Secondary Colors (25 page)

“No.” His voice is gentle and genuine. “For the first time since his death, I’m thankful I survived. You’re the reason, Evie.”

I hide my face in his neck, not wanting him to see the tears taking my eyes hostage.

“You shouldn’t say those type of things to me.”

“Why not?”

“You know.”

“No, Violet, I don’t. Explain to me why I can’t be honest with you.”

“Because if you do,” I pause. I don’t even know how to continue. “I should go to my own bed.”

I start to climb out of his, but his arm hooks about my stomach. I glance down at it then his face. He’s staring at me with no in his eyes. Without a word, he brings me back into him and rests his head against mine.

“You’re where you should be.”

“That’s what scares me.”

“Why does the idea of us connecting in any real way close you off?”

“Because I don’t want to get close to you. My heart and trust have been broken too many times. They can’t be pieced back together with glue like a broken vase. They’re unrepairable.”

“Things like that take time, Evie. But you’ll never heal if you don’t accept the situations responsible first.”

“I’ve already accepted my father abandoned me.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“Rarely. And only if I come to him, which is every few years. Mostly we communicate over the phone or through cards. Even those are far and few between.”

“That must be really hard for you, losing your father.”

“It could be worse. It’s not as if he died.”

“Would that really make it worse? For me, it would be better if he weren’t alive. At least there’s a good excuse for him not being around for his own daughter.”

His view is slightly morbid, but it comes from an honest place.

“I’d never really thought of it in that context. But I guess you’re right. It does feel worse.”

“Hey,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

“Oh, no. I’m okay. It’s not as if you not saying it makes it any less true or real. I’ve just never considered your view on it.”

“Do you know why he left?”

“My parents’ marriage fell apart. And he took the easy way out.”

“Were they always unhappy together?”

“No, actually, they were really in love—until they weren’t.”

“Tell me about how they met,” he says.

I realize he’s making conversation to keep my mind off my near freak out. And it’s working.

“My parents met while my father was studying law at Dartmouth College in Hanover. My mother was a townie, working at Dine and Dash where travelers and college students would frequent during trips up north or after camping in the nearby woods, my dad being one. He came in one night, in need of directions, and she was the only waitress working. She gave him directions and served him dinner, even joining him since there was no one else there that night.

“After that, my father would come in on weekends. He would sit and chat with her while she worked. Once they got to know each other a bit, he would escort her home. Next, he asked her to join him for walks along the river, basket lunches near the lake, drinking lemonade on the back patio, real old-fashioned courting. It was how my mother’s family was, extremely traditional, unlike Meredith. I think it’s her way of rebelling against ritual. Anyway, a month into casually seeing one another, he finally asked her out on a real date. That evening, they shared their first kiss on the porch of this very house.

“When they finally made it official, everything went really fast. It was a whirlwind romance. Only ninety days after they first met, my father asked my mother to marry him. They were a few weeks later, and nine months down the road, I came into the world. We had a happy life, which is why I was blindsided by their divorce. They were really good at hiding their issues from me. I don’t even know why they fought.

“He just left us in the dead of night without even a goodbye. He didn’t wait for the paperwork to finalize before he ran to New York. Once it was said and done, they didn’t pretend to get along. At times, I wonder if I’m committing the same sin, if my desire to be closer to my father after he abandoned us is an act of betrayal.”

“Is that why you’re moving there, for him?”

“Not entirely. A chance to get to know him again would be a perk. But I want to talk about art all day long. It’s what I’ve been working towards and New York is the place to do it.”

“Did he ask you to come live down there?”

“No,” I murmur, ashamed.

I’ve never been one to chase a man, desperate for his attention. Even Aidan, I didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy. I simply longed for him, usually in the privacy of my room or to Taylor. I was happy loving him from afar.

My father has always been the one who eluded me, like a unicorn or some other mythical creature impossible to obtain. I realize how nutty it sounds, pathetic even, but all I’ve ever wanted was his affection.

“Even if it wasn’t his idea, I’m sure he wants you there, Evie,” he assures me, but I know he’s only trying to make me feel less lame. “How could he not?”

“I’d give anything to believe that.” I want to change the topic of discussion.

“That’s not the cause of your recent sadness though, is it?”

“You see it?”

“You’re as transparent as glass.” He turns me over and lies on top of me, his face suspended above mine. “At least, you are to me.” He swipes his finger over my lips. “I see
you
, Evie.” I choke back my sudden urge to cry like a baby. “Tell me what pains you,” he pleads before kissing the corner of my lips.

“You won’t see me the same way if I tell you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ll see me as spoiled.”

“Well, I already think you’re spoiled.” His face is serious. It takes me back until the smirk creeps over his mouth.

“You’re a jerk,” I proclaim with a giggle, pinching him in his side. He laughs and jerks away. He stops laughing.

“You could never be anything more or less to me than who you are, Evie.”

The sincerity in his eyes tells me I can trust him and his words.

“It’s about Aidan,” I warn him, half-expecting him to stop me there. But he doesn’t. “I was in love with him my whole life. He was the only guy I trusted for a long time. He was there for me after my father. But in all the years I loved him, I never told him. At the end of summer, before we went our separate ways, Aidan’s parents threw this big party for him. When he found me by the shore, he seemed upset but he wouldn’t tell me why. I guess he’d seen our parents together. He took my hand and walked us away from everyone. We walked along the sand until the sounds and light from the party were faint. He laid a blanket out on the shore he’d brought and a bottle of bourbon he stole. We sat there drinking the awful stuff and talking about the future, the past, everything and anything we could think to discuss.

“We drank until the last drop of booze was gone. We talked until there was nothing left to say except the things we never thought we would. I told him I’d had feelings for him. He told me he did, too. Before I knew what was happening, we were kissing and then—I woke up the next morning, wrapped in the blanket, naked and alone. I dressed in my cold, sandy, damp clothes and walked back to my house. It was pathetic.

“Over the next three months, I threw myself into my studies and work. I’d noticed I was getting pudgy about the waist. I thought it was stress from school and excessive eating, which I’d been doing plenty of. But then other things weren’t showing up. During Christmas break, I’d found out I—was pregnant.” I pause here, to give him a second to let it sink in. I know that word can make any man buckle.

“Did you have the baby?”

“Yes. A girl.”

“Where is she?”

“I gave the baby up for adoption. My aunt and uncle were having a hard time conceiving their own child. They were the right age, with a good home and careers. They could provide my daughter what I couldn’t, but I’d stay in her life, watch her grow up, love her openly.”

“Does it hurt you to be seen as a cousin rather than her mother?”

“It kills me.”

“Does Aidan know?”

“No,” I mutter.

“Evie.”

“It isn’t what you think. I’ve tried. I tried when I first found out I was pregnant.”

“What stopped you?”

“His mother.”

“His mother? She knows you were pregnant?”

“Yes. When I showed up on his doorstep, she answered. She took one glance at my protruding belly and knew. She told me I could ruin my life all I want, but I wasn’t going to ruin Aidan’s. She insisted I get rid of it. She wanted me to abort it. But it was too late. There was no turning back. I was too far along at that point. She was furious. She told me I was never to tell Aidan about it, that I was a whore, and me and my spawn would have nothing to do with her and her family. I knew then I had to give her up. I didn’t want her to grow up fatherless. I wanted her to have everything I couldn’t give her, everything I wanted for myself. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Be selfless and provide your children everything you never had?”

“Yes, of course it is. Even though I know she would have wanted for nothing with you as her mother, you made the right choice.”

“There are times when I’m sure I didn’t.” My lips tremble and my eyes water over. “I gave her away. I gave my baby away,” I cry, breaking down for the first time. I never allowed myself to cry over losing her. But I wasn’t going to deny my heart of that right anymore.

“You’re so strong, Evie. You’re so strong.” He kisses me over my face, repeating this mantra in between each one. He’s tender and loving and everything I need. He kisses at the wet trails of tears streaming across my cheeks and over my neck. He kisses me until my tears run dry. As I whimper out the final invisible tears, he cradles me to him, my body easing into his with a decompressing exhale.

“I was thinking,” he says, “about your daughter. Is she the reason you stopped painting?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Why?”

“After I had her, I wanted to focus on bettering myself. I couldn’t let my giving her up be in vain. I worked my ass off to ensure I graduated with a 4.0 GPA. I sacrificed my art, my social life, and sleep. Anything that didn’t work toward my goal was a waste of time. But I’ve missed it all these years. It’s thanks to you for my starting again. You’ve changed me.”

He takes my face into his callous hands and kisses me on the tip of my nose and then my mouth.

“You’ve done the same for me, Evie.”

areas of the composition that

aren’t the main subject

The next morning, I wake early. Since we had such a late night, I’m surprised I’m up at the butt crack of dawn. I turn myself over to face Holt. He’s lying on his stomach, sleeping heavily. I doubt he’s slept much in the past week. It gives me a chance to survey the damaged skin in the early daylight. It’s the most beautiful flaw I’ve ever seen, as if it was painted on by a Realist, marbleized with depths of pink and white. My fingers are drawn to it. Before they touch the imperfection, I catch something in my peripheral. My eyes drop to his. They’re open and watching me. I wait for him to stop me, my fingers hanging over it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t breathe a word. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He watches me, granting me silent consent to proceed, remaining on his stomach.

It’s soft, but the muscle underneath is hard.

He turns over, his eyes on mine, and scoops his arms around me. I’m under him within a few movements, his hips widening my thighs. His mouth hovers over mine, coming down sporadically with tender flitting touches. My eyes close over at the electric volts branching through my bloodstream, detonating every atom in my body from tip to toe.

After dragging my lazy bones out of Holt’s bed and arms, I drive into town to buy groceries, the fridge nearly bare. I’m walking out of the store, my free hand shoved in my purse, ten bags hanging heavily from my arms, my fingers searching the fathomless pit for my keys. Focused on the impossible task, I’m distracted, not noticing my arch-nemesis coming straight for me until it’s too late.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your face around here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

I glance around at the eyes contently homed in on us, ears up and turned in our direction, paused and waiting for juicy small town gossip.

“I don’t have time for these games, Kayla. I’m busy.” I attempt to walk past her, but she isn’t having it. She clutches my upper arm and tugs me back. “Get your hands off me before I snap them off. You might’ve been the big bad bitch back in high school, but this isn’t grade school, and I won’t hesitate to clean your fucking clock.”

It’s hard to look threatening with arms full of bags, but her hand falls to her side.

“You’ve always got what you wanted. And you don’t care who you hurt to get it.”

“Where did you get this diluted idea? You are so far off it isn’t even funny. If you have an issue with Holt, I’m not the person you should be talking to about it. But personally, I think he made himself clear your night in the woods.”

“You’re a bitch,” she hisses.

“You’re something I can’t say in public because there are children here.”

I sweep past her and over to my car, my hand at the door handle.

“I can’t believe Aidan ever fucked you.”

Dropping my bags on the ground, I spin back to her sharply, the sound of asphalt grating against the soles of my shoes. Through narrowed eyes, I shoot bullets of anger into her head.

“What did you say?”

I march back, getting right in her face.

“You heard me,” she says, her hands on her cocked hips.

Normally, I’m not prone to violence, but I could slap the smug off her face and not lose an ounce of sleep over it. I clench my hands at my sides to keep from following through.

“It’s really none of your concern. And neither is Holt for that matter. So butt the hell out.”

The bitchy smirk drains from her lips.

“I can’t wait until you’re run off your land.”

“You’re crazy.”

I wave her off.

“Christina will make sure of it. She knows about your mother’s affair with her husband.”

“That’s old news.”

“Well, I bet you didn’t know she told Charles to have the affair with her.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“She told my mother.”

“Why?” I ask.

I want to understand everything. I’m just pissed it’s Makayla I have to hear it from.

“Not that I should tell you, but this feels too good to stop. Your property. She wants you off the land. She wants the lake.”

That’s why Christina would allow her husband to carry on with my mother, why Charles has been asking my mother to sell to him. He
is
using her.

“You’re just like her,” she snaps, “a slut.”

“That’s funny coming from you, Kayla, considering you spent the majority of your high school years on your back.”

I turn for the final time, denying her the satisfaction of the tears in my eyes, throw the bags into the back, and climb into my car.

I ride around a while, the groceries defrosted and wilted in the back seat, before reluctantly heading home. I’m not exactly eager to confront Meredith with the truth. There’s only one person I want to see right now.

I lodge the Nova in the garage and head into the house, ditching the bags in the kitchen before I ascend the stairs to the second floor. I don’t care that they’re ruined and unusable. As I near my mother’s bedroom door, I hear her speaking to someone. When no one responds, I realize she’s on the phone. Pressing my ear to the door, I strain to listen to this side of the conversation.

“What do you mean you can’t come?” she hisses angrily. “She’s your daughter. It’s her going away party, Richard. You promised you were finally going to step up, you sonofabitch. So help me if you don’t show to take your daughter to New York with you, I’ll hunt you down and chop off your manhood. Oh, that’s right, your wife keeps it in her nightstand next to her vibrating—Oh, screw you,
Dick
. This has nothing to do with us. It’s about you being the father you should’ve been. You didn’t need to punish Evie, too. It wasn’t her fault.”

Listening to her pleas, my heart breaks. Suddenly, the news of her affair doesn’t seem so dire.

The phone crashes down hard, resonating up my spine. The springs of her bed squeal, warning me. I dash down the stairs, making it halfway when her door opens. I turn around as if I’m coming up, hoping to save myself from being found out. I smile feebly, and she manages one, too. Even though she’s devastated.

Trying to hide the damp sorrow forming at the bottom of those glossy hazel eyes, she passes me without a word. I hate seeing her brought down by my father. Baring the weight of her sadness, I collapse against the wall displaying my short life with a chronological line of photos, each one telling a wordless story. At the bottom, I’m a baby, my father heavily present. As I get older, he gradually disappears until it was like he never existed.

It wasn’t always like this. They had a happy marriage. We were a family.

I manage to pick myself up, climb back up the stairs, and walk right into the attic. Since I’ve been spending more time in his room than my own, this isn’t unusual. I locate him in the kitchen cooking us dinner. He turns when my feet hit the top step, noticing the distress on my face. The corners of his mouth dive into a frown, faint lines forming on his forehead.

“Want to talk about it?”

What I want is to lock myself safely in his arms.

I move toward him with a quickness in my step, clinging onto him when he’s within reach. He must not have expected it because his arms don’t wrap about me right away.

“Can you—can you hold me?” I request, my face buried in his chest.

He drops the spatula on the counter, increasingly contracting his consoling limbs about me, and sets his head atop mine. When the scent of burning food hits our noses, he doesn’t budge.

“Food’s burning,” I whisper, my cheek remaining on his chest.

“Let it,” he says, holding me closer. “What happened, Violet?”

With the copious amount of smoke rising from the pan on the stove, I use it as a distraction. “You really should turn that off.”

He twists his head and sees the smoke, turning off the burner. After opening windows, I join him by the stove.

“Shame. I’m sure that would’ve been good.” I peek into the pan, noticing the charred remnants of dinner. “Whatever it was.”

“Are you avoiding my question?”

“No.” I smile halfheartedly. “I want to forget for a time. Can we make dinner?”

“Sure,” he says with an understanding expression.

We work on restarting dinner, silent, except for the occasional excuse me or request. When it’s done, we sit on the couch and stare out the back window at the lake. We clean the dishes, me washing, him drying, and then spoon in bed.

“I ran into Makayla today.”

“That must’ve been pleasant.”

“I think she was pissed about you. But it’s what she said about my mother that has me all messed up.”

Without having to see his face, I sense hearing this genuinely upsets him. He really cares about Meredith. He feels the need to protect her, I guess.

“What did she say?”

“When Christina confronted me she knew about the affair, she seemed removed from it. Well, it turns out Christina not only knew about the affair, she condoned it, told Charles to use it against my mother. When you were gone, Hettie revealed that Meredith has been having financial problems. And Aidan’s father has been offering to buy the whole property from her, the lake, the land, our home, everything.” I snuggle into him deeper. “You don’t think Meredith is sleeping with him to keep it, do you?”

“Your mom doesn’t seem like the type of woman who uses sex for gain.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I see a lot of her in you, and that’s not your style, Evie. And we won’t let that happen. But I think you should talk to your mom about what you found out.”

“You said this was none of my business.”

“That was when it only affected her, but this would involve you, too. You could lose your home, Evie. If she’s in love with him, he could take advantage of it.”

“This is going to kill her.”