The Art of My Life

I find myself staring at my dreams. Do I have the guts to face the pain it will take to achieve them? Did Van Gogh achieve his goals or just the pain?

Fish’s tires rolled over the gravel of the Koomers’ drive as he passed Starr’s studio. He hadn’t seen Missy in over a week. He’d never see her if he waited for her to jog into his orbit, as she called it. She’d pretty much said she was over him. But he’d resurrect her childhood crush. He parked between the garage and the house and climbed out of his pick-up.

Just being around Missy made him want to be the man she challenged him to be. She was the only one in years who had expected anything of him. She’d be good for him.

A memory bubbled to the surface of eight-year-old Missy careening up to him on her pink bike, jumping all her weight on the brakes. Dirt and shell flew as she jerked the handlebars to the side, just missing plowing into him. The maneuver was an essential life skill he and Cal had taught her. She stuck her lip out and demanded he forgive Cal for shooting him in the butt with his BB gun. And he had.

Her grown-up challenge to forgive Cal for getting him arrested and fired had gnawed at him all week. But Cal had gone too far this time.

He peered through the screen door at Missy standing at the kitchen counter on the other side of the kitchen.

Her face jerked toward him, and he thought he saw the old flash of delight on her face. She looked down at a piece of bread and spread mayonnaise on it. “Since when do you knock?”

He stepped into the kitchen, and the door banged behind him. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Fat chance.” She laid turkey on top of a tomato slice and dotted it with halved green olives. “Want a sandwich?”

He felt like he was fifteen again, asking Kirstin Potrofsky to go to the movies. He cleared his throat. “What do you say, let’s go out?”

She set down the knife as though she were laying out instruments for heart surgery. Her eyes lifted to his. “You mean like let’s go outside and look at some amazing bug you found?” She laid the words down carefully like the knife.

He smiled. So, she was going to make him work for it. He was game. “Like dinner at Ocean’s Seafood, watching the sun set on the beach, a kiss good night.”

She was still so long, her hip and one hand resting against the counter, he wondered if she was going to say anything else.

His heart thumped against his chest. Each millisecond she stood like a human statue at a street fair made him want her to say yes more desperately and fear she’d say no.

She turned her back on the sandwich, crossed her arms, and leaned against the counter. “You’re just doing this because you lost your adoring puppy. Well, you lost me two years ago on my eighteenth birthday.” She said it like her birthday was supposed to remind him of something.

“So, I’m a little late. A lot late. I’ve hardly seen you in the past couple of years.”

He’d been around her a hundred times since he was twenty and she was fifteen. What was she getting at? “All I’m saying is I like you grown up. And we should hang out, see what happens.”

“It’s just your pride talking. I’m not mooning after you, bringing you treasures—sea shells, pine cones, Popsicle stick houses—plying you with chocolate chip cookies.”

All of which—except the cookies—were carefully boxed up with his other belongings in the Koomer’s garage.

She turned back to her sandwich, sliced it, nailed him with her brown eyes. “You’re a good-looking guy. A little tall. A little bony. But I’m sure you can find another fan without too much effort. Have fun, Sean. I have complete confidence in you.” She picked up her plate from the counter and took a step toward the dining room.

He grabbed her upper arm, his fingers closing around the soft flesh. “What’s going on here? This isn’t like you. There’s a whole subtext I’m not picking up on. Say what you mean.”

Missy looked out the window. Her face softened. Her eyes brightened. “Excuse me.” She pulled out of his grasp, set down her sandwich, and dashed out the door.

Cal climbed out, hair freshly shorn as short as he’d worn it in middle school.

Not for the first time, Fish wished Cal hadn’t pulled three months jail, six months’ probation. Even angry at Cal, the sentence seemed excessive for a first time offense. And something was fishy about Cal being caught with twenty-one grams. Cal never carried more than a few joint’s worth of weed. If Cal had been dealing, he would have known. If he’d defended Cal, he could have whittled the sentence down to probation only.

Fish could see more than hear conversation zinging between them, their faces smiling.

Whatever Cal said made Missy bounce on the balls of her feet. Excitement seemed to roll off her.

His gut twisted with longing and bitterness. He wanted to be in that conversation.

He wanted to tell her she’d intrigued him with the idea of legal aid. He wanted to ask her if she’d debate both sides of the prospect with him.

She stepped quietly through the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Sean. I’ll see you around.” The words were gentle, but he heard the steel behind them. She walked through the room, and he heard the stairs creak as she went up.

He stared at her forgotten sandwich on a blue Melmac saucer, the wheat bread still indented from her fingers.

This was crazy. He’d figure it out. He didn’t want a fan. He wanted their old friendship with the hottie she’d become. He wanted Missy.

Cal shut the door of his Jeep in his parents’ driveway.

Missy ran toward him. The kitchen door smacked the doorframe behind her. “Wow. I can’t remember the last time I saw your hair that short. What’s the occasion?”

He raked a hand through the strangely short hair that sprung back against his scalp. “Date with Aly.”

Her face lit up. “Very cool. Marry that girl. She’s the sister I never had.”

Cal smiled and basked in Missy’s approval. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it.”

Missy’s grin stretched wider. “Hang onto that thought, big brother.”

He smiled at her, feeling fortified to face Mom, and headed into the dance studio. He wished Mom hadn’t caught him smoking. He didn’t want to think too deeply about why he was here. It wasn’t like he could make her forget. He pushed open the studio door.

Surprise washed Starr’s face. “You cut your hair.” Then, delight.

“Important date tonight.” If he’d known how much a stinking hair cut would do for Mom, he might’ve done it years ago.

He rattled the bag in his hand. “You know how Dad is a wannabe street person and you dress him—make him look decent?”

Mom smiled, a real smile, not the pinched variety he expected today. “One of those details you think your kids couldn’t possibly have noticed.”

The warmth surprised him. Mom should let that out a little more.

He tugged the shirt and pants from the bag. “What do you think? Will they make me look like a New Smyrna Beach business owner?”

“Abercrombie and Fitch?” She fingered the price tag on the shirt.

“I sold some paintings yesterday. One to Kate Canfield, the acupuncturist on the North Causeway, one to the director of Atlantic Center for the Arts, one to the mayor, and—”

“You sold a painting to the mayor?”

“Yeah, an ocean scene with a row of surfers out Bethune Beach way. I hit him up because Dad plays lunchtime basketball with him. But the mayor said he remembered you as a girl walking down Mary Street to the old Faulkner Elementary. He said you always looked so sad and alone. Yeah, it was weird. Maybe it was a pity sale. Anyway, I made enough to cover marina rent and then some.”

Starr stared expressionless over his shoulder through the open door, the telltale scar on her face turning white.

He glanced over his shoulder to see what she was looking at, but only his Jeep sat in the drive.

She focused back on him. “Who’s the date with?”

“I’m taking Aly to dinner. I don’t have what it takes for the business side of charter sailing. She does. I can’t let you and Dad down or Henna and Leaf.”

And the business had to succeed. No way could he go to Aly with the loan in default, begging for forever.

Starr’s forehead furrowed, making her scar crinkle.

He knew that look. It always came before something that made him feel like a piece of shit. “What?”

“Aly doesn’t have the best, uh romantic, reputation around New Smyrna Beach. I’m glad it’s not a real date.”

“And I do?” Now, she’d really pissed him off. Wasn’t cutting him down enough? Did she have to start on Aly? “Maybe I never did anything that was good enough for you. Maybe I should give up trying. Even Henna and Leaf feel like they have to measure—”

“Henna and Leaf could use some measuring up.”

“Look, judge me. I’m used to it. But lay off Aly. She doesn’t deserve it.” He stared his mother down. “People do things for a reason. Aly’s been trying to fill the empty place her father left—when she was seven. Squeeze out a drop of compassion—if you’ve got any.”

Starr peered at him, her face unreadable. The bougainvilleas shimmied in the breeze beyond the glass behind her. Her eyes widened. “How long have you cared about Aly?”

Since Jesse and Kallie’s rehearsal dinner. Mom was the last person on the planet to notice. He ground his teeth together and said nothing.

Starr sank into her chair. “How does Aly feel?”

The wind rioted amethyst, coral, and alabaster bougainvillea petals to a frenzy in the windows and mirrors as he stonewalled Mom.

“Get sober, Cal. I’m begging you.”

Her condemnation pierced the flesh between his ribs. “I thought that was what I was doing. I came down here to thank you for the pep talk yesterday, to tell you I don’t want to repeat Leaf’s life.” He grabbed the clothes off her desk and stuffed them into the bag. “But maybe I should.”

Was it asking too much for her to be happy he’d sold some art and put himself back in the game? He shouldn’t even try with her. “Screw this.” He stalked out of the studio, slammed the car door, and peeled out of the drive.

Aly hung up the last of the dresses she’d tried on and glanced in the mirror at the least sexy outfit she owned—a broom skirt that reached past her knees and a high-necked sweater. She frowned at the eerie resemblance to Kallie in the mirror. As if clothes could disguise who she really was.

The only two men she’d ever loved knew the truth about her. She was easy. Cal knew every guy she’d been with. Her father had somehow seen what she would become—even when she was a little girl.

Once she’d been climbing around on the bed where he was reading a medical journal—happy just to be in the same room with him. He accused her of trying to look under the towel he had wrapped around his waist. Until that moment she hadn’t noticed what he wore. But he must have known she’d grow up to be a girl who looked.

Another time a doctor friend of Daddy’s had stopped by to see the new pool in their back yard. She couldn’t have been more than seven—dancing around the Pebble Tec decking in her pink two-piece with the ruffles on the bottom, begging the man to watch her dive. Daddy had been furious and accused her of flirting with his colleague. She’d had to ask Kallie what the word meant.

Kallie thought it was her fault Dad exed them out of his life—an argument she had with him when she was twelve. But Aly knew the truth. She was the tainted one, the one with a weakness for sex, not virginal Saint Kallie.

She turned her back on the mirror and read Cal’s text again.

Let me talk to u one more time about the Escape. Don’t say no. Hear me out. Pick u up 6 p.m. Thursday. Dinner. Dress up.

Three legal pad pages of business ideas had popped into her head since Monday morning when she told Cal she couldn’t help him. She stuffed them into her purse and reached for the check on the counter. This was the perfect solution. Cal would get the help he needed with his business, and she only had to hang onto her heart through one dinner—not work with him on a long-term basis.

Cal’s knock sounded on her front door—two raps, pause, two raps. She’d never known him to use a doorbell, and his knock was always the same. Her stomach fluttered as she threw open the door.

Cal—or someone who had to be Cal—stood on the stoop, his shoulder-length hair chopped into close-cropped curls worthy of a GQ model.

Her hands flew to his head. “Cal! Your hair.” She ran her hands through the springy, dark blonde locks, and they circled her fingers. “It’s so… curly.”

“Like it?” Desire to please swam in the brown pools of his eyes, inches from hers.

She yanked her hands away and stepped back, her gaze fastened on his crisp blue plaid button-down shirt. “I’m… I’m shocked, that’s all. Give me time to get used to it. I’ve never seen you with short hair. You look like a stranger.”

“And you look” —his eyes skimmed over her— “beautiful. Don’t get me wrong, I liked your T-shirt and cut-off years, but the swishy skirt phase is my favorite. Soft.” His eyes darted to her sweater and away.

He made her forget she’d been irreparably marred in a way people couldn’t see. He made her believe she was beautiful if only for this space in time.

He cleared his throat. “I thought we’d go to The Garlic.”

They moved down the cement walk, and he opened the Jeep door for her. “Who are you going out with these days? I want to know what I’m—” He cut himself off.

She slid onto the seat. “No one. I’m not going out with anyone.”

“You’re kidding. You’re always going out with somebody.”

“I’ve been single since G—” She almost said Gar, the guy she’d dated before she realized she loved Cal. “A long time.”

Cal gave her a lopsided grin. “At least I don’t have to worry about somebody decking me for kissing you the other day.” He shut the car door.

Way to get the most awkward topic out on the table, Cal. The kiss that forced her to turn him down. The kiss that would crack her heart in her chest like a Christmas walnut every time she saw Cal with Evie. The kiss that made her fall in love with Cal all over again.

“I had some ideas for your business—”

“We’ll talk about it at dinner.”

She stole a glimpse of his short hair, feeling again like she sat beside a stranger.

Cal parked at the restaurant and turned toward her in the last light of the sunset. “Al, I know I hurt you that day on the beach.” He dropped his chin.

The memory hung in the stuffy air between them—Cal ironed to Evie, his hands groping her body, searing her to him till steam seemed to waft from their bodies into the spitting rain. Aly shut off the memory.

He lifted his gaze to hers. “You’ve never been able to hide your feelings. Your face is so expressive.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so.”

“I’m sorry. If I could do that day over, I would.”

“It’s okay.” Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of the car. The only thing Cal could do to make it better was to have never slept with Evie in the first place. But she, of all people, had no room to talk.

Cal’s eyes pled with her in the dim light. “Say you forgive me. Please.” His hand grasped hers.

Her throat closed up with unshed tears. “I-I forgive you.”

A hand slipped behind her neck and pressed her cheek against his smooth jaw. “Thank you,” whispered across her skin.

Cal got out of the car.

Should she wait for him to open her door? Everything about tonight, so far, felt like a date. But it wasn’t. And they’d piled into and out of cars dozens of times before, and Cal had never opened her door.

She reached for the door handle, but Cal was already opening it.

He caught her fingers in his as they walked toward the restaurant.

For two minutes she’d pretend they were together.

But at the door, in a cloud of oregano, basil, and garlic, she snatched her hand back. Once somebody saw them holding hands, she wouldn’t be the only one who called their dinner a date. In minutes, the news would text around the city. She still wasn’t sure how things stood between Evie and Cal—much less between her and Cal.

After they ordered, Cal folded his arms on the table and leaned toward her. He looked like he belonged here in the artsy bricked courtyard framed by palms, ferns, and eucalyptus trees spiraled with tiny white lights—the close cropped hair, the ironed, well-cut slacks. “How’s your job?”

She shrugged. “It’s a job.”

“How are you coming with your dream to own a business by the time you’re twenty-five?”

“I’m building up my savings, honing an idea.”

“I have an idea.” He winked.

Aly mentally deflected the wink. She forgave him, but she’d be crazy to trust him with her heart again. She ducked her head and fished the list of ideas out of her purse. “Here.”

Cal skimmed the papers. “Advertising in Florida Monthly, repairing the bow, buying Facebook marketing, branching out, school field trips, parties, weekend trips, snorkeling.” Excitement mounted in his voice as the fire crackled in the outdoor fireplace. “Good stuff.”

Wait till he got to the idea about recruiting Jackson to scatter ashes and perform weddings shipboard.

“But your ideas aren’t enough to save the business. I need you to run it.”

She wanted him to read all her suggestions before he made a statement like that, but this wasn’t a structured business meeting. She could flex. “You need capital.”

“Yes, but—”

The waitress set down their meals.

Aly grinned. “You’re not the only one in New Smyrna Beach who can plate. This looks amazing.” She bit into her Chilean Sea Bass Francese. “Almost as pretty as your grouper.”

Cal ignored his food, all his intensity focused on her. “Maybe we could take out a bigger loan against the boat. I’ve still got over fifty thousand in collateral.”

Aly fished the check out of her purse and handed it to him. Everything was going according to plan. She’d given Cal all her ideas and now the money to carry them out. She could crawl back into her cocoon at the bank.

Cal stared at the check, his eyes widening. “This is a check for sixty-two thousand dollars, from you to me. Are you crazy?” His mouth hung open as he stared at her in shock. A smile dawned across his face. “You’re buying in. Partners. After you turned me down on Monday—”

She shook her head. “No. One friend to another, I’m giving you my ideas and Dad’s back child support.”

He glanced at the check. “I’m not taking your charity, Al.”

“It’s blood money, Cal. I never intended to keep it. The summer I interned at the camp and didn’t get a salary, my mom sued my father for back child support to help get me through the rest of college. Didn’t you wonder how Jesse and Kallie got the down payment for their house? Kallie put her share into the house.”

Cal stared at her chin, her words seeming to run off him like ocean water from a surfboard.

“It’s up to you. I could go ahead and give it to the Mennello Museum of American Art in Orlando like I planned.” All she knew was that she wasn’t keeping it another day. Somewhere deep down she believed giving away Daddy’s money would absolve her.

“You like museums?”

“Duh.”

“Why did I never know this?”

“You got me interested in high school.”

Cal scrubbed his knuckles through his oddly short hair.

The propane heater hummed overhead, draping them in a blanket of warmth.

Cal stared toward the brightly colored pottery propped against the window panes of the restaurant. Quiet fell between them as thick as the conversation they’d shared all evening.

Cal’s moods had always pivoted like wind changes. But the shifts made sense when she chased them down. “What’s wrong?”

He pushed rice around on his plate. His eyes returned to hers. “I feel like a piece of shit. First my grandmother gives me the boat because I’ve been too busy blowing off my life to get an education. Then, I fail to launch the business on my folks’ dime. Now, you’re shoving a check at me.”

Her heart hurt. She hadn’t anticipated this response. She set her fork down, still skewered through a bite of fish. “That’s not how I meant it. I wouldn’t throw money at somebody I didn’t believe would succeed—blood money or not. I’m a businesswoman, bottom line.”

He tossed the legal pad pages and the check onto the table between them as though her words had no effect. “I’m asking you to quit a job you hate and come on board fifty-fifty—half owner of the business and the boat.”

He held out her dream, and she wanted to take it. And she wanted to protect her heart.

“With your business savvy and my sailing skill, we could make the charter fly.” The intensity of Cal’s gaze burned into her.

He must have read her reluctance. He shook his head and slumped back in his seat. “It was just a crazy idea.”

She stared at him, her stomach lurching. This was the one thing she couldn’t do. But the look of utter worthlessness on Cal’s face wrenched her. He hadn’t found his niche in life. That didn’t mean he was valueless.

She pushed her plate aside. “You’re a genius artist. A hard worker. Intelligent. You feel things deeply. And I l—you were my best friend—closer than Electra.” Oh God, she’d almost blurted out that she loved him. Last time she’d done that, Cal slept with Evie. And she didn’t love him. Couldn’t.

She wanted to shake him and tell him he was valuable, but only one thing she could say would restore his belief in himself. The words burned on her tongue and she swallowed them. “What about a silent partner—you take the money, I’ll stay at the bank.”

Cal hung his head. “Forget it. We both know that if you believed in m—that the business could succeed, you wouldn’t need the bank.” He motioned for the waitress to bring the check. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His eyes met hers. “It sounded like a good idea in my head, but now that I hear it out loud.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m sorry I put you on the spot like this.”

The confident Cal she loved ebbed away, leaving the hunch-shouldered shell she usually only saw after he had a run-in with Starr. Her heart throbbed with the need to give him the chance at success he needed.

She shut out the picture of Evie, of the past two years of picking up the pieces of her heart and trying to stitch them back together. She sucked in a breath deep enough to fill her lungs with air and courage. “I—I believe in you.” She plucked her check off the stack of papers. “I’ll buy in.” She handed the check back to him.

Cal searched her with hooded eyes.

“I’ll put my notice in at the bank. I’ll sail with you. I’ll run the business end of things.”

He’d stared at her. Leaves rustled overhead. Someone guffawed at a table at the other end of the patio like a commentary on her decision.

Please let me be there for you this once. Her breath held.

“If I don’t take this $62,000, you’re really going to give it to the Mennello Museum?”

“I’ve got the donation forms filled out.”

Cal slid the check into his wallet. “Thank you.”

She released the carbon dioxide from her lungs and relief rushed into its place. “Thank my Dad who didn’t care enough to pay child support, much less communicate with me, for the past sixteen years.”

“He doesn’t know what he lost.” Cal reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I do.”

The pressure traveled up her arm and clamped around her chest. For a minute she believed Cal felt like he lost her and regretted it deeply.

But he had chosen Evie. How am I going to survive this? Freeing her hand, she clapped. “Ideas, ideas! We need ideas…. Like… sailing spa day. Treat guests to Slim Fast spiked with Ex-lax. Send them home five pounds lighter and tan.”

Cal grinned. “Sell Henna’s pot down the coast.”

Her breath tripped.

Cal laughed. “I’m kidding…. About sixth grade I started worrying she would get arrested, but it never happened.”

“If you only had her luck. What about dinner cruises?”

“That would require more than plating talent. I’m not a cook. What do you think of billing trips to experience the Devil’s Triangle?”

“Good idea, but we need more…. Food.” She slid her plate back in front of her. “People always need food. How about taking people fishing?”

Cal stabbed a scallop with his fork. “Zeke’s boat has tanks to keep the fish in, sonar, all the gear. How could we compete with that?”

For the next two hours Aly scribbled a new business plan on the flip side of her idea sheets while they shot-gunned ideas back and forth.

When Cal parked in front of her condo, he hopped out and walked her to her door. The date feeling returned, and she rubbed the arms of her sweater. She shook her head to clear away the images of Cal’s kiss. How did she think she could make it being around Cal every day?

They paused at her doorstep, awkward like middle schoolers on a first date. Then Cal pulled her into his arms.

Her cheek pressed against the starched cotton of his shirt. She breathed in Cal.

“Thanks.” The word rumbled from his chest. He gathered her closer, an arm around her shoulders.

Warmth radiated from his splayed hand at the small of her back through the thin material of her skirt. Seconds ticked by, morphing the hug beyond a friendly brother-in-law hug.

Her fingers clung to the cords in his back. She melted against him before reason had a prayer of engaging. She felt his body respond.

Her brain screamed she’d just complicated her life beyond fixing.

Chapter 9