What had the minister even said that made Ryla’s life any different from anyone else’s? Quin searched the scattered few people who’d attended the funeral. Many were talking and joking as if they’d been through the hard part of the whole ordeal and could now move on. Even her mother sat at a table of old friends reminiscing, but not about Ryla.
Small groups of people sat around long folding tables with squeaky folding chairs. She was the youngest person there. Paxton sat with his small group of caregivers, but they remained separate, leaving her alone with her Dad and a plate of finger sandwiches that looked as dry as the beach.
Did anyone care? Would the end of her own life be any different? She had a few pieces of art, but not enough that more than a few people would see her name with any sort of recognition. She had no children, no husband, no life other than painting, and she hadn’t even thought about that in days. With trembling fingers, she pushed the paper plate away.
Dad laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Do you need any help at the house?”
Yes, she certainly did. But not from her parents. After just three days of their help, she was ready to wave at them as they drove away. Not so much her father, he was too passive to be a bother, but Mom had taken over the whole house, leaving her with no time to process her own grief or the things Ryla had told her the day before she’d died.
Paxton had invited her over to get away, but that seemed incredibly rude. Even though the house had been theirs before—and they certainly acted as if it still was—leaving her parents alone was like leaving guests. Today was the first day in three that she’d even seen Paxton. His brief hug as he’d walked through the viewing line hadn’t been nearly enough.
“I think I can handle everything from here. I did finally call Ben and asked him to make sure my apartment was fine. It’s not like I have any pets or plants to care for.” Or anything at all, anymore. How had she lived so long as the center of the world as she knew it? It had taken her two full days to even call Ben to let him know. If she cared about him as she would a boyfriend, she would’ve thought of him first. Instead, she’d taken comfort from Paxton when he’d been there.
“Ryla and I shared something deep and personal the day before she died. I really need some alone time to go through it all in my head. I’ve told Ben that I’m not coming back for at least two weeks.” She’d also told him he was only her business manager from that point on. Then he’d quit. He hadn’t wanted to work for her at all. He’d wanted a relationship with her and saw the job as his way in.
“What about your career?” Dad leaned forward, his brow rippled as his eyebrows bunched.
“My career?” Was probably dead in the water until she could get back home and hire a new marketing manager. No one knew about her painting slump and that she hadn’t touched an easel in quite some time. She didn’t want either job, painting or marketing.
This time, if she could paint again, she’d find someone to market for her who loved art and wasn’t looking for anything but a job. She’d take what Ryla had said and make it count. Friends would be friends, work would be work. No mixing and no more putting work above friends and family. “I’ll get to it.”
“Your mother and I sacrificed a lot to make sure you had every opportunity. Don’t throw it all away because of a little grief. Ryla wouldn’t want that. She was strong and capable. You are too.”
With alarming clarity, that was the last confirmation to prove her parents had known nothing about Ryla. Even less than she herself had. Ryla kept mementos to remind her of her past, years later. Ryla wouldn’t want her to forget or keep doing something just because she always had. “You’re wrong.”
He pressed his lips together and glanced away. Part of her didn’t want to attack him. He’d been a doormat his whole life. He was probably only parroting what Mom had said. But he should have his own mind. His own thoughts.
“She would want me to feel what I feel.” Quin stood up and raised her voice. “She would want me to give up my life for a little while to remember why hers was important. And it was.”
“Sit down, Quin Morris.” Mom glared at her, her voice stuck on every “s” like a snake.
She hated being stared at in public, but she’d made a scene, now she had to live with it. “I’m finished. But I won’t sit down. You can all sit around and talk about everything but the fact that a lovely young woman died. You can talk about your bridge clubs and your golf tournaments. But Ryla didn’t care about any of that.”
Paxton appeared at her shoulder and leaned forward, his mouth almost brushing her ear. “It’s okay for them to grieve differently than you. Why don’t you come out and sit in my car for a minute?”
The twenty or so people sitting around the church basement cast glances at her, their expressions fluctuating between anger and guilt. She was pretty sure the angry ones had only come for the food anyway. Paxton gently took her hand and led her out.
“Why do I always do things that hurt people?” She hadn’t meant to, but her words probably only hurt one person in that room, the man she hadn’t actually wanted to.
“I don’t know.” He opened the passenger door of his red sedan and she sat heavily inside. After joining her, he then turned on the engine and the AC.
“I was under the impression you knew everything.”
He shook his head with a sharp laugh. “No. Absolutely not. I just play an expert for my day job. In fact, you’ve taught me a lot in the last week since you got here.”
“Me?” She’d felt inadequate at every new crossing.
“Yes. You’ve taught me that I can’t always go with my gut when it comes to people. I had you pegged as completely self-absorbed after I texted you the first time.”
She had been pretty egocentric. Flashes of her past had come back the last three days. Periods when she’d just been living her life, but looking back she’d been thinking about no one but herself.
She’d never asked for help for as long as she could remember. Self-reliance had allowed her to maintain personal distance from everyone and made sure she didn’t invite anyone in her life like Mom. But now, she needed help. Death was something completely new in her world. She’d never even lost a goldfish.
“I can’t do this without an expert, so are you willing to put that hat back on for a minute?” How would she go through everything in the house, decide what was important, and get rid of the rest? What if those things were important too? What if she did it wrong and lost something else forever?
“I’ll help as much as I can.” His hands gripped just above his knees. It helped to know he was nervous. She wasn’t alone then.
“Thank you,” Quin said. He’d given pretty great advice so far. He’d said she needed time away from the house and just a few moments in his car relieved the tension through her whole body. The release was like going up in an escalator.
“Your sister insisted on doing everything alone too, so I’m really glad you’re finally reaching out. I was worried you wouldn’t.”
“Do you see a lot of her in me?” Maybe a little of her sister could remain. A shadow, but still present.
“No. Not really. But I’ve only known you for a few days. Other than what Ryla told me, but she was more like your biggest fan, not your sister.
“I found a picture of one of her paintings a few days ago. I had no idea she even painted.”
He nodded slowly. “Just wait until I show you the attic.” His eyebrows rose steadily. “There’s enough for a gallery up there.”
Her heart pitched, then plummeted. What if Ryla was better than her? If she was, then Ryla’s work could be sold and seen. She would leave her mark. “I want to see it.”
“Right now?” He glanced at the church. “Shouldn’t we go back inside?”
Except for her parents, none of those people would care about her or her sister outside of gossip after this moment. “Yes, now. Do you really want to go back in there?” Leaving now would give her an hour of peace since Mom and Dad would stay there and help clean up. That hour was precious.
“Okay. You know them better than I do.” He shrugged.
At least if he thought she was crazy, he might want to stick close to make sure she didn’t do anything out of hand. Best that she keep him on his toes. He turned the ignition and she buckled in as he pulled away, heading for home.
The closer she got to Rosewood House, the calmer she felt. “I needed this. To get away.”
“I’ve been waiting all week for you to take two minutes to come over and just…escape. I thought you might need it.” He turned into the sloped driveway and parked in front of the garage.
“I couldn’t. There’s some kind of hold Mom has over me. She’s always been the one to tell me where to move and what to do. Even when I’m far away, I know what’s expected of me and I’ve never fought that. But now… I can’t live under her direction and do something for Ryla at the same time.”
“What could you do for her now? Isn’t it a bit late?” He met her gaze momentarily as he got out of the car.
“It isn’t. Not until I’m gone too.” She firmly believed that.
“Well, if this is important, then let’s go see it.” He laid a gentle hand on her back and walked her up the steps to the front door, then unlocked it for her.
She opened her mouth to ask him about the key, then thought better of it. If she sold the house, the new owners would put a new lock in. Why take it from him when he wasn’t going to do anything with it?
He led her upstairs to a section of the ceiling she’d never noticed before. “Was it always like that?” If she’d had a place to hide as a child, life would’ve been so much better.
“It’s always been there, but before it was just outlined in paint. I put up trim around it to make the edges look nicer.” He tugged on a handle and the section of ceiling pulled down and a ladder dropped, stopping when it almost reached the floor.
“I can’t believe this was always here…”
“When I cut it, all that was up here was cobwebs. Ryla cleaned it out. She hasn’t been up here in at least three months though.”
So, the spiders had probably taken over again. Quin shuddered but grabbed the ladder. Looking at art, something she knew better than anything else, could help her deal with the loss of her sister.
“Want me to come with you?”
She stalled on the third rung. “I…” She didn’t know. If he was there, it wouldn’t be as private, but nothing he’d done had ever led her to believe she couldn’t be exactly who she was around him. “…sure.”
He waited until she was a little higher, then climbed up to follow her. A light switch on the floor almost made her laugh. What a strange place to put it, but where else was appropriate? She flipped it and three bulbs flickered to life.
All along the walls, three layers thick, were various sized canvases. “How many years—” She couldn’t finish her question as she wandered to the other end of the attic.
“Longer than I’ve known her. They were originally stacked along the walls in the two upstairs bedrooms. Then she filled the storage room. When she met me, she asked if I would help her with a project. Cutting that door was the project. It took her a week to clean up here and move all of them.”
They seemed to be ordered from earliest to latest. All of her teenage paintings were watercolor, and they were all seascapes. Quin recognized the landscape portions in every painting, not simply because she knew the area but because the paintings were good enough that it was obvious.
“All this time, she had more talent than me.” Quin moved a few aside to look at a large painting in the back. It stalled her breath and tears burned her eyes.
“That one is one of my favorites, though I’m a little jealous,” Paxton said.
She knew he was only trying to lighten the mood, that he wasn’t jealous at all, but there, in life-sized canvas, was an oil painting of her kissing the boy whose name she couldn’t remember. Her red dress skimmed her knees and the boy held her gently around the waist. Ryla hadn’t even attended the dance. The painting had been from memory and imagination, but she’d painted every detail of the clothing perfectly.
Quin dropped to her knees, her head in her hands. Her thoughtlessness had weighed so heavily on Ryla’s heart that she’d left reminders of her own pain up anywhere in the house she happened to be. And Quin had flippantly forgotten. Just like the blanket.
How was she ever going to make up for all she’d done to a woman who was gone?