Twenty-Six

Autumn in Martha’s Vineyard was the best time of the year. The humidity had left, the beaches were free of summer tourists, and the trees were starting to turn into the most beautiful shades of red, yellow, and orange.

Crusty brown leaves whirled around in a circle in the front yard of The Bishop’s cottage. The mystifying colors of the sun shone onto the pile of leaves as the scent of the ocean blew over Cristal’s shoulders and neck, giving her a tingling sensation.

It was the season of hoodie sweatshirts, early evening walks, pumpkins, apple pies, and driving around with the windows down.

Cristal couldn’t get Daniel’s proposal out of her mind. She needed to get away to think. And the best place for that was at The Bishop’s cottage.

The Bishop was in the back room of his cottage painting again. He sat in front of his canvas, barefoot and shirtless in a pair of jeans . Cristal stood behind him, watching him paint and listening to him talk.

“Painting is quite simple once you follow some fundamental tips,” he said to her.

The portrait, a forest in the fall with a flowing river, was coming alive. The Bishop had a good eye for art. As usual, he had his opera playing and was sipping on a glass of wine.

He continued his lecture. “A painting is made up of different elements that come together to make the work what it is. You ever wonder why painting is so comforting and exciting? The colors, the fluidity of the paint, just the experience of creating something on a flat surface right before your eyes . . . it’s like telling a story.” He gently touched up the leaves of a yellow birch tree, bringing out the red and yellow of autumn. “It is as if the paint has a personality, and it becomes a person. Someone who can talk to you and express what you keep deep inside your mind and your spirit.”

He made sense to Cristal. But he always made sense to her.

“It’s like the paint, the brush, and the canvas all collaborate to create their own story,” Cristal said.

The Bishop turned and looked at her. “Well said.”

She smiled.

“He asked me to marry him,” she blurted out.

“Who? Your boyfriend in North Carolina?”

“Yes.”

He continued painting. “How do you feel about him?”

“I love him.”

“You love him,” he repeated.

“Yes. But this life we live, what we do, how do I make it work? He’s an innocent, a civilian.”

“Do you remember what I told you about finding your niche? Well, if he’s your niche—”

“But I’m lying to him, Bishop. He thinks I’m Beatrice and that I travel the world working with the Peace Corps to help with the needy.”

He turned around in his chair and grinned at Cristal. “I’m Sam. Remember that.”

He stood up, finished painting for the day. He walked toward Cristal and stood close to her. Locking eyes with her, he said, “Do you remember what I said to you before about how to survive? It’s not just about killing and being dangerous; it’s about being able to fit in. It’s about maintaining a balance of work and life.”

Cristal nodded.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she could feel his strength.

“Beatrice—that’s a lovely name for a lovely woman who’s doing a pleasant thing, helping people. And your life with Daniel allowed that to be your niche. He never needs to know about Cristal. He fell in love with Beatrice, and so it is. That’s who you become. The transition doesn’t have to be difficult.”

The Bishop made lying sound so easy.

“Killing people has to be the first priority, but it doesn’t have to be your only priority. Just be careful. If you love him and he loves you, then that’s your life.”

She nodded again. It was easy to attain a fake passport, driver’s license, social security number, and birth certificate. She had her connections. But could it be so simple for her? Could she fully become Beatrice? She had enough money saved, but she wasn’t ready to retire, not yet. She still had unfinished business to take care of.

“Now, if you can excuse me, I need to wash up,” The Bishop said.

He walked by her and undressed while on his way to the bathroom. Cristal caught a glimpse of his buttocks, and for an old man, he still had it going on.

Cristal walked outside and breathed in the cool fall air around her. She had a lot to think about.