CHAPTER15
That night Kari dreamed she was painting. And yet she was also inside the work itself. She painted a mist-clad road through an indistinct scene of low, half-formed structures. Inside the painting, Kari was scarcely able to see her next step. She wished she could tell herself to make things out more clearly. But, of course, no figure in a painting could be given a voice.
Up ahead, an individual walked, holding a lantern. The light was diffused by the drifting fog coming from this location, then from somewhere else, shifting points and directions. Just the same, Kari was not worried. She was almost happy to follow in the path laid out by this half-formed figure. The curious meandering journey captivated her.
Then she woke and discovered the kitten had crawled onto her pallet and was breathing softly on her neck. Kari dressed and picked up the kitten and padded through the house. She left by way of the rear door and crossed the starlit path. There was no mist here, just dry sorrel flavors of a clear California night.
Inside the atelier, she set up another canvas and sketched swiftly. By dawn the dreamscape was taking shape. The canvas showed a woman rushing forward, hand outstretched, desperate to take hold of a man she could not quite see.
* * *
Kari slept until half past ten and probably would have gone much longer had her phone not started ringing. She rose from her pallet, took the phone from her purse, and saw on the readout that it was Indrid who had rung her. Kari decided to wait until she had fed the mewing kitten and prepared coffee before calling back. She knew why Indrid had phoned. That conversation definitely required coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, Indrid answered with, “Did you find him?”
“I just woke up. I spent most of last night painting.”
“As far as excuses go,” Indrid said, “that one is close to top of my list.”
“I don’t know if I can find him.” Kari knew she sounded petulant. There was nothing she could do about it. In the clear morning light, the entire idea sounded ludicrous.
“If you can’t, you can’t.” Indrid refused to budge. “Do what you can.”
“I can’t see why it’s so important.”
“Can’t you?”
“We only talked twice. Thirty seconds each time. Less.”
“And the amount of time is so very important, is it?”
“Well, of course it is.” The previous day’s calm was gone now. Kari opened the kitchen door, nudged the kitten back inside, then walked into the atelier and stood staring at the new canvas. The first traces of colors were almost dry. She had started by painting the mist-shrouded man and his brilliant lantern. The glow reached out of the canvas, warming her.
“Kari?”
“The painting I started last night. I think it’s very good. Actually, I’ve been working on three more or less together. They feel—I don’t know—different.”
Indrid surprised her then. Almost always the older woman used such moments to draw Kari back to the topic at hand. Not allowing her to evade the uncomfortable by changing subjects. Only today she asked, “Is this normal, your working on so many projects all at once?”
“No.” She stood directly beneath the central skylight, which meant the easels were spaced around her. Kari inspected each in turn, then shivered. “Almost never.”
“Is it possible this gentleman has something to do with your creative surge?”
She felt herself being ejected from the atelier. She stepped back into the sunlight, closed the door on all the unfinished works. “Certainly not.”
“Just asking.”
“It has nothing to do with Ian. And everything to do with Miramar.”
“I see.”
Kari stared at the small structure set farther from the house. “Speaking of which, I want you to stay in the guest cottage. But there isn’t any furniture.”
“You have a guest cottage? That’s perfect. I worried about disturbing your routine.”
“Indrid, I mean what I say. I have one pallet, two sheets, a blanket, two towels, two plates, one pot. A table and two chairs. And the things I brought for Sienna.” She felt both defiant and ashamed. “I want to take my time with everything else.”
“I understand.”
