The Genius and the Muse (21 page)

Sam kept walking, pausing to slip on a pair of flip-flops at the edge of the clearing. “The light was changing. There’s only a window, you know? I’ll come back tomorrow. It’ll be here.”

Kate followed after her, walking over the gravel driveway toward the painter’s home, still carrying the case of paints she’d handed her. Sam walked up to the old cabin, placed the easel on a paint-smudged table on the porch, and opened the screen door, holding it for Kate to walk inside.

“Let me go put this upstairs,” Sam said as she started up the stairs at the back of the living room. “Take my stuff to the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Kate nodded and stood in the small living area, examining the rugged stone fireplace and log walls which were decorated with art. It was old, but clean and uncluttered except for the art.

Paintings and photographs lined the room, and surfaces sported small sculptures, ceramic pieces, and blown glass work. Kate saw some of Vanessa’s canvases hanging next to a portrait of Chris and Dee’s daughter. A delicately worked wrought-iron mirror that looked like Javi’s work hung over the fireplace, and a ruby red vase adorned the mantle.

“You have a lot of art,” Kate murmured.

“I know a lot of artists,” Sam said as she walked down the stairs.

Kate followed as Sam walked down a dark hall toward a kitchen with large windows and mid-century appliances.

“So, I imagine you want to talk about Reed,” Sam said nonchalantly.

“Kind of.” Kate was still looking around.

“Well, that’s an unusual answer.” Sam paused and cocked her head toward Kate. “Give me one good reason I should talk to you about him.”

She paused. The painter didn’t look unfriendly, just cautious. But behind the caution, Kate could also sense the low burn of curiosity flickering in Sam’s eyes.

“I want to understand him. I want to understand his work, and why it’s so important. To me. To your friends. To everyone, I guess.”

Sam shrugged. “So why talk to me?”

“Someone told me once that if I wanted to understand Reed O’Connor, I had to understand Samantha Rhodes.”

A slow smile grew on Sam’s face and she nodded toward a small kitchen table where Kate sat down. Sam reached over to grab the brushes and palette and take them to the counter.

“That was Chris wasn’t it? Who said that?” Sam chuckled as she began to rinse out her brushes. “Yeah, that was Chris.”

“It was sort of a Jedi Master moment for him.”

Sam looked over her shoulder with a smile before breaking into a bold laugh. “Oh, Kate,” she said. “I think I’m going to like you. Want some water?”

“Sure.” Kate looked around the room. “I like your house.” The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been changed since the 1960s, and cheerful gingham curtains hung over large windows that looked over the lake. She couldn’t help but notice the scattering of black and white photographs that covered the old refrigerator. They looked like cityscapes of New York.

“Thanks. I like it too. When things aren’t broken, that is. I grew up here—not in this house, but I spent a lot of time here. It used to be my grandfather’s.”

“He passed away?”

“Yeah, but I keep expecting him to come out of the studio or walk through the front door after a morning of fishing.”

“How long ago?”

She frowned a little. “I guess… six—no seven years ago. Yeah, seven. He gave me and Susan the cabin. It was always our favorite place. Susan lives across the lake with her husband now, so the cabin’s mine.”

“There’s a studio? Upstairs?”

“Yep. My grandfather was a painter; he’s the first person that ever gave me a paint brush. I spent most of my childhood copying him. Sometimes on his canvases, sometimes on the walls.”

She was patting her brushes with paper towel and putting them in old mason jars when she nodded toward the wall near the table. Kate leaned closer to see the small childish outline of a green duck painted on the log.

Kate smiled. “Did he yell at you?”

“Oh, no.” Sam shook her head as she filled two more jars with ice water. “He just laughed.” She walked across the kitchen, sitting across from Kate and handing her the jar of water. Sam leaned forward and clinked the edges together.

“Nice to finally meet you, Kate Mitchell. Here’s to telling stories.”

“Here’s to listening.”

Sam smiled and leaned her elbows on the table; Kate noticed the brown paint that freckled her forearms. “I do like you. I see why Dee does, too. I think… you’re like Reed, aren’t you? You see things.”

“I hope so. I try to.”

“I hear you’ve talked to everyone now. You even got an audience with the man.”

Kate snorted. “Is that how everyone thinks of him?”

Sam smiled and shrugged. “People tend to revolve around him. They’re attracted to his talent, his vision. He’s magnetic. The way he sees the world, it’s just not like anyone else, you know? So people tend to circle in varying degrees of orbit.”

She paused to take a drink. “To be honest, it always sort of freaked him out. He doesn’t really like most people. He hates being the center of attention.”

“So, people revolved around him, but he revolved around you?”

Sam raised an eyebrow as she looked at Kate. “Don’t kid yourself. I was as much in his orbit as anyone.” She paused for a moment, tracking a drip of water that fell down the side of her jar. “I suppose—if we’re being fair—we orbited around each other. And when we did…”

“It was extraordinary.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “It was extraordinary.”

Kate frowned a little. “I’m still not sure I get what everyone means by that.”

Sam paused for a moment. “I’m very talented, Kate. I do great work. But I think I was only
really
talented when we were together.”

“Why?”

Sam shrugged. “What explanation is there for chemistry? We just worked. We focused each other.” She paused again. “It was like Reed—when he was ‘on’—could relax me and excite me all at the same time. And hopefully I did the same thing for him. I think I did, except toward the end. Then I was just so messed up.”

“Can you… would you tell me what got messed up?”

Sam looked down at the table and drew her finger through a water spot before she answered in a quiet voice. “I, um… I was depressed.” She looked up to meet Kate’s eyes. “Not moody-artistic-temperament-depressed, but actually
clinically
depressed, and we didn’t see it. I didn’t see it.” She smiled wistfully. “We were so young. Not much older than you, and we had no idea. You get down in that pit and you don’t really know how to get out. And you think you should be able to fix it, but you’re not even sure what’s wrong to begin with. It wasn’t until I got back here and got some help that I started to get better.” She looked out the windows which glittered in the midday sun. “It took a long time to get better,” she whispered.

Kate stared at her, still haunted by so many questions.

“But you did? Get better, I mean.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I did.” She took a deep breath and smiled again. “And I’ve built a good life here. It’s not the life I expected when I was younger, but it’s good. I love the work I'm doing now, and I love the mountains. Plus,” she said with a grin, “Lydia can't harp on me when I'm out in the middle of nowhere, can she?”

Kate smiled. “Does she still represent you?”

“Sort of.” Sam shrugged. “As much as anyone does. Most of my work is commission now, so I don't do the gallery shows and exhibitions that I used to. I like it, though. I’m not rich, but I have enough. And it lets me live where I want to.”

Kate looked out the windows at the isolated mountain lake. “What do you do up here?”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at the young woman. “Well, Kate, I live my life.”

She stammered a little, blushing. “I—I didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” Sam said. “You carry yourself with so much confidence, it's easy to forget how young you are. I felt the same way when I was your age, very eager to get away. To go to school and immerse myself in art. I was very focused. Very driven.”

“But you came back?”

“Yes, I did. The older I get, the more I realize how much of life doesn't happen in the very small bubble of the artistic community. And that’s what we’re trying to paint, isn’t it? Life? Hope, fear, love, doubt?”

“And you found that here?”

“It’s all tied together, Kate. And you don’t need to be in New York or Los Angeles or San Francisco to see it. It's good to remember that.” She took a long swallow of water and looked out the window. “I like going to church with my aunt occasionally or painting a landscape to donate to a local charity or old-folks home. I like looking where I played as a child with older, and hopefully wiser, eyes. There's more depth here than I ever recognized when I was young.”

“You didn't like New York?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “I loved New York! I was so excited to go. I loved my time there. What this place is for landscape and light, New York is for people. The variety, the energy—it's intoxicating. And the sheer amount of talent it draws is astounding. No.” She shook her head. “Don't get me wrong. I loved living in New York.”

“Why didn’t you ever go back?”

Sam paused for a moment. “New York is Reed,” she said. “And Reed has moved on. Which is for the best.”

Kate’s mouth fell open. “Why do you say that?”

“A lot of reasons,” she said.

The haunted expression Kate had seen on Reed’s face settled over Sam’s.

Kate leaned forward on the table, frowning. “Please help me understand what happened. I know it’s not any of my business, I know I'm being completely nosy, but I feel like I need to understand.”

Sam looked at her, all expression carefully wiped away. “But why?”

Kate paused, staring at the table and thinking of her growing feelings for Javi. What she felt for him was so much bigger than anything she’d felt for anyone before and sometimes, it scared her. “You and Reed… you loved each other so much. You had something that everyone looks for and so few people find. And it seems like you two lost it… threw it away. How could you—”

“We didn’t ‘throw it away!’”

“Then what happened? Really?”

Sam clenched her eyes together and took a deep breath. “We need…”

Kate leaned forward. “What?”

“Wine,” she said, scooting back from the table and plastering on a smile.

“Wine?”

“Yes, wine. I know it’s not even noon, but I think this conversation needs wine. Grab a couple of glasses from that cabinet to the left of the sink. I’ll get a bottle from the pantry.”

“Okay.” Kate was confused, but she nodded and stood up, walking to the cabinet Sam had pointed toward. As she opened the cupboard, she noticed a flash of color on the inside of the door. She looked to her left and her mouth dropped open when she saw what it was.

Taped on the inside of the cabinet was the old photograph of Reed and Sam she had seen in Dee’s studio months ago. The print looked as if it had been pulled off and stuck down many times, and she could see fingerprints smudged along the edges. Kate stared at it, gently touching a corner curled by age.

“Please don’t touch that. I don’t have the negative.”

Kate turned at Sam’s anxious voice. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a bottle of red wine.

“You still have it.”

“Please,” Sam asked again, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t touch it. It’s the only picture I have of the two of us.”

“You do still love him. Susan and Javi were right. Nothing really ended, did it?” Kate whispered. She saw tears prick Sam’s eyes.

“What do you want, Kate? Why are you here?” Her questions tumbled out in a rush. “You want to know how I feel about Reed?”

“Yes,” Kate breathed out.

Sam cleared her throat. Shaking her head and setting the wine bottle down, she crossed her arms and stared out the windows at the lake for a moment. Then she glanced around the kitchen, her gaze finally coming to rest on the old refrigerator covered by black and white snapshots.

“Fine. Come on then. It’s sort of hard to put into words for me,” Sam said quietly before she walked down the hall.

As they walked toward the living room, Kate looked at the art lining the walls. “Do you have any of Reed’s photographs?”

Sam paused when she got near the front door. “Sure I do,” she murmured. “He still sends me flowers.” She nodded toward a small reading corner Kate hadn’t looked into. It was tucked into the corner of the room and set off by floor to ceiling bookcases. When she walked around the corner, she gasped.

Lining the back wall was a series of framed black and white prints. There were at least a dozen, maybe more, and each picture showed a large familiar hand holding a palmful of flowers. Roses, pansies, a single lily. Every picture held a different flower, but every hand was the same.

Kate’s breath caught in her throat. “How many?”

“Fifteen,” Sam said quietly. “I was surprised the first time I got one. It was on my birthday. I’d heard he was dating some dancer, but he sent a picture anyway.” She blinked tears away and swallowed. “It was nice of him to remember.”

“Sam, I really think—”

“The studio’s upstairs. There’s good light up there. Just…” Kate heard Sam pause then laugh a little. “Just give me a second, okay?”

“Okay, sure.”

“Just—give me a minute,” Sam said. “I’ll call when it’s ready.”

She walked up the stairs and Kate felt her phone vibrate in her pocket; looking at the screen, she answered with a smile.

“Hey.” She walked back toward the wall of flowers. “Yeah, I’m here now… no she’s been nice.” Kate paused again to listen. “I should be home by then.”

She walked back toward the front door and stared out the window at the sun reflecting off the lake. “Yeah, tell Mari I’ll be there.”

Kate heard Sam call from upstairs. “Come on up, Kate.”

She moved toward the staircase. “I need to go. I’ll call you when I’m heading down the mountain.” She paused and a grin spread across her face. “Yeah? Well, I’ll look forward to that, handsome. Bye!” She clicked off the phone when she heard the loud grumble start on the other end of the line. Kate chuckled and started up the stairs.

At the top, she stepped into a large, open room Sam used as a studio. Large windows were open to the surrounding trees, and it smelled faintly of acrylic paint and lemon. Small metal paint tubes were tossed in a colorful heap on a work table in the corner; brushes dried in bunches, stuffed into mason jars which decorated work tables and windowsills, reminding Kate of odd, prickly flower arrangements. She noticed that drop-cloths and sheets covered a number of the canvases, and several others were propped backward against the walls.