite fantastic.”

“Hello.” Natalie joined them, but her greeting seemed uncharacteristically flat. Concerned, Fleur stayed behind while Piper and Miles moved through the display floor. “Has something happened, Natalie? Is it your nephew?”

Natalie released a slow breath. “Cody’s still fighting infection. I guess animal attacks are bad that way, but it’s going in the right direction, thank God.”

“Your brother?”

“He’s all right, I think.”

“Then.” She tipped her head, waiting.

Natalie sighed. “I did something stupid, and now, days later, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What did you do?”

“I showed Trevor something I shouldn’t have.”

“Trevor MacDaniel?”

“I knew better and let him talk me into it anyway.”

“That sounds … a little hinky.”

“No.” Natalie groaned. “Nothing like that.” She took her arm. “Come with me.”

Fleur went with her into the studio at the back of the gallery. She heard the soft plop of a moist cloth, and a moment later Natalie directed her hands to cold, damp clay. Not a lump. A head. A face. Familiar. “Is this me?”

“I hope you don’t mind. Faces get stuck in my head. It’s called eidetic memory, to keep seeing something as though it’s still there. This is how I make it go away.”

Fleur fingered the hair, the brow, the bridge of her own nose. “You showed Trevor my face?”

“Not yours. His.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Faces are like maps, showing where they’ve been and what happened along the way. Not specifics, of course. But joy and pain and goodness … and not.”

“You saw something bad in Trevor?”

“Not bad. No. But not what he wanted me to see.”

Fleur rested her hands on the smooth work surface. “Show me.”

“I can’t. It’s his.” Another sigh. “He wanted me to make it, practically forced me to, but when he saw it, he walked out.”

“I didn’t realize you were friends.”

“I don’t know what we are. I hardly know him, and yet.” Her voice trailed off as she bent down for something, opened a cabinet and closed it. “It’s just without Aaron, this is harder than I imagined.”

“Is he your only family?”

“My parents head a relief team. For the last two years, they’ve gone from one disaster area in the world to another. That was their dream and they’re finally doing it.”

Warmth and esteem came through in her voice.

“They check in when they can, but it isn’t often. Anyway, I’m twenty-five. I’d be fine on my own, if I could stop
seeing
people.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Fleur heard the cloth covering the model. “Natalie, if you fire and display that, I won’t mind. It should be enjoyed like the rest of your work.”

“I don’t show the faces. I only thought, if anyone could, you’d understand my making them.”

“I do understand that. But not your hiding them. Gifts are given for a reason, you know.”

“I’m using my gifts and my blessings. But this part sometimes feels more like a curse.”

“All right.” Fleur reached and found Natalie’s hand. “Come on, then, let’s get Piper and Miles. We’re going out for dinner, and you’re coming with us.”

The Tarleton Hotel in the heart of Old Town hearkened back to genteel times with spoked gingerbread trim in the archways; sheer-draped, leaded-glass windows; and beveled mirrors in carved frames. Sitting at the table with Fleur and her friends, Natalie felt the pressure inside her easing. These people were genuine and funny.

She listened with dismay and amusement as Fleur’s roommate, Piper, told about her first experience in the grand old dining room. “My date drugged my wine and it turned blue, but did I notice? I’d have chugged squid ink to kill Bob Betters’s droning on and on and on.”

“Some men have that effect,” Fleur agreed.

“Bob should drink squid ink,” Miles mumbled. “Every day. A complete diet of squid ink.”

“What happened?” Natalie leaned in.

“Chief Westfall saw the whole thing and arrested him on the spot. I wish I could remember Bob Betters getting perp-walked through the restaurant he thought would impress my socks off.”

“You’re better off with socks on,” Miles quipped. “And Bob can’t eat here anymore. He has to eat squid ink.”

Piper giggled. “Well, it’s true he can’t eat here. The owner banned him.”

Fleur said, “Why did you even go out with him?”

“Coercion.”

Miles looked grieved. “I should drink squid ink. Squid ink for me.”

“Stop it, Miles. Don’t even say it.”

A towering, slope-shouldered man with a mild face and goofy haircut, Miles looked less like the genius geek Piper claimed he was, than a melancholy circus clown who might slip into a slow soft-shoe. His sizeable frame was not athletic like Trevor’s, but ungainly, as though it still took him by surprise.

“Bob’s a bully,” Piper said. “Feeling bad lets him win.”

“We’ll drop the squid ink.” Miles squirted his hands with disinfectant as though washing the slate clean. “Squid ink’s run its course.”

“Sure has.” She laughed. “Remind me not to fuel your fire.”

“Squid ink. Fuel of the future.”

“Oh my gosh.” Piper clapped her hands to her head. “If anyone could do that, it’s you. But if you say it once more, I will tickle you.”

Miles drew a straight face and refrained from speaking.

Piper crumpled. “You know I won’t, right?”

He gave a solemn nod, but still looked peaked.

“Well, okay then.”

Barbie-doll tall and blond, Piper seemed truly fond of the big guy, whose idiosyncrasies didn’t hide his keen intelligence and dry wit. Natalie warmed. They might be the only misfits in town, but with them she wasn’t a pariah. She just had to avoid people who thought she was. She excused herself when her phone vibrated, hoping fiercely it was Aaron, but she didn’t recognize the number and let it go.

“Bob Betters wasn’t your worst nightmare,” Fleur told Piper.

“Isn’t that the truth?” Sobering, Piper took a swallow of her lemonade, and then told her what happened last fall in their sweet mountain community.

Natalie shook her head. “The woman kidnapped you to save her sister?”

“In her own special world.”

Miles muttered something low.

“As awful as it was for you”—Fleur touched Piper’s hand—“I’ve never heard of anything so sad as that poor woman.”

Piper shuddered. “Good thing lightning never strikes twice. Redford’s had its monster.”

“You’re staring.” Sue elbowed him.

At a table near Piper’s, Jonah grunted. He had gathered his off-duty officers at Redford’s nicest restaurant to celebrate Sue’s birthday, since her husband had been killed last year and between the job and two little ones, she hardly ever got out. That elbow might be a contributing factor. “I was remembering.”

She leaned her chin on her fist. “Collaring Bob Betters for drugging Piper? Or how wrong you were about Miles?”

“You’re feeling it tonight, aren’t you, Officer Donnelly?”

Her dimples peeked out. “Or did you enjoy Piper’s recounting your rescuing her from a strange and gruesome fate?”

“As you recall, that was Tia and Miles.”

“You brought the cavalry.”

He looked across at the party of four. That business last year had driven home his need for a stronger force—and he was still waiting. Thank you, Mr. Mayor, city manager, and council. “I like Piper’s optimism, but I’m not sure it’s all sunny skies and rainbows for this town.”

“Well, of course not, Chief. We live in the real world.”

“That we do.” He nodded as the cell phone vibrated in his pocket, knowing before he checked that it was dispatch. He could send any one of them to back up the officer on duty, but instead he wished Sue a happy birthday and headed out himself.

Natalie demurred, but Miles insisted on paying for dinner, using the credit card Piper had convinced him was even better than uncirculated bills.

“He resisted at first, because fingerprints show on plastic,” Piper said.

“Germs on fingerprints,” Miles said. “Germs on everyone, everywhere.”

“But”—Piper pointed when the server returned the card—“now he simply sanitizes.”

Miles gave the card a good cleaning with a disinfecting wipe.

Feeling lighter than she had since arriving, Natalie headed back to the studio to model Piper and especially Miles. His face had told her so much,
lots of it sad and strained, but also joyful. There was even a playful streak. The release of their images wasn’t urgent, a quick study would do.

She had just covered the clay and washed her hands and arms when the knocking came at her back door. She had not set the alarm and looked quickly for a protective weapon. Not finding anything of use, she went to the door and said, “Who is it?”

“Trevor.”

She dropped her forehead to the wall.

“Natalie?”

Groaning silently, she opened the door but kept her gaze lowered.

He cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”

She weighed the “No, thanks” option, then with a sigh, pulled her jacket on, locked up, and stepped outside. He seemed surprised but must have understood her reluctance to invite him into her private space again.

He said, “It’s dark out.”

“Dark is good.” She could see him by the single security light, if she wanted to—but she didn’t.

“It’s cold.”

The first week in September had that tendency at eight thousand feet. She folded her arms and waited.

“Okay, so …” He expelled a breath. “I ended the other night badly.”

The climbing, the opening, the studio. She wasn’t vindictive, but recognized a pattern.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can imagine what you thought.”