His face broke into a rare and brilliant smile as he pushed her in front of him to walk the labyrinth of scrap metal. His hands stayed at her waist and she placed her own on top of his, threading their fingers together.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“I have some ideas. A few of them. You could say this place has inspired me.”
Kate heard his low chuckle. “None of that, at least not tonight. I need to, you know, take you out and shit. And take a shower. I probably stink.”
She leaned back into his chest. “You smell fine. And you’re going to take me out?”
“Of course I’m going to take you out. That’s what you do.”
“We going out for something other than tacos?”
He paused. “Maybe.”
She turned and grinned at him, realizing she had unwittingly become an expert at reading the taciturn man in the weeks they had spent together. His mouth may have been twisted in a slight scowl, but his eyes were warm and happy. They were also tinged with exhaustion, and she wondered how many days he had been working.
“Javi?” She turned toward him, his hands still clinging to her waist.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to leave. Do you mind if I stay? Just to sleep?”
A low growl came from his throat, but he nodded, pulling her toward the low bed tucked into the corner of the warehouse behind a makeshift screen. She toed off her shoes, and Javi pulled her down, tucking her in front of him as he lay on his side. He kissed her temple once before he fell back in exhaustion. Then, he draped an arm across her waist and released a deep sigh when she pressed her back into his chest.
Kate smiled, thinking that they fit together like mismatched puzzle pieces. Her fingers tracked up and down his forearm, softly tracing the outline of the green flame that covered it. After a few minutes, she felt him relax behind her.
“Katie?”
“Yeah?”
He leaned forward, barely whispering in a sleepy voice. “I missed you.”
Her heart swelled as she nestled into the warm comfort of his embrace. Javi’s breathing evened out, and she smiled into the darkness and closed her eyes.
“I missed you, too.”
Part Ten: The Muse
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Crestline, California
August 2010
A soft, dry dust kicked up from Kate’s wheels as she turned into the small clearing in front of the log cabin at the edge of the lake. Dee had given her directions to Sam Rhodes’s home in the mountains, but not her phone number, so Kate wasn’t sure whether the painter would even be there, though Dee assured her that Sam was usually there and working during the week.
Kate was relieved to see the lone figure on the dock standing next to an easel. She parked the car, got out, and resisted the urge to grab her camera and capture the scene.
The light was perfect, and the midmorning sun captured the gold highlights of the woman’s dark blond hair. She stood leaning on one foot while her right arm worked; her head was cocked, studying the scene she was painting.
A small wooden boat was tied to the end of the dock, and it rocked slowly in the quiet water. Kate could hear the small waves slap against the wooden pilings as she walked toward the woman she’d heard about for months.
She was halfway down before she heard her call out.
“Stay back there!”
She didn’t turn around, but her voice carried in the still morning air.
“I’ll talk to you in a few minutes, but I’m right in the middle of this.”
Kate hesitated, looking at the woman, and then back to her car.
“Should I go? I can wait in my car if you want.”
“No. I’ll ignore you. Just sit down there and don’t get in my light.”
Kate sat on the edge of the dock, kicking her legs over the edge, and staring into the blue water of the lake high in the San Bernardino Mountains. After another half an hour, she heard the woman at the end of the dock begin to move around. Kate stood, brushed off her legs, and approached cautiously.
“Can I help?”
The painter finally turned and looked at her, and Kate got her first look at Reed O’Connor’s muse.
She was smiling, and her eyes squinted a little in the bright sun. She was older than the woman in the photographs, and faint lines marked the corners of her mouth. Her hair was a little shorter and swept her shoulders, but her brown eyes were familiar, warm, and friendly. She wore a simple pair of blue jeans, a stained green t-shirt, and her feet were bare.
“You must be Kaitlyn.” She wiped her hands on a rag, but didn’t offer to shake.
“I am. It’s just Kate, though.”
She kept wiping her hands. “Nice to meet you, Kate.”
“You’re Samantha Rhodes.”
Suddenly, the painter smiled, and it transformed her pretty face into something infinitely more beautiful.
“Yep, I’m Samantha Rhodes.”
And just as suddenly, Kate understood why the painter’s face had haunted Reed’s dreams for so many years. None of her features were particularly eye-catching in isolation, but taken all together, Sam was a stunning woman. Her eyes brimmed with life, and the air around her almost seemed to vibrate. She turned back to the easel and started packing up the paints she’d been using. Kate stepped forward.
“Can I call you Sam?”
“That’s fine.”
Sam continued to pack up her things, and Kate saw her take a deep breath before she spoke again.
“You know, my ears have been burning for about five months now.” The tubes of paint went into a box. “I hear you ask good questions.” She looked over her shoulder, and Kate caught a twinkle in her eye.
The younger woman shrugged and let her hands hang in her pockets, unsure of what she could do to help. Sam handed Kate a box of paints and an unfinished canvas to hold as she folded up the easel and tucked it under her arm. She quickly wrapped her brushes and palette, then traded them for the canvas and started walking back toward shore, allowing Kate to follow with the rest.
Kate fumbled the box and brushes as she walked, wondering how the artist did this without an extra arm. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Sam kept walking, pausing to slip on a pair of flip-flops at the edge of the clearing. “The light was changing. There’s only a window, you know? I’ll come back tomorrow. It’ll be here.”
Kate followed after her, walking over the gravel driveway toward the painter’s home, still carrying the case of paints she’d handed her. Sam walked up to the old cabin, placed the easel on a paint-smudged table on the porch, and opened the screen door, holding it for Kate to walk inside.
“Let me go put this upstairs,” Sam said as she started up the stairs at the back of the living room. “Take my stuff to the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Kate nodded and stood in the small living area, examining the rugged stone fireplace and log walls which were decorated with art. It was old, but clean and uncluttered except for the art.
Paintings and photographs lined the room, and surfaces sported small sculptures, ceramic pieces, and blown glass work. Kate saw some of Vanessa’s canvases hanging next to a portrait of Chris and Dee’s daughter. A delicately worked wrought-iron mirror that looked like Javi’s work hung over the fireplace, and a ruby red vase adorned the mantle.
“You have a lot of art,” Kate murmured.
“I know a lot of artists,” Sam said as she walked down the stairs.
Kate followed as Sam walked down a dark hall toward a kitchen with large windows and mid-century appliances.
“So, I imagine you want to talk about Reed,” Sam said nonchalantly.
“Kind of.” Kate was still looking around.
“Well, that’s an unusual answer.” Sam paused and cocked her head toward Kate. “Give me one good reason I should talk to you about him.”
She paused. The painter didn’t look unfriendly, just cautious. But behind the ca
ution, Kate could also sense the low burn of curiosity flickering in Sam’s eyes.
“I want to understand him. I want to understand his work, and why it’s so important. To me. To your friends. To everyone, I guess.”
Sam shrugged. “So why talk to me?”
“Someone told me once that if I wanted to understand Reed O’Connor, I had to understand Samantha Rhodes.”
A slow smile grew on Sam’s face and she nodded toward a small kitchen table where Kate sat down. Sam reached over to grab the brushes and palette and take them to the counter.
“That was Chris wasn’t it? Who said that?” Sam chuckled as she began to rinse out her brushes. “Yeah, that was Chris.”
“It was sort of a Jedi Master moment for him.”
Sam looked over her shoulder with a smile before breaking into a bold laugh. “Oh, Kate,” she said. “I think I’m going to like you. Want some water?”
“Sure.” Kate looked around the room. “I like your house.” The kitchen looked like it hadn’t been changed since the 1960s, and cheerful gingham curtains hung over large windows that looked over the lake. She couldn’t help but notice the scattering of black and white photographs that covered the old refrigerator. They looked like cityscapes of New York.
“Thanks. I like it too. When things aren’t broken, that is. I grew up here—not in this house, but I spent a lot of time here. It used to be my grandfather’s.”
“He passed away?”
“Yeah, but I keep expecting him to come out of the studio or walk through the front door after a morning of fishing.”
“How long ago?”
She frowned a little. “I guess… six—no seven years ago. Yeah, seven. He gave me and Susan the cabin. It was always our favorite place. Susan lives across the lake with her husband now, so the cabin’s mine.”
“There’s a studio? Upstairs?”
“Yep. My grandfather was a painter; he’s the first person that ever gave me a paint brush. I spent most of my childhood copying him. Sometimes on his canvases, sometimes on the walls.”
She was patting her brushes with paper towel and putting them in old mason jars when she nodded toward the wall near the table. Kate leaned closer to see the small childish outline of a green duck painted on the log.
Kate smiled. “Did he yell at you?”
“Oh, no.” Sam shook her head as she filled two more jars with ice water. “He just laughed.” She walked across the kitchen, sitting across from Kate and handing her the jar of water. Sam leaned forward and clinked the edges together.
“Nice to finally meet you, Kate Mitchell. Here’s to telling stories.”
“Here’s to listening.”
Sam smiled and leaned her elbows on the table; Kate noticed the brown paint that freckled her forearms. “I do like you. I see why Dee does, too. I think… you’re like Reed, aren’t you? You see things.”
“I hope so. I try to.”
“I hear you’ve talked to everyone now. You even got an audience with the man.”
Kate snorted. “Is that how everyone thinks of him?”
Sam smiled and shrugged. “People tend to revolve around him. They’re attracted to his talent, his vision. He’s magnetic. The way he sees the world, it’s just not like anyone else, you know? So people tend to circle in varying degrees of orbit.”
She paused to take a drink. “To be honest, it always sort of freaked him out. He doesn’t really like most people. He hates being the center of attention.”
“So, people revolved around him, but he revolved around you?”
Sam raised an eyebrow as she looked at Kate. “Don’t kid yourself. I was as much in his orbit as anyone.” She paused for a moment, tracking a drip of water that fell down the side of her jar. “I suppose—if we’re being fair—we orbited around each other. And when we did…”
“It was extraordinary.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “It was extraordinary.”
Kate frowned a little. “I’m still not sure I get what everyone means by that.”
Sam paused for a moment. “I’m very talented, Kate. I do great work. But I think I was only really talented when we were together.”
“Why?”
Sam shrugged. “What explanation is there for chemistry? We just worked. We focused each other.” She paused again. “It was like Reed—when he was ‘on’—could relax me and excite me all at the same time. And hopefully I did the same thing for him. I think I did, except toward the end. Then I was just so messed up.”
“Can you… would you tell me what got messed up?”
Sam looked down at the table and drew her finger through a water spot before she answered in a quiet voice. “I, um… I was depressed.” She looked up to meet Kate’s eyes. “Not moody-artistic-temperament-depressed, but actually clinically depressed, and we didn’t see it. I didn’t see it.” She smiled wistfully. “We were so young. Not much older than you, and we had no idea. You get down in that pit and you don’t really know how to get out. And you think you should be able to fix it, but you’re not even sure what’s wrong to begin with. It wasn’t until I got back here and got some help that I started to get better.” She looked out the windows which glittered in the midday sun. “It took a long time to get better,” she whispered.
Kate stared at her, still haunted by so many questions.
“But you did? Get better, I mean.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I did.” She took a deep breath and smiled again. “And I’ve built a good life here. It’s not the life I expected when I was younger, but it’s good. I love the work I'm doing now, and I love the mountains. Plus,” she said with a grin, “Lydia can't harp on me when I'm out in the middle of nowhere, can she?”
Kate smiled. “Does she still represent you?”
“Sort of.” Sam shrugged. “As much as anyone does. Most of my work is commission now, so I don't do the gallery shows and exhibitions that I used to. I like it, though. I’m not rich, but I have enough. And it lets me live where I want to.”
Kate looked out the windows at the isolated mountain lake. “What do you do up here?”
Sam cocked an eyebrow at the young woman. “Well, Kate, I live my life.”
She stammered a little, blushing. “I—I didn't mean—”
“It's okay,” Sam said. “You carry yourself with so much confidence, it's easy to forget how young you are. I felt the same way when I was your age, very eager to get away. To go to school and immerse myself in art. I was very focused. Very driven.”
“But you came back?”
“Yes, I did. The older I get, the more I realize how much of life doesn't happen in the very small bubble of the artistic community. And that’s what we’re trying to paint, isn’t it? Life? Hope, fear, love, doubt?”
“And you found that here?”
“It’s all tied together, Kate. And you don’t need to be in New York or Los Angeles or San Francisco to see it. It's good to remember that.” She took a long swallow of water and looked out the window. “I like going to church with my aunt occasionally or painting a landscape to donate to a local charity or old-folks home. I like looking where I played as a child with older, and hopefully wiser, eyes. There's more depth here than I ever recognized when I was young.”
“You didn't like New York?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “I loved New York! I was so excited to go. I loved my time there. What this place is for landscape and light, New York is for people. The variety, the energy—it's intoxicating. And the sheer amount of talent it draws is astounding. No.” She shook her head. “Don't get me wrong. I loved living in New York.”
“Why didn’t you ever go back?”
Sam paused for a moment. “New York is Reed,” she said. “And Reed has moved on. Which is for the best.”
Kate’s mouth fell open. “Why do you say that?”
“A lot of reasons,” she said.
The haunted expression Kate had seen on Reed’s face settled over Sam’s.
Kate lean
ed forward on the table, frowning. “Please help me understand what happened. I know it’s not any of my business, I know I'm being completely nosy, but I feel like I need to understand.”
Sam looked at her, all expression carefully wiped away. “But why?”
Kate paused, staring at the table and thinking of her growing feelings for Javi. What she felt for him was so much bigger than anything she’d felt for anyone before and sometimes, it scared her. “You and Reed… you loved each other so much. You had something that everyone looks for and so few people find. And it seems like you two lost it… threw it away. How could you—”
“We didn’t ‘throw it away!’”
“Then what happened? Really?”
Sam clenched her eyes together and took a deep breath. “We need…”
Kate leaned forward. “What?”
“Wine,” she said, scooting back from the table and plastering on a smile.
“Wine?”
“Yes, wine. I know it’s not even noon, but I think this conversation needs wine. Grab a couple of glasses from that cabinet to the left of the sink. I’ll get a bottle from the pantry.”
“Okay.” Kate was confused, but she nodded and stood up, walking to the cabinet Sam had pointed toward. As she opened the cupboard, she noticed a flash of color on the inside of the door. She looked to her left and her mouth dropped open when she saw what it was.
Taped on the inside of the cabinet was the old photograph of Reed and Sam she had seen in Dee’s studio months ago. The print looked as if it had been pulled off and stuck down many times, and she could see fingerprints smudged along the edges. Kate stared at it, gently touching a corner curled by age.
“Please don’t touch that. I don’t have the negative.”
Kate turned at Sam’s anxious voice. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a bottle of red wine.
“You still have it.”
“Please,” Sam asked again, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t touch it. It’s the only picture I have of the two of us.”
“You do still love him. Susan and Javi were right. Nothing really ended, did it?” Kate whispered. She saw tears prick Sam’s eyes.