After they left, I went into the gallery and got some strange looks, but the nice part about being an artist is that eccentricity comes with the job.
I went to the café counter and my Aunt Hester brewed me a cup of tea.“How has it been?”
She put her hand over the cup, speeding the steeping along.Hester, a Goode by birth, wasn’t a strong wicche, but she was gifted with plants and tea.Mom had even talked to her about maybe working a day or two at her tea shop.Mom recognized that Hester looked lighter, less dragged down by grief, since she’d been working at the gallery, so I think she wanted to give her the option of another outing each week.
It made me happy to see the budding friendship between Elizabeth and Hester.Both were incredibly kind women who naturally kept to themselves, no doubt to avoid the crappy members of our family.The gallery put them together on a regular basis, and they realized how much they enjoyed the other’s company.Last I heard, they were getting together once a week for lunch.
“Arwyn?”
I turned to find Frank standing with an older man.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man said, “especially since it looks like you’re working, but I wondered if I might ask you about one of your paintings.”He looked like he’d be at home on a golf course.
Nodding, I took my tea with me.“Which one?”I asked.
He pointed to the newest one I’d added as we walked to it.“I was here opening weekend, and I didn’t see this one.”He looked around in wonder.“To be honest, a lot of your work that weekend seems to be gone, so congratulations.”
I kept my gloved hands around my teacup.It was less awkward.People didn’t expect me to touch things when I was holding stuff.“You have a good eye and a good memory.This one is new.”
He studied me a moment out of the corner of his eye before focusing on the painting.“Are you okay?”His voice was so quiet and gentle, I teared up almost immediately.
Blinking up at the lights on the ceiling, I turned partially away.I’d painted this after Gran had been tortured and killed, after I had in turn killed my cousin Calliope.I was so twisted up over all of it.Did Gran ever really love me?Did it matter?Goddess knew I’d loved her.How could we not have seen Cal becoming a sorcerer?How did I make peace with taking a life?It had to be done.I knew that, but I’d also forever carry that mark on my soul.
“Please excuse me,” he said.“I’m a therapist.There’s so much pain in this painting, it concerned me.”
I gave him a watery smile.“You’re very good, aren’t you?Most people look at abstracts and comment on the color and whether it’ll look good in their living rooms.”I held up a hand.“No shade to those people.I just worry about having disturbing art in one’s home and the unintended ways it might affect them.”
Eyes dry again, I continued, “Like when people insist on painting their kitchens or baby’s rooms yellow, I want to warn them against it, to make sure they know that more arguments happen, more babies cry, in yellow rooms.”
He nodded.“The psychology of color is fascinating.It’s also why I question schools that paint their hallways yellow or orange.Do they want more fights in the halls?”He raised his eyebrows like a shrug.Gesturing to my painting, he said, “And that’s why when I look at this, I see grief, but I also see horror and guilt, which made me want to make sure the artist was all right.”
“That’s very perceptive and very kind of you.”I glanced up as Declan walked in the gallery front door.“I painted this after a traumatic event in my life.Painting can be quite cathartic.”
He glanced between the painting and me.“But not this time.”
I shook my head as Declan walked up.Wrapping an arm around me, he kissed the top of my head.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.“I just wanted to say hello.”
I glanced up at him and his expression darkened, looking between the gentleman and me.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
He gave the man one more glare before his expression softened, looking down at me.“Why were you crying?”
“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” the man said.“I asked about this painting.”
Declan glanced up, recognized it, and nodded his understanding.He spun me around to face the opposite side of the gallery, my back to his chest, and wrapped both arms around my middle.“Look at the way the sun is hitting your glass, the way it’s creating rainbows on the walls and floor, on the people admiring your art.There’s darkness in the world, yes, but there are also rainbows.”
I tilted my head up.“I see.”
The man had turned with us, to witness the rainbows.“I know I don’t know either of you—and it’s none of my business—but I’m glad I got to be here for this.I won’t go home and worry now.Before I go, though, I would like to buy the painting.”
I turned to him in surprise.“Why?”
“I’m going to put it in my office.I think it will be a catalyst for many to break through their emotional blocks.”He reached out and patted my arm, a finger barely brushing my wrist.“I’ll go discuss it with the nice young man I spoke to earlier.It was lovely meeting you both.”He walked across the gallery toward Frank while I dealt with a sudden intense headache.
“Damn,” I muttered.
