Pictures of You (18 page)

             
“She
is
weird,” he mouthed. He chuckled as he joined us at the table with a waffle of his own.

             
“These are the best damn waffles I’ve ever had,” Mary said, fluttering her lashes at Adrien.

             
“Thanks. I’ll have to make them again sometime…” he trailed off, probably realizing there may not be a sometime. “September, what’s this recurring nightmare about? Who’s Abby?”

             
“The accident,” Mary said, looking matter-of-fact.

             
Adrien dropped his fork, his mouth gaping open like a fish. “What accident?”

             
Great. I’d hoped to get through these next few days without him finding out. He had enough to deal with, without me adding my own sob story. I threw Mary the meanest look I could muster then sucked in my breath. It was out now—there was no way I could hide it any longer.

             
I opened my mouth, ready to explain, but Mary beat me to it. “September’s best friend was killed.”

             
“Really?” he said, his brows meeting in the middle.

             
“Really,” she said, reminding me of a bratty little sister. I scowled at her again. She got the hint and left the table, but not before licking the syrup off her plate, like a dog. Adrien and I sat in awkward silence as we heard her plop onto the couch in the living room and begin humming some song I’ve never heard.

             
I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got into a car accident a few months ago. A very, very bad accident. I…”

             
“You don’t have to talk about it,” he said, looking uncomfortable, staring at his plate of food.

             
“No, no. It’s okay. You deserve to know. I was with my best friend, Abby. My very best friend. We were on our way home from a road trip. Someone in a brown van—I never found out who—flew across the freeway and nailed us. My yellow Beetle flew off the freeway, turning over and over. Abby was…” I swallowed, still finding it hard to form the words, “killed almost instantly. I guess I was the lucky one. I left with barely a scratch.”

             
Adrien buried his face in his hands. “What happened to the bastard who hit you?”

             
“I don’t know. He just took off. It was a hit-and-run.” His face paled as he clutched his stomach with one hand. “Are you okay?”

             
“I’m okay,” he said, forcing a smile.

             
“Needless to say, it was the worst day of my life. By far. Abby’s passing just about killed me…She was my world. She was like family to me.” I laughed. “Better than family.”

             
“I’m so sorry to hear that, September.” He shook his head in amazement, his eyes deeply pained, empathetic.

             
“I know what it’s like to hurt,” I said, touching his hand. “I know all about pain. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t, at one point, feel like ending it all.”

             
He nodded, but he seemed troubled. He studied the table, running a finger across the smooth surface. “But are you okay now?”

             
“Surprisingly, yes. I mean it was really bad for awhile. I still miss my friend like crazy. But the funny thing is I’m sort of happy now. Maybe not
happy
, but I’m surviving. I have my days, but I get through them.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I got through the impossible and somehow I’m still here.”

             
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” If it wasn’t my imagination, Adrien’s skin paled further. I watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down as he swallowed several times.

             
“Adrien? Are you all right?” I asked, arching a brow.

             
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He stood so abruptly, his chair fell over.

             
I watched him leave me all over again.

18

             
“Your work is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant,” a middle-aged man with a deep scar running the length of his left cheek said in a thick Irish accent. He wore a crazy tie containing every color of the rainbow. He extended a hand and I accepted it. His skin was as smooth as gravel.

             
“Thank you,” I said, feeling a blush touch my cheeks.

             
“The way you capture your subject’s soul. It’s utterly amazing.” He peered into my eyes, as if for a few seconds glimpsing into my own soul. He studied me the way I’d seen him studying my art. I counted the seconds. One…two…three…four…five…I had to look away on six. He took a sip of red wine, winked and then rejoined his lady friend wearing a lacy black shawl.

             
Relieved to have a moment to myself, I scanned the area. I was pleasantly surprised by the turnout. The place was swimming with people. I was excited—this was a dream come true—but that was nothing compared to the intense feeling of vulnerability I felt. People went out of their way just to see my work.
My
work. Mine. The silly girl just out of high school who knew so little about the real world. What if they didn’t like it? What if they realized I wasn’t so great after all, that they had come for nothing? What if they figured out I was really a big fraud (after all, it’s not like I really earned this—I was just lucky to have family connections)?

             
I played with my simple ruby necklace as I watched strangers examine my photos—my offspring. Not only was this my first solo exhibit, this was my first art show of any kind since Abby died. She used to be a huge source of comfort at times like these, always there to hold my hand and make fun of the critics and the people who had little appreciation for art. The ones who’d show up for the free almond mushroom pate and a glass of ten-year-old wine.

             
Thirty minutes into the evening, Mary made an appearance. She wore a black spider web-looking dress which resembled the witch’s costume I wore when I was eleven. Her stop sign red hair coiled atop her head, exposing a snake tattoo on the back of her neck. To finish it off, she wore a black velvet choker. Could she look any more
Addams Family
?

             
“Mary,” I said, giving her an uncomfortable side hug.

             
“I was able to get off work after all. Thought you could use some moral support.” Mary threw her eyes around the room. “Where’s Hot Waffle Guy?”

             
I laughed pretty loud, even snorting a little. “Is that his new nickname? Adrien is…I doubt he’s coming.”

             
“That’s a shame. He won’t get to see these ultra cool photos of himself.” Mary chewed on a lock of stray hair as she studied the two pictures of Adrien. One, a huge black and white, zoomed in on his face. His eyes bore an intensity that made me shiver. His messy hair flopped into his face, hiding part of his right eye. His lips turned downward, giving a slight pout. His moodiness gave it a James Dean meets Kurt Cobain feel. Vivid, punchy colors saturated the second photo. The exaggerated red of the brick building behind him complemented his green shirt. His glowing face, half in shadow, contrasted the florescent pink-orange sky behind him. I’d caught him in mid-laugh. His whole face contorted in a moment of pure bliss. If it weren’t for the same striking, unusual features, one would never guess this was the same guy as the one in black and white—the contrast between the two photos was stunning.

             
Against my will, my mind wandered back to Adrien. What if I never see him again? The way he left so suddenly had me perplexed. Was it something I said? Something Mary said? Would he come wandering back like a lost kitten, or was that the end of it? I shuddered when I thought of him hurting himself. I began to whisper a prayer for him when a hand touched my shoulder. My pulse accelerated.
Adrien?

             
I spun around. The gallery director, Kerry Perry, stood cradling a glass of wine, her lips curled slightly upward. She wore Princess Leia buns and a slinky violet dress, her body unusually trim and sculpted for a woman nearing sixty. “I’ve said this before, but I must say it again, your work is just fab-u-lous, September.”

             
“Thank you, Kerry, you’re too kind.”

             
She lowered her voice now. “You’ve sold four pieces already and the show’s not half over.”

             
“No kidding,” I said, surprised.

             
Behind her I saw my Aunt Sara wearing a dark suit, her hair cut short around her ears. She had that classic professor look. She bore little resemblance to my mom, but the two shared the same gray eyes that crinkled when they smiled. “September, come here, kiddo,” she said, pulling me in for a bear hug, her short hair prickling my cheek. “I’m proud of you. You’re going to be the next Ansel Adams—I can feel it.”

             
I laughed. “Right. Thanks again for hooking me—” My heart hammered in my chest as a tall man with chestnut hair entered the room. His hand momentarily hid his face, but as it dropped to his side, I realized it wasn’t Adrien. I felt my heart drop into my stomach. “Excuse me,” I said, pushing my way through the wall of admirers. My eyes began leaking as I made a mad dash for the restroom.

             
“September,” I heard someone say. I stopped mid-step when I felt a strong, cold hand wrap around my arm. I swept the tears away before turning around.

             
“Chris,” I said, smothering him with a hug, feeling comforted by his familiar scent.

             
These days Chris returned my embraces—almost too enthusiastically—but to my surprise, he gently pushed me away, peeling my arms from his body. I was hurt until I saw a pretty girl standing behind him with a nasty scowl and arms crossed over her chest. I then understood Chris’s odd behavior.

             
“Um, September, meet my
girlfriend
, Megan,” Chris said, apologizing to me with his eyes.

             
“Oh,” was all I could say at first. “Nice to meet you, Megan.”

             
She was much prettier than I’d expected. Beautiful, even, with big blue-gray eyes and a long curtain of blonde hair framing flawless tanned skin and lips so full and pouty, they should be illegal. Plus she looked like she could be Chris’s sister—they looked so alike (minus Chris’s less-than-perfect skin). I had to resist wrinkling my nose as I saw what a gorgeous couple they made, with their identical long butterscotch hair and similarly slanted blue-gray eyes.

             
“Nice to meet you, too, September. Chris has told me all about you.”

             
I smiled weakly. Of course he hasn’t told her
everything
. He practically had to lie to her about us. To Megan, I was simply the female co-worker. She would never allow Chris to see me again if she knew how close we’d become, how Chris snuck behind her back to spend time with me, to occasionally grab a late night burger (a veggie burger for me, of course) and talk. And one Saturday he took me to see the dogs at his shelter. I felt somewhat bad about sneaking around, but not too guilty, as there was nothing romantic going on. Chris was
clearly
in love with Megan.

             
“You’re just so talented,” Megan said, draping herself all over Chris. I wasn’t sure why, but seeing another girl cemented to my closest friend made me want to vomit. I had to pry my eyes away from her perfect size zero thighs that peeked out of a much-too-short dress, long enough to thank her.

             
“It’s very nice of you to come.”

             
I followed Chris and Megan around the room as they admired my work.

             
“I love this one,” Megan said, squeezing Chris’s hand. “Who is this?”

             
“That is my best friend, Abby.” I didn’t feel like explaining her passing. The three of us studied one of the very last photos I’d taken of her. Her indigo eyes peered out defiantly from under thick mascara. The wind had blown her blazing orange hair around her luminescent freckled skin. She wore a ratty black tee and shredded jeans, exposing fishnet tights. The silver charm bracelet I gave her for her birthday so long ago dangled on her delicate wrist. I closed my eyes. I could almost smell her jasmine perfume, hear her throaty laugh.

             
“That’s Abby?” Chris said. “I pictured her differently. It’s nice to finally see her. She was very pretty.”