Read The Art of My Life Online
Authors: Ann Lee Miller
Tags: #romance, #art, #sailing, #jail, #marijuana abuse
The Art of My Life (20 page)
Aly let her shoulders slump. Finally,
they were safely tied up in their slip at the marina. She glanced
at Cal who coiled line across the cockpit from her. Since she’d
gone overboard, Cal had barely let go of her, except to sleep. It
must have really shaken him. But he hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
And he’d seen her nearly naked. Equal parts wanting Cal to desire
her and wanting to retreat to protecting her heart tug-of-warred
inside her.
She’d been right—the whole herpes
thing grossed him out.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Thankfully, it had been stowed below deck during the trip. She
glanced at the unfamiliar number. “Hello.”
“
Aly?” The voice was
foreign and familiar at the same time.
“
Yes.”
“
It’s your
father.”
She froze, her mouth half open. She
felt the blood drain from her face. “H-hi, Dad.”
Cal’s head jerked up. He dropped the
line and stepped behind her. She felt the gentle grip of his hands
steadying her shoulders.
“
You spent the money?” Her
father’s voice went granite hard.
“
I’m starting a business
with a friend.” Her voice sounded strangled in her own
ears.
“
I got your e-mail at my
office. So, this is what you do with my hard-earned money? Sink it
into a boat? Are you crazy? In this economy, you’d have to be a
moron to start a cruising business. Do you even read the business
pages? At least your sister had the sense to invest my money in a
house.”
“
I own a con—”
“
If you have a brain in
your head you’ll cut your losses and get out. That’s all I have to
say.” The phone went dead in her ear.
She turned into Cal’s chest, tears she
hadn’t realized she cried dripped onto his sweatshirt. “He
said—”
“
I heard the whole
thing.”
“
The last time I spoke to
him I was seven years old. Seven. Now he rants at me.” She sunk to
the cockpit bench. “What have I done? What was I thinking sending
him that e-mail advertisement about the business? Now I’ve ruined
everything. He hates me.”
“
He’s pissed. He doesn’t
hate you. He’s pissed because your mom took him to court and got
the child support money you deserved.”
“
What am I going to
do?”
“
This is not your fault.
Your parents’ divorce is not your fault. Your father’s
non-communication all these years is not your fault.” Cal waited
for her to meet his gaze. “It’s his loss. You are beautiful,
intelligent, worth knowing and loving.” He cupped her face in his
hands, kissed her cheek and wrapped her in his arms.
She hugged him back. The words poured
balm onto her wounded spirit.
“
It says in the Bible that
God is a father to the fatherless.”
The words rumbled in his chest against
her ear. Words that helped.
She sniffled and tried to back away,
but Cal held her fast, his embrace catching her into a deeper
comfort.
Cal sent Aly home after her dad’s call
and told her to take a couple of days comp time off to rest. He
replenished his weed supply at Henna’s and returned to the
Escape
to take his own brand of comp time. He’d smoked
yesterday. One more day wouldn’t make any difference. He’d go in to
his probation officer thirty days from now, say he forgot, didn’t
have phone service on the water, something. He doubted he’d get
picked up for missing one meeting.
The good doctor’s words paraded
through his head like ugly Día de los Muertos skulls in crazy hats
and dead flowers.
In this economy, you’d have
to be a moron to start a cruising business.
If you have a brain in your
head you’ll cut your losses and get out.
Aly had been blinded by their
friendship and made a stupid business decision. The business had
done nothing but fail. Aly’s money was as good as gone. Aly should
take her dad’s advice and get out.
He should go get a telemarketing job.
He lit another joint and inhaled its sweet anesthetic.
The hatch clattered open and he cupped
the joint and held it under the table.
Aly climbed down the steps and
coughed. She waved her arms through the smoke in the cabin. “This
is your answer to making this business go?” She leaned across the
table and peered at him. “Your eyes look like charts drawn in red
ink.”
Anger marred her face, but the words
swirled in the smoky air and deadened before they reached his ears.
Cal brought the joint out from under the table and put it to his
lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He filled his lungs.
She climbed two steps toward the
hatch. “Somebody’s got to figure out a way for us to make money.
And it’s obviously not you.” She paused in the companionway. “I’m
going to talk to Fish about the feasibility of refitting the
Escape
for fishing charters.”
Fish? She was going to talk to Fish?
Something boiled in his chest eating up the hazy
tranquility.
Aly turned back and speared him with
her eyes. “The only cash crop we’ve got is your art. But you can’t
paint stoned. I bet you haven’t even started the Clancy’s Cantina
commission.”
Actually, he’d worked on it daily
during the four days between the farmer’s market and Thanksgiving.
They’d only returned yesterday from Grand Bahama. But he couldn’t
get the words in his head to exit his mouth.
“
Weed’s not going to get
your picture on
People
magazine. You could be producing art
all day every day we don’t have a charter. When you sober up you
might think about sketching every business in town.” She looked at
Van Gogh. “I’m taking the dog. It’s got to be pet abuse to make
your dog breathe your smoke.”
She boosted Van Gogh up, and he
clattered through the hatchway.
“
Evie’s looking for you,”
Aly muttered before the hatch slammed shut.
I don’t want Evie. I want….
Shit.
December 23
Ever lose your temper
because somebody let you down? But after you cool off, you think
about all the times you’ve made hideously bad choices?
How do I repair my slash
marks from a soul-deep friendship-in-progress on the canvas of my
life?
Aly at
www.The-Art-Of-My-Life.blogspot.com
Cal jerked his Jeep into a spot
outside the church. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come.
Mom had given up texting him on Sunday mornings years
ago.
Thad Mack unfolded his suit-clad bulk
from a beach baked Subaru. A suit. Really, Thad? Suits covered up
things people wanted to hide—like the fact that Cal hadn’t seen
Thad sober since they graduated from high school. Suits strained to
impress. They pasted a smile on your life that said you had
achieved success, and now you belonged. Even Dad quit wearing suits
when Cal was still a little kid.
The gunmetal gray material strained
across Thad’s broad back. He slipped his keys into his pocket,
flashing the too-snug seat of his beltless pants. Spineless,
colorless Thad, a jellyfish really, no doubt showed up because his
mother had commanded him.
Not so different from Cal, sitting in
the silence of the darkened Jeep because, like an idiot, he kept
trying to please Mom—a mother duck who marshaled her offspring into
formation behind her to church on Christmas Eve.
He shoved open the car door and
breathed in the scent from someone’s chimney as he headed for the
building. And he was proving to Aly he could change. The fifteen
renderings of New Smyrna businesses he’d knocked out this month
helped. He’d been so obsessed with painting he’d barely seen her in
December.
He swung the door open and stepped
into the bright lights of the lobby. Familiarity wrapped around him
with the hugs and handshakes from people he knew as well as the
divots in his favorite board—Myra Johnson who taught fourth grade
at Coronado Elementary for as long as he could remember and slipped
him a twenty when he got fired from the camp; Daryl Crites,
mechanic at Stuart’s Car Care who taught him how to change his
brakes; leathered Kelly Lantana, beach lifeguard who told him to
call her if he ever needed a designated driver, flooring salesman
Chuck Jessup who wrote him a reference to get a job at Stoney’s.
And they knew him a damn sight deeper than the flaws published in
the
Hometown News
.
They’d caught him and Fish “swimming”
in the baptistery in their Spiderman undershorts, crawling on their
bellies under the pews playing army, concocting a witches’ brew of
cider, hot chocolate, and Cremora at the fall festival. Peppered
between the Bible verses and prayers, they marched their own
embarrassments out to comfort him in notes to jail or when they saw
him around New Smyrna Beach.
He inhaled the scent of evergreen from
the Christmas wreaths hung on the walls and wondered why he stayed
away from a place where he belonged, not in Thad’s poser-suit way,
but for real.
Starr sailed toward him. “Merry
Christmas, Cal. Thanks for coming.” She wrapped wiry arms around
him.
Odd.
She released him. “I’m glad you’re
here.”
He couldn’t read the emotion in her
gaze or the whitening of her scar. She was communicating something
deeper than the statement her words framed. “Of course.”
“
Sit beside
me?”
He smiled. “Sure, Mom. I’ll save you a
seat.”
She stared at him another second as
though there were something else she wanted to say, then she smiled
and turned away.
A Christmas cookie sweetness settled
into him, the kind that made you want to take a swig of milk. But
he wanted to savor the sugar his mother had left behind.
His gaze smacked into Fish who stood
across the foyer transfixed, looking up the stairs leading to the
sound booth.
Cal’s gaze lifted to the stairs where
his sister and Aly jogged upward. Aly wore slacks, and Missy’s
forest green skirt flounced against her thighs, showing more leg
than Fish had any right to see.
Fish held his hands out like,
Hey,
it’s not my fault they ran up the stairs in front of
me
.
Anyone carrying a man card knew
exactly what Fish was thinking. Whatever. Cal turned and pushed
through the swinging doors into the sanctuary.
He made his way to the pew where his
family always sat, three quarters of the way back on the right
side. His mother had always reasoned that if the kids acted up
during church, only a fourth of the congregation would see
it.
He slid onto the shiny wood, like he
had a thousand times before. The hymnal scent mingled with
furniture polish and candle wax. His father talked to Hellen
Ruffner at the piano. The rest of the room was empty. But Cal felt
something there. Something that embraced him like his mother had,
but certain, rather than awkward. It had been a long time since
he’d felt this—whatever it was.
His mind skipped back to the day he
sat on his surfboard at seventeen basking in the Presence, capital
P. Sun warmed his back, wind caressed him, waves lapped at his
knees. He’d asked for Aly’s heart.
Then, he’d waited.
Aly had one boyfriend after another
and never considered Cal an option. Somewhere along the way, he
couldn’t remember which guy she was seeing, he’d given up. On Aly.
On the Presence.
Aly slipped into the pew and searched
his eyes, tentatively, almost like they were strangers.
He smiled at her, reached for her
hand, and squeezed it. Maybe it was time for him to grow up. You
didn’t always get what you wanted. He wasn’t a two year old who
could stomp his foot and demand his own way. He released Aly’s hand
and smiled at her. She was alive, and that was enough. It would
have to be enough.
Missy said,
hey
, and took a
seat next to Aly. She leaned back in the pew, lips curving upward.
Her lashes fluttered on her cheek as though she were communicating
with the Presence. She hadn’t gotten Fish or a husband like she
wanted, but she didn’t give up on faith.
Mom came down the opposite aisle and
slid in beside him. She smiled—like cocoa and milk warmed in a
saucepan on the stove. And he realized she hadn’t said anything
about his coming to church in jeans. Maybe for once, just showing
up was enough.
Fish’s eyes tracked Missy across the
front of the sanctuary. His hand felt for the jewelry box in his
pocket. After the service she’d flitted up to say something to her
father, then over to old Mrs. Ruffner at the piano. She’d barely
said two words to him all evening. He needed five minutes alone
with her before the bedlam of gift opening at her
folks’.
Aly nudged his shoulder and he
realized everyone had left the pew but them.
Aly quirked a brow at him. “Missy
thinks no one’s noticed she’s grown up.”
“
Yeah, and I didn’t notice
the last hurricane that rolled through.”
“
Maybe you should mention
it to her.”
“
Maybe I have.”
“
Maybe she’s not
convinced.”
“
Maybe if you’d quit
jabbering at me, I could convince her.”
Aly laughed. “I’m gone.” She stood.
“And, Fish, for the record, I know you were only hitting on me to
annoy Cal.”
“
Did it work?”
“
He was annoyed.” She
stopped like she wanted to say something else, but pivoted and
exited the pew. “Good luck with that little project.” She walked
through the back doors of the sanctuary.
Did she mean annoying Cal or
convincing Missy he saw her as an adult?
Missy headed up the center aisle of
the church toward him.
He motioned to her. “Got a
sec?”
She eyed him warily as she stepped
into the pew. She slid onto the bench beside him and crossed her
nylon-covered legs.
He pulled his gaze from her legs and
cracked a smile to put her at ease. “I got you something for
Christmas.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t get you
anything.”
“
Except for the fishing
lure with the yellow feather on it, the sand dollar, the scrapbook
of every fish I ever caught.”
Missy looked at her hands in her lap,
her cheeks blushing all the way to the three tiny pearl studs she
always wore in her ears.
“
I still have those, and a
bunch of other gifts you gave me over the years. They’re with my
stuff in a box in your parents’ garage labeled
kitchen
because I didn’t want Cal to give me a hard time about keeping
them.”
Missy’s chin popped up. “You kept
them?”
He dropped an arm across the pew
behind her, his fingertips barely touching the shoulder of her
soft, cream sweater. “They were…. You were… are… special.” He set
the Killman Jewelry Store box in her hands. “Open it.”
Missy’s hands quivered as she slid the
ribbon from the box and lifted the lid. Then, they went still as
she stared at the single pearl on a delicate gold chain. “Thanks,
Sean. It’s beautiful.” Her voice was subdued.
“
I don’t think you’re a
snot-nosed kid anymore.” He brushed her cheek with his
lips.
Missy’s eyes blinked back at him,
unasked questions swimming in the depths, questions he didn’t know
the answers to. Questions he didn’t want to think about. He stood.
“Let’s go check out your mom’s Christmas cookies.”
