“Please.” Tanya rolled her eyes. “This is no time for modesty, girlfriend. These are marvelous.”
“You think?” Cali smiled. The images were of couples—one of them dancing on a crowded dance floor. The other was of a man and a woman soaking in a Jacuzzi. She’d used a washed watercolor treatment to give them almost an impressionistic appearance. They were traditional in style, but contemporary in subject.
Cali didn’t fool herself. She knew where the images had come from, but she didn’t care. Oh, she cared, but this was art therapy. Maybe if she painted enough scenes of herself and Brit, she’d get them out of her head.
Sure, she admitted she’d come a long way. She still missed her mom. She still missed Brit. But she’d gotten down to painting her toenails only once every other day instead of the six daily coats of polish she’d been doing.
And she no longer cried when she replayed his messages on her machine. Okay, she still cried, but not like before. He’d left the first message less than a week after the whole episode went down. “Hey, it’s Dickhead. I miss you so badly I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. The tequila isn’t working. Call me if I stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”
She hadn’t returned the called. Since then, he’d called two more times and almost repeated the same message.
“You know what?” Tanya said. “I’m going to show these to Tiffany at the gallery. I’ll bet my right tit that she’s going to sign you up on the spot.”
Cali’s answer gushed out. “No. I mean, I just want to paint for a while. You know, get my feet wet again. Besides, I don’t want to sell these.”
Tanya looked at the painting again and her mouth fell open. “Oh, God. These are—”
“It’s just art therapy,” Cali insisted, but her tears formed and gave everything in the room an impressionist appearance.
Tanya hugged her. And in the embrace, Cali felt their shared pain. Eric had called it quits two days ago when an old girlfriend had moved back into town. Tanya swore she hadn’t been in love with him, just lust.
Cali wished she could say the same. Of all the things she missed about Brit, it wasn’t sex. It was feeling a part of someone, feeling as if she were important to someone. It was feeling connected. It was his smile, the way laughing with him had felt like she’d discovered some new toy. Okay, she lied—she missed the sex a little, too.
“Oh, Cali. Has he called again?”
Cali wiped the tears from her face. “Not since last week.”
“Have you erased them yet?” Tanya knew her too well.
Cali sniffled. “Not yet, but I’m close.”
Tanya let out a huffy breath. “Oh, fudge. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but maybe you should call him.”
Cali straightened one of the paintings on the easel. “No.”
“Why?” Tanya asked. “You obviously love the dickhead.”
Cali shrugged. “Yeah, but he’s the one who left.”
“But he’s been calling you.”
She shook her head. “My mom said I couldn’t fix Brit. And I’m not sure if he walked in that door right now, that I wouldn’t attack him with a twelve pack of fix-it glue. I’m not even sure I’d know if he managed to fix himself.”
She looked away from the painting because suddenly it hurt too much to see the emotion captured on the canvas. The fact that her work was good enough to show emotion did make the artist inside of her happy, but it still hurt.
“I’ve got two more sketched out,” Cali said and squared her shoulders. “I’m moving forward.” Even Dr. Roberts agreed. Cali needed to think only of herself for a while. She wiped a few more tears from her eyes. “Forward.”
~
Quarles waved as Brit stepped out of the Customs area. Brit had extended his stay in Mexico for another week, which gave him four weeks in Cancun. He’d hoped time, the beach, the sun, and the tequila would heal the wounds. No luck.
Wearing a smile, Quarles took one of his bags and gave him a thump on the back. “Welcome home, stranger.”
Brit stretched his shoulders. “Thanks. How is everything?”
“Damn good. Except Adams is going to crawl your ass for thinking you can just call up and leave a message saying you won’t be back for another week.”
Flashing a grin, Brit asked, “So what else is new?”
“Well, Homicide is back in our own building. We’re mold-free. I found homes for all your kittens, except Mama Bitch. I’ve already taken her back to your house. Your sister is moving back to Hopeful and, oh, yeah, Rina decided to quit hooking and went back home to her folks in Tennessee.”
Brit studied him. “And I’m supposed to assume that you have something to do with this?”
“It wasn’t me. Rina checked herself into rehab and I think this time it worked for her.”
“I didn’t mean Rina,” Brit said.
“Oh, you mean Susan.” He grinned. “I damn well hope I had something to do with it.”
“Does she need a place to hang her hat?” he asked.
“Nope.” His friend’s chest seemed to puff out.