Prejudice Meets Pride (29 page)

“Is this Emma Mackie?” came a breathless, feminine voice.

“Yes.”

“Oh, good. I’m so glad I caught you. We’re leaving to go out of town on Monday, and I wanted to talk to you before we left. My name is Madelyn Jones, and I just came from Northwest Pediatric Dentistry. I saw those gorgeous murals you painted, and Dr. Grantham gave me your business card. He told me you’re a popular artist, so I needed to call soon if I wanted the room done in time.”

“Um…” Business card? Book up fast? Done in time? What was she talking about?

“My husband and I—we’re having a baby. It’s our first—a boy—and I don’t want wallpaper or borders or a single paint color on the walls. I want something different. Something unique. Something like what you did to Dr. Grantham’s office. Please tell me you can squeeze me in sometime during the next four months. I know the holidays are coming, but I’ll gladly pay extra. I just want it done by you.”

Emma forced her jaw to close. Her thoughts awhirl, she scrambled for an appropriate response. “Um… what did you have in mind?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’m not artistic at all. What do you think would look good?”

Put on the spot like that, Emma had no idea. She didn’t know this woman’s taste or what the room looked like. “I’d have to see the room to tell you that. If you’re around, I could drop by tomorrow morning if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow? Are you serious? You’re free that soon?” She sounded shocked and a little awed.

Emma scrambled for a reason. “I, uh, had a cancellation.”

A happy squeal sounded in Emma’s ear. “That’s perfect. Just tell me what time, and I’ll be here.”

Emma worked out the arrangements, then slowly set the phone down, glancing once again at the note on the armrest. As the frigid air careened outside, a warmth oozed into her body and filled her up. Maybe it was time to write a note of her own.

Emma snuggled with the girls in bed until their bodies stopped fidgeting and their breathing evened out, just like she had every night since they found out their dad couldn’t come for Thanksgiving or Christmas. She’d cried with them, held them close, and tried to make up for the absence of their beloved father in their life. But no matter how much she tried, she knew it wasn’t the same. They missed their father. They needed their father.

Once she was sure they were asleep, Emma unwound her arms from their heads and carefully crawled out of the bed. Then she went to find her phone. Her fingers shook as she punched out the message.

I miss you too.

She pressed Send and waited. The house creaked its age, a little snore sounded from down the hall, and her heart thump-bumped. After about five minutes, a soft knock sounded at the door, kicking her heart rate up several notches.

She flew to the door, pulled it open and threw herself into Kevin’s arms, breathing in his clean scent, along with a lingering hint of something spicy. Kevin held her tight, and they stood on her front porch, allowing all past hurts to blow away with the snow that was now falling. The wind had died down, and everything felt calm. Eventually, the frigid November night air began to seep inside her bones, stealing away the sweet warmth. She pulled back and looked up. “I want to show you something. Will you come inside?”

“Yes.”

Fingers interlocked with his, Emma pulled him out of the cold and led him down the hall to the room she used as her studio. Several drawings and paintings were leaning against the walls around the perimeter of the room, and two of her favorite portfolios sat on top of the desk. Kevin looked at her briefly before letting go of her hand and slowly walking around the room, lifting and examining some of her pieces.

With all of her classmates, teachers, or even her brother, Emma had squirmed or fidgeted when they’d perused her work. She always felt so exposed and uncomfortable, like she was opening up a part of herself that should be kept private. But with Kevin, she wanted to share this part of herself with him, wanted him to know all of those thoughts and feelings she’d hidden in her artwork, wanted him to know her. Just like she wanted to know him. Inside and out. Top to bottom.

He held up a sketch and turned it toward her with a question in his eyes. It was a collage she’d done years earlier, filled with random images that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but her.

Emma moved to his side. “I drew that after my first month of art school when I was overwhelmed with financial stress and feeling like I was the worst artist at the school.” She pointed at the various images, moving from left to right. “That’s the money I wished I’d had and the expensive pencils and brushes I wanted more than anything. That’s an award I wanted to win, and those are the professors I wanted to impress. That’s my favorite building on campus and the homeless man I saw sleeping on a nearby bench. He had only a small bag that he kept clutched to his chest. That’s my apartment, with food in the fridge and clothing hanging in the closet, along with a workable set of brushes and pencils. That’s my family, who loved me and were behind me one hundred percent. And that’s the school I got accepted to, along with one of my favorite proverbs: ‘Little by little one walks far.’” She looked at Kevin and shrugged. “It’s not brilliant by any means, but it reminded me that I was only at the beginning and had a lot to be grateful for, so I hung it on my wall and kept it there until I’d graduated. It helped me get through some tough times.”

“I think it’s amazing,” said Kevin. He set it down and continued to look through her stuff, eventually holding up another one—a picture of an old, scraggly man with his mouth opened in song and a bright halo of light surrounding him. “And this?”

Emma drew in a breath. “A massive hurricane hit Honduras one summer. My family was stuck in a storm shelter crammed with people and only had a few flashlights for light. It was so hot and muggy, and the shelter rocked and banged against the storm. I was so sure we’d get carried away and all die that night. People were crying and screaming, and I had never felt more scared or claustrophobic in my life. But then that man started singing, and little by little, the noise died down. He didn’t have the greatest of voices, but a peace settled around us and my fear left me. He sang until the rain stopped and the winds died down. He sang until his voice grew hoarse. After that, I always thought of him as our angel who saved us.”

Kevin nodded, but said nothing. He set the painting down almost reverently and moved on. There was a sheet covering an easel that he lifted before Emma could stop him. It was a painting she’d been working on for her brother, depicting his late wife holding hands with Adelynn and Kajsa.

“That’s not finished yet,” she was quick to say.

He didn’t seem to care. “Is this their mom?”

“Yeah, that’s Angie. I’m planning to give it to Noah for Christmas since they didn’t take a lot of pictures and he doesn’t have much to remember her by.”

“It’s incredible, Emma. You’re incredible.” Kevin gazed at it, shaking his head in wonder. When he’d finished looking, his eyes met hers, and something passed between them—a link that could never be broken or undone. He came to stand in front of her, and his palms cupped her cheeks, raising her head slightly.

“I love you, Emma Mackie.”

“I love you, too.”

His lips lifted into a smile before he ducked his head and pressed his mouth hard against hers. Heat rushed through Emma, warming her down to her toes, and she clung to him, her world spinning out of control. Swirling images mixed with straight lines, and hundreds of monochromatic colors blended together, creating a moving abstract that could never be captured on paper or canvas. Color this brilliant didn’t exist in the form of paint or pencils, crayons or pastels. It existed only with Kevin.

He lifted her up, and her legs locked around his waist, her arms around his neck. He pressed her back against the wall as though he couldn’t get close enough. The swirls and color churned and exploded around them, lighting up the room like iridescent lights never could. Emma was lost.

Eventually, the pressure of his lips eased off hers, moving across her jaw line and to the base of her neck. Her skin came alive, feeling sensations only he could create.

When his lips found hers again, he murmured, “I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered back, with more breath than voice.

He chuckled, kissed her hard one more time, then carefully set her down on wobbly feet, still brushing lips against hers softly, over and over again, decreasing the pressure with every touch, until it was over. His forehead came to rest against hers, and they both struggled to catch their breath.

“Don’t ever push me away again,” he said.

“Never.” She peeked up at him. “I’m going to miss the notes, though. I was tempted not to text you yet because I liked them so much.”

The back of his finger brushed across her jaw line. “What changed your mind?”

“I missed you a little more.”

“Only a little?”

She shrugged. “Maybe a little more than a little.”

He smiled again, kissed her again, then led her back to the front room, where he pulled her down on his lap and continued to kiss and nuzzle her. Emma was in heaven.

“I think I got a job today,” she said.

He pulled away and looked at her. “Where?”

“Some temp agency across town. They need a receptionist.”

“You hate answering phones.”

Emma nodded. “I also got a call today from someone named Madelyn Jones. She said she got my business card from you. What business card was she talking about?”

“The really cheap ones I had made up for you,” he said. “I would have told you and made you pay for them, but you wouldn’t talk to me.”

“I’ll pay you back,” she said.

“Emma, I was only jok—”

She covered his mouth with her hand. “I’ll pay you back.” Then she kissed him again and again, saying, “Thank you,” between each kiss.

“You’re welcome. Are you going to take the receptionist job?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Don’t I?”

“You love to paint. I could help you get a business started. You could teach private lessons and paint murals on people’s walls.”

Emma searched his face. He looked so confident, as though he really believed she could make a go of it as an artist. That belief strengthened her, and it occurred to Emma that if she had him on her side, maybe she could. “I don’t know the first thing about setting up a business.”

“Gee, I wonder who could help you with that.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No,” he said. “You can start small. Register a name with the state, get some new business cards printed, set up an internet site, and do a little advertising. Your work will recommend itself.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy. And with my help, it will be easier. You can do this.”

Emma twisted to the side, and her fingers interlocked around his neck. Her forehead rested against his. “So you think I should turn down that job offer when it comes?”

“I think you should tell them you’d love to paint a mural on their walls, but you’re not interested in answering phones.”

Emma threw her head back and laughed. She felt a release, a lightening, a letting go of something she’d been trying to force on herself because she didn’t think she had any other options. But Kevin made her feel as though the world was full of options, and she could pick the one she liked best.

And right now, she was liking Kevin best.

Thanksgiving Day

The oven buzzer sounded, and Emma grabbed a hot pad off the counter. It was slightly damp, but she didn’t care—until she tried to pull the pan of sweet potatoes from the oven, and the heat went right through the damp pad and into her fingers. She dropped the pan on the floor with a yelp, and sweet potatoes went everywhere.

“Kevin.” She muttered his name out like a curse word. He was the one who’d wanted the sweet potatoes. Not her. She didn’t even like them. And if he was here, as he’d promised he would be, the sweet potatoes wouldn’t have fallen to the ground, the mashed potatoes wouldn’t be a lumpy mess, and the turkey would be done—as opposed to only sort of done. Thank goodness Becky had taken on the making of the rolls, the Jell-O salad, and the pies, because otherwise those would have been ruined as well.