September Canvas (3 page)

Irene was in charge of the six students in the section of the boardinghouse where Miranda lived and had been very good to her.

“Has she spoken a lot today?” Deanna directed the subject away from her nonexistent private life.

“Actually, she has. She really loved your picnic in the garden the other day. She’s talked about it a lot and seems to want to do it again.” Deanna had packed a picnic basket and invited Miranda to go outside. Miranda was usually nervous about being outdoors and thrived in a disturbance-free environment, but Irene had made sure they had the lawn to themselves for an hour. Of course, Miranda had acted as if she were seeing the garden for the first time, though, as usual, she rocked and murmured the same unintelligible sounds. She calmed down only when Deanna poured orange juice for them and unpacked the cinnamon buns and other treats, since they always seemed to reach her. Soon she was on her back pointing at the clouds, outlining their shapes with her fingers.

Deanna looked over at her desk. Pinned to the wall were four pencil studies of her sister that she’d done during that precious hour.

In three of them, Miranda was seriously contemplating the clouds, the strands of grass beneath her fingers, and, in the distance, some ducks that had initially startled her with their quacking. In the fourth one, Deanna captured Miranda’s rare, enigmatic smile—a tiny uplift at the corners of her mouth, which was faintly pursed. Deanna had spilt some orange juice on her white shirt, and her low curse had made Miranda’s eyes widen. Then a slow, barely visible, smile appeared. It surfaced rarely, and Deanna had gripped her pencil again, eager to capture it.

Although most people would pull out a camera, Deanna was happy that she was an illustrator, given Miranda’s fear of mechanical devices.

The only pictures of Miranda that showed her smiling were those their parents had taken when Miranda was a baby.

“Deanna?” Irene cleared her throat, pulling Deanna from her reverie.

“Yes, of course. Tell Miranda that we’ll do it again next Saturday.”

“All right. I work the late shift Monday, so I’ll see you then.”

“Right, Irene. Bye.”

Deanna pocketed the cell phone and walked over to her desk, where she studied the half-completed drawing she was working on.

Something was blocking her inspiration. It had been so easy to draw Miranda; the pencil had moved practically on its own during their picnic. Now she sat down on her chair and reached for a new, freshly sharpened one. She had to capture that elusive inspiration. Her deadline for this first draft was in three days.

* * *

“Can I get you anything else?” the woman manning the cash register asked politely. Her nametag said
Kitty
, and she had adorned the “i” with a little heart instead of a dot.

“No, that’ll be all.” Faythe opened her wallet and handed over her Visa card. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Kitty-with-a-heart charged the seventy-eight some dollars to Faythe’s card and rapped her long fingernails on the conveyor belt while she waited for the transaction to go through. “Tourist?” she asked. 

“What? No, not really. I’m going to stay a while.” Faythe began to sack her groceries.

“Oh, really? Where are you staying? The inn?”

“In a relative’s cabin. On the lake, just off Gordon Macy’s Road.”

Kitty-with-a-heart frowned. “In Nellie Hamilton’s house?”

“Yes.” Kitty had figured that out too easily.

“But…” She squinted, then donned a pair of glasses. “You’re Faythe Hamilton!”

For the love of…
Faythe nodded, fighting back an acerbic comment. “Yes.”

“And you’re here to stay a bit? Oh, this is fantastic. I love your show. I tape it every day.”

“That’s great.” It seemed appropriate to show some enthusiasm, but Faythe wanted to gather up her groceries and run. “I really must—”

“Oh, you need to take care out there.” Kitty-with-a-heart looked worried now.

“Why’s that?” Faythe had expected requests for autographs for family members or friends, not a warning.

“You’re living right next door to
that woman
.” Kitty-with-a-heart leaned forward, lowering her voice. “You need to be very careful around her.”

“Who?” Faythe had no idea what Kitty was talking about.

“Deanna Moore. She’s terrible. Can be dangerous, even. Do you have someone living there with you? I mean, like a husband or something?”

Faythe wasn’t about to announce to Kitty or anyone else that she lived alone in Nellie’s cabin. “I’ll be fine.” She grabbed the grocery-filled bags and placed them in the shopping cart. “Have a good day.” Faythe disappeared out of the store before Kitty could ask anything more.What could Deanna have said or done to Kitty-with-a-heart that made such an impact?
Dangerous?
Faythe placed the grocery bags in the passenger seat.
People sure can exaggerate.

Deanna studied the quick pencil sketches she’d made of a woman in motion. She had stood on her deck watching the morning mist leave the surface of the lake when Faythe Hamilton ran by. Grabbing her sketchbook, Deanna worked for as long as she could glimpse Faythe’s lithe body between the trees. She hadn’t bothered with details yet, wanting only to capture the essence of Faythe with long, sweeping movements.

Now Deanna let her fingertip follow the outline. “You were in such a hurry this morning. Running from something, eh?” Her old habit of talking to herself emerged and she tore out the pages, pinning them to her message board above her work area.

Her latest drawings were mostly of Miranda, and now she had these four sketches of a stranger. But several deadlines were coming up in rapid succession. She had to go outside today and take some pictures of the fiery maple trees, which she needed for a book cover.

After a quick shower, Deanna put on her usual jeans, T-shirt, and sweater, then pulled her hair back in a tight twist. She needed to cut her bangs, she thought absentmindedly as she passed the hallway mirror.

They reached her eyelashes, which made her blink repeatedly at times so she wouldn’t get hair in her eyes.

Deanna draped the camera strap around her neck and went outside.

She locked the door and headed for the lake. Her camera had a good zoom, and the trees on the other side of the lake were beautiful. When she reached the water, she looked for a good place to stand. The old dock was not dependable; she had stepped right through it and nearly broken her left ankle last spring. Deanna pushed through some bushes and raised her camera.

The sun cast a fiery glow on the maples across the lake, and even the three-inch screen on Deanna’s camera showed the magical scene clearly. After snapping about ten pictures, she thought she had what she needed. She had noticed some fallen logs farther to the right through the camera and wanted to make sure she had them. She was browsing through the shots when she spotted something she’d missed before. To the very left in the corner of her display was an object floating on the water and a…hand? Deanna snapped her head back and looked out over the lake.

A wooden rowing boat drifted about twenty-five yards from shore. Deanna blinked, not sure if she saw anyone in it. She raised the camera again and zoomed in, glimpsed golden brown hair, and her new neighbor popped into view.

“What the hell…?” The rowboat looked just like the old wreck that normally lay upside down at Nellie’s. Surely Faythe hadn’t been stupid enough to use it? Another glance through the display of her camera confirmed Deanna’s fear.

“Hey! Can you quit taking pictures and get a hold of someone to help me get back to shore?” Faythe sounded more annoyed than afraid. “I’m not taking pictures. I’m assessing your predicament,” Deanna yelled back.

“Well, cut that out and do something. This damn strainer of a boat is taking in water like there’s no tomorrow.” Faythe was obviously trying to keep her feet away from the bottom of the boat, which rocked precariously, and she clutched the edge. One oar was already floating several feet from the boat, and now the other one slipped away with a soft splash. The current was more treacherous than the serene lake betrayed at first glance. The boat was already drifting away from Deanna, and without a second thought, she tore off her sweater and boots, risked running along the dock, and jumped into the water.

The water was cool enough to shock Deanna’s system. Faythe’s surprised cry echoed across the water as Deanna began to swim toward the boat with long strokes.

“Jesus, woman, I meant for you to call someone!”

“No time.” Deanna wasn’t sure Faythe heard her, but kept swimming. The boat was half underwater now, and the hint of panic on Faythe’s face confirmed that she realized she wouldn’t make it to shore.Deanna reached the boat just as its stern gurgled and disappeared.

Faythe lost her balance and slid into the water with a yelp.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s cold.” She clawed at the sinking boat, but Deanna jerked Faythe’s hands off the rotting wood. “No, we need to swim back. Now.” She tugged Faythe with her and to her relief Faythe didn’t panic, but started to swim.

“Deanna…I…my jacket…” Faythe had swum only a few strokes when she stopped. “I can’t move.” She trod water while frantically pulling at her jacket, which was waterlogged and weighing her down.

Deanna tried to help unzip it, but Faythe sank deeper as they fought the stubborn clasp, obviously having problems keeping her chin above water.“Oh, damn, this isn’t working.” Faythe kicked so hard to stay afloat that she connected with Deanna’s shin underwater.

Cupping Faythe’s chin, Deanna helped her keep her head up, treading water furiously. “Listen to me, Faythe. Let me tow you. Just kick as I pull you in.” She maneuvered Faythe over on her back and began to drag her. Faythe cooperated, but the heavy jacket and her boots were still pulling her under. Using all her remaining strength, Deanna swam with Faythe in tow until she felt the bottom of the lake. From there, it didn’t take long to get them on shore, where Deanna helped a stumbling Faythe to her feet, both of them shivering.

“You all right?” Deanna scrutinized Faythe, who looked pale but seemed unscathed. “We better get warm right away.”

“Thank you.” Trembling now, Faythe clung to Deanna’s arm. “It all happened so fast.”

“Yes. I can’t believe you pulled a stunt like this. That boat hasn’t been in the water for years.”

“I used to go out in it every summer…when I was a kid.” Faythe blushed, two burning spots on her pale cheeks. “It looked okay to me.” “Hmm.” Deanna shook her head. “Come on. We have to get you warm.”

“I’ll just run up to my house, and—”

“You’re pale, bluish, and shivering. You could faint or something. I’ll have a fire going in no time. You need to get warm quickly and so do I.” Deanna was reluctant to let Faythe into her cabin, but even more reluctant to send her off to fend for herself. Faythe was shivering and looked nauseous.

“All right. T-thanks.” Faythe’s teeth clattered.

Inside the cabin, Deanna showed Faythe to the bathroom where she ran the shower. A steamy cloud formed and Deanna nodded toward the stall. “Get warm and I’ll find you some sweats.” Faythe raised her hands to her jacket zipper, but couldn’t stop shaking enough to pull it down. Deanna groaned inwardly and pushed Faythe’s hands away, unzipping the drenched garment. “There. Think you can manage now?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Faythe’s dazed look didn’t escape Deanna and she hurried to her room, jerking off her wet clothes. She wrapped an old terry-cloth robe around herself before looking for something for Faythe to wear. Not comfortable sharing intimate items like underwear, Deanna also picked out a T-shirt. She walked back to the bathroom and detected a faint outline of Faythe behind the frosted glass.

“Better?” Deanna’s voice was suddenly thicker.

“Tons. I’ll be out in a minute so you can rinse off the lake water and get warm.”

“Take your time.” Deanna placed the clothes on the toilet lid and fled to the large living room, where she knelt in front of the fireplace, its focal point. Her hands trembled as she lit a fire. The flickering flames licked the wood, and soon the crackling drowned out the sound of her pounding heart.

“Oh, fab.” Faythe sat next to Deanna on the floor, her hair hanging in wet tousled tresses around her shoulders. The clothes were at least four sizes too large for Faythe’s small frame, but at least she was dry.

“Thank you for hauling me back to the shore,” Faythe said quietly. “If you hadn’t showed up—”

“I did. That’s all that matters.” Deanna didn’t dare look at Faythe, finding the moment awkward, especially since she couldn’t think of anything helpful to say. “Last time I saw that old boat, it was covered with weeds. It should’ve told you something. You need to keep up the maintenance of boats every year. Then there’s the thing about life vests—”

“I know that!” Faythe raised her voice, her face now flushed with anger. “You don’t have to make me sound like a total moron.”

“I never said you were a moron.” Startled at Faythe’s unexpected outburst, Deanna quickly scanned her memory of what she had said. “I merely pointed out that you should not be so careless when you’re—”

“It was a stupid thing to do, okay? You don’t have to lecture me as if I was a child.”

Deanna hesitated. Faythe
had
acted carelessly, and without any safety measures, and now she was obviously blaming Deanna for pointing this out. “Well, you’re from the city,” Deanna began slowly, “and not used to thinking about such things. To use a boat is not like getting behind the wheel of a car and driving.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, don’t make it worse by being condescending on top of everything.” Faythe quieted for a moment, her body rigid. “It says a lot about what you’d expect from an airhead from the city, right? A brainless maneuver like that.”

Deanna had no idea what triggered the hostility she sensed in Faythe. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m safe. The boat’s not going to cause any problems ever again.”

“It can’t, can it? The damn thing sank.”

“Yes, it did,” Deanna said gravely.

Faythe stared into the fire and suddenly the corners of her mouth started to twitch. Soon she was wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “Oh, my. I’m sorry. It’s really not very funny.” She laughed even harder, the sound tinged with irony.