September Canvas (17 page)

“You did?”

“What kind of a reporter would you be if you didn’t check your sources, do your research, and make sure I wasn’t blowing smoke in your eyes?” Deanna looked serious, but a small twinkle in her eyes made it possible for Faythe to breathe easier.

“Anyway, that’s when I found a few other blogs and sites, where some people called you not-so-nice names and so on. I realized that no matter what I thought I knew, or didn’t know about you, you needed someone to look into things impartially.”

“Are you still impartial?” Deanna didn’t take her dark blue eyes off Faythe.

“No. I’m completely biased now. But, that said, I’m still professional enough to be able to spot the truth. I’m enamored with you, so much that I’m ready to trick you into bed, using bribery if necessary.” Deanna tossed her head back and laughed, the first real laughter Faythe had heard from her. “You’re so shameless.” Deanna wiped at the corners of her eyes. “You’re so shameless and delicious I’m using all my willpower to keep my hands off you.”

“Really? So, I’m irresistibly sexy, but it really doesn’t matter how sexy I am because I’m just not worth the trouble. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”

Deanna looked shocked. “I didn’t mean it like
that
. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” Faythe blinked rapidly, fighting stupid tears at Deanna’s description of her.

“Oh, darling.” Deanna rounded the kitchen table, pushed the empty plates away, and lifted Faythe up on the table. “Listen to me. Listen.” She smoothed Faythe’s hair back from her face. “I realize you think you’re not relationship material, you’re afraid you’re shallow, and you see your past track record of breakups and so-called romantic failures as proof.”

“So?” Faythe sobbed, then tried to quit crying. She couldn’t, and Deanna ended up wiping her face for her.

“So you’re wrong. You’re a fantastic friend, and you’ll make someone an equally fantastic partner.” Faythe was about to object, but Deanna placed her finger over Faythe’s lips. “Shh. I know you don’t believe me, which infuriates me…” She held one hand up, palm forward. “Damn it, I’m talking as if I don’t have any social skills. I’m not mad at you, but I‘m furious at whatever your parents said or did to make you think you’re like them.”

“But they’re right.” Faythe shrugged. “They were my role models until I was eighteen. Then they divorced and settled with their new partners.”

“So they acted shallowly and convinced you that you were a chip off the old block. You’re not shallow at all.” Faythe drew a deep breath. She wasn’t shallow when it came to other her values: work ethic, friendships, moral and ethical dilemmas.

What concerned her was her track record with women. Most of the time she hadn’t wanted to go beyond the first date. A thought dawned on her.

“Uh, Deanna. I know this may sound silly, but I may have given you the impression that I’ve had tons of lovers.”

“Not tons, but you’ve apparently searched for love in quite a few places. That’s none of my business. I can’t judge you for that. I was a little wild in college myself.”

“Well. Wild and wild.” Faythe looked down at her dangling legs.

“Oops. This position wasn’t what the doctor ordered. I need to elevate my foot again. It’s throbbing.”

“All right. Here.” Deanna helped Faythe to her feet and gave her the crutches. “Why don’t you hop back into bed? You’ll feel better with that foot elevated. I’ll bring you more coffee.”

“Good idea. Thanks.” Faythe limped back to her bedroom and slid into bed. The down duvet nestled softly around her and the smell of lavender took Faythe back in time to when she’d stayed with Aunt Nellie as a child. Of course she was in one of the guest rooms then, not the master bedroom suite, but the linen smelled the same and the luxurious duvets hadn’t changed either.

“Here you go.” Deanna handed over more coffee.

“Mmm.” Faythe sipped it and hummed at the rich taste. “Jeez, you’re good at this.”

“Thanks. How about elaborating on what you were talking about before.” Deanna curled up at the foot of the bed and didn’t take her eyes off Faythe.

“Oh. That. Well, I have dated quite a few women. More than I can count. The thing is, I’m not the experienced vixen you might think. I can count my sexual partners on one hand. Most of them my girlfriends in college.”

Deanna listened to Faythe stutter. “Are you apologizing for not being a wide-eyed virgin, or for not being a sex connoisseur?” She winked, and Faythe gaped, then laughed.

“Neither!” She fell back against the pillows, still laughing. “Sweet Jesus, woman, you’re crazy.”

“Yeah. I am. Pretty crazy about you, actually.” Deanna had saved Faythe’s coffee and now placed both mugs on the bedside table. “I don’t care about any past partners, lovers, girlfriends, or whatever. Whoever you interacted with helped make you who you are. You’re terrific, and if you think I was expecting a sexual acrobat who would orgasm while swinging from the rafters…well, that’s something we’d have to practice, I suppose.”

Faythe nearly lost her breath completely. Deanna slid up to her and looked her over seriously. “You seem a bit flustered, my dear. Can I assist you somehow to regain your composure, and your breath?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Honestly.” Faythe eyed Deanna carefully.

She hadn’t expected Deanna’s new playful side. “And I can’t help but wonder how come you’re so witty and chipper today.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ve met a deadline. I took digital pictures of my illustrations for the next Bunny Buttercup book, e-mailed them off, and the publisher and the writer both loved them.”

“That’s fantastic. We should celebrate. As long as I can keep my foot off the floor once in a while, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Yeah?” Deanna hesitated. “Would you like to go on a picnic?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It’s a community picnic, of sorts, at my sister’s school. Miranda and all the other students will be there.”

“Your parents too?”

Deanna still looked friendly, but her shoulders stiffened. “No, not this time.”

“Ah. Well, I look forward to meeting your sister. Is she as talented artistically as you are?”

“I don’t know. She’s not able to concentrate on things long enough for us to notice any particular gifts.” Deanna looked seriously at Faythe. “Miranda has autism.”

“Oh, I see.” Faythe knew quite a bit about autism, having done a series about childhood disabilities for the network. “How old is Miranda?”

“Sixteen.”

“Is she enrolled in a good school?”

“The best, according to my mother and stepfather.” Her contempt was almost palpable.

“Well, I look forward to meeting Miranda. When’s the picnic?”

“At four o’clock.”

Faythe decided to be completely honest. “I look forward to it. I’ve spent time around kids diagnosed with autism. I won’t approach Miranda until she’s ready.”

Deanna’s expression softened, a welcome change that Faythe thought she’d never grow tired of seeing. She stopped in mid-thought and couldn’t remember feeling this confused since her parents’ divorce.

She shoved the disturbing comparison out of her mind.

“So, how about we order one of those take-out picnic baskets from the bakery on Main Street?” Deanna asked.

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll go make the call. You rest, okay?”

“Bossy, aren’t we?” Faythe thought her broad grin would crack her face. “Okay, okay, I’ll rest.” She leaned back against the pillows and sighed in relief when Deanna left the room. Still, she wanted to call out to Deanna to come back and hold her. She grimaced. “Ain’t gonna happen,” she mumbled to herself. “I’m not her type. Sometimes I wonder if I’m anybody’s type.”

The day promised to be one of the last Indian-summer days with a warm, glowing sun in an azure blue sky dotted with cotton-candy clouds. Deanna carried the basket with bread, fruit, and a thermos of coffee in one hand and a cooler full of sodas, brie cheese, and slices of roast beef. There was also a surprise in the basket for Miranda. Faythe had asked if Miranda had a favorite food, and Deanna thought immediately of oatmeal cookies. Miranda would do just about anything for one.

Faythe had hobbled into the bakery with Deanna and picked out some oatmeal cookies and insisted on paying for them. “They’re a present for your sister,” she said stubbornly. “They’re big enough, you think?”

“Any bigger and they’ll fill her up like a three-course meal,” Deanna said. “Once she gets going on those types of cookies, she goes crazy. She’s supposed to stay away from sugar, since it boosts her energy too much, but she’ll need a lot this afternoon, so she should be fine.”

“So if I get three of them? With or without raisins?”

“Without,” Deanna said, remembering when she’d bought oatmeal cookies with raisins a year ago. Miranda thought the raisins were little bugs and it took Deanna and Irene Costa over an hour to calm her down. Faythe limped back to the car with the small bag of cookies, looking expectantly at Deanna as they strapped themselves in. “Is it far? The school, I mean?”

“No, it’s on the other side of town, in a beautiful park, overlooking open countryside.” Deanna pulled out into the nearly empty street. She was driving Faythe’s Crossfire since her old piece of junk was at the garage having the radiator fixed.

“Sounds like a perfect place.”

“I suppose.” Deanna knew she sounded short, but it was hard to think of the school as beneficial.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Oh, the school is great. Their autism program is cutting edge, and they’ve just opened a new wing for children diagnosed with severe neuropsychiatric disorders.”

“You mean like ADHD?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds good. Disorders can really handicap a kid socially.”

“So true.”

“I still get the feeling something bothers you about Miranda’s situation.”

“Nothing to do with the school.” Deanna sighed.

“All right. I won’t pry. For now. I’ll attack when you have your guard down, or when I’ve distracted you with my naked body.”

“What?” Deanna jerked the wheel slightly.

“Hey, watch the road, driver.” Faythe pointed out the windshield. “Innocent bystanders at two o’clock.”

“What were you saying about naked body?” Deanna refused to let Faythe off the hook.

“I’m a ruthless journalist, remember?” Faythe wiggled her well-plucked eyebrows. “I’m not beyond using my assets to get my hands on a story.”

“Did you just say ‘using your ass,’ Faythe? I’m shocked.” The friendly banter, spiced with sexual innuendo, made Deanna feel liberated.

“I said ‘assets’ and you heard me.” Faythe stuck her nose in the air and huffed theatrically. “I’ve never used my
ass
in
that
manner, my good woman.”

“Really? You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Deanna!” Faythe snorted. “You’re as naughty as I am. Actually, I think you’re worse.”

“What do you mean? Did you think I was kidding?” Deanna deadpanned. “I was entirely serious.”

“I think not.”

Deanna couldn’t stop a wide grin from forming. “No?”

“Nope.”

“Well, my dear, we’re both saved by the bell. The school bell, as it were.” Deanna turned and drove through some gates where she waved at the guard on duty. She’d been coming here three times a week for nine years, so they recognized her on sight.

“Just so you know,” Faythe said as Deanna maneuvered the car into the nearly full parking lot, “I may let you go for now, but I have a good memory for details.” She uttered the last word an octave lower, obviously joking, but Deanna shivered.

“Duly noted.”

They walked and hobbled respectively toward a big lawn where tables formed a U-shape. People were unpacking baskets and coolers while they were chatting.

“Deanna. Over here! Look, Miranda. There’s Deanna now.” Irene Costa came up, holding Miranda’s hand. Miranda was dressed in blue jeans and a red and white sweater. At first, she looked like any teenager, but up close, her vacant look, mixed with fear and suspicion, told a different story.

“Deanna,” Miranda said. When Miranda spoke her name, which she rarely did, Deanna choked up and merely hugged her. She wasn’t surprised or offended when Miranda immediately tried to break free.

She didn’t like to be touched and could become annoyed quickly, even throw a temper tantrum.

Deanna gestured for Faythe to follow them to the table Irene had reserved. Miranda had set the table and made the decorations, so Deanna fussed over everything. The decorations truly were exquisite.

Miranda had combined petals from late-blooming flowers and different grasses to create napkin rings and a centerpiece that any florist would be proud to display.

The sight of Faythe clutching her bag of cookies while trying to balance herself on her crutches made Deanna flinch. “Oh, God, where’s my head? You’ve got to sit down and—”

“—elevate.” Faythe grinned. “No worries. I’m fine.” She sat down with a thud, in spite of her brave words, and Deanna watched Miranda busily rearrange the napkin rings on the other side of the table.

“This is so pretty, Miranda,” she said. “You’re really getting the hang of working with plants and flowers.” Miranda didn’t look up, but nodded with emphasis. “Live material.”

“Excuse me?”

Irene explained. “Miranda and I have spent the last few days discussing the difference between live materials and inanimate objects.” She smiled encouragingly toward Miranda. “Deanna will be really proud when she finds out how well you understand.” Deanna was stunned. Life, death, and non-living things were abstract concepts that some people with autism had a hard time grasping.

It was amazing for Miranda to even care about learning the difference.

“Incredible,” Faythe whispered from her side of the table. “That’s huge, Deanna.”

“I know.” Deanna smiled at Faythe. “Pretty darn remarkable.”

“Sure is.”

Miranda looked in Faythe’s direction. Deanna knew she wasn’t meeting Faythe’s eyes, but looking at her eyebrows or hairline.

“Miranda, Irene, this is Faythe, a friend of mine.” Miranda kept fiddling with the napkin holder, her fingers working faster and faster. When Faythe didn’t say anything, Miranda became increasingly curious. Until recently, she’d never displayed curiosity or any other emotion. Now she glanced back and forth, probably trying to judge where Faythe fit into the scheme of things.