Harper smiled. “You’re a good guy, Jack. I hope Angelo can help you. I’m glad you’ve given up the alcohol, too.”
“Yeah, it’s not easy. But it feels like the right thing, you know?” He took out the needles and inspected them. “The library thing really was a good idea. Smart. Thanks for looking out for me, even if I can’t do it right now.”
“You did officially hire me.”
“True. I suppose I owe you some money for that.”
“It’s okay. I know you did it for the confidentiality.”
He took out a skein of yarn, found the loose end and ran it through his fingers. “Nice yarn.” He looked at Harper again. “Listen, if Mitch doesn’t want to read then maybe I can reconsider it. I don’t want to let you down.”
“It’s okay. I know you have to do what’s best for you right now.” Harper got to her feet. “I’m sure Mitch will be interested. Nothing for you to worry about. Enjoy your knitting.”
Jack smiled as he pulled out a length of yarn from the skein. “You ought to try it, man. It’s a great way to find your zen, you know what I mean?”
She didn’t. But she nodded anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Frankie realized she hadn’t asked her sister if she minded Frankie turning the office into a painting studio. Frankie stopped what she was doing. There was no sense in setting everything up just to have Harper veto the idea.
Which was completely within her rights. This was her house. And oil painting was not the neatest of endeavors.
Frankie thought twice about making the office her painting space. She’d be better off setting up downstairs in the rec room. She could put a tarp down and set the new easel there, make that her work space. With all those windows, the light was great. Even better than it was in the office.
Just then she heard the door open. Harper had returned from the guest house. Frankie stuck her head out into the hall. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
Harper stopped. “What’s up?”
“I sort of assumed I was going to paint in here, but that’s probably not the best idea, is it? I mean, I don’t want to damage anything in here. Oil paint is no joke to clean off. As long as you’re all right with it, I’m going to set up downstairs in the rec room. Probably in front of that big section of windows where the light is strongest. I’ll put a tarp down, too.”
Harper shrugged. “I really hadn’t thought about it. Are you a messy painter?”
“I don’t intend to be, but things happen. It’s better if I go downstairs.”
“Fine with me. I appreciate that you’re being careful. I’m pretty sure there are some tarps on one of the shelves in the garage. I don’t think they’ve even been used. If I remember right, some of them were still in the packaging.”
“Perfect. I’ll have a look.” Frankie followed Harper down the hall, but when Harper turned into the kitchen, Frankie kept going down the steps. Working downstairs wasn’t the original plan, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
The downstairs was spacious, had plenty of natural light, and was quieter. It had a bathroom, a small kitchenette, everything she needed, really. And if she had to go to the third floor for anything, there was always the elevator.
She checked the garage where the golf cart was and found the tarps on the shelf. Two were thick blue plastic, but next to them were some cheaper, clear plastic ones. She grabbed those, a little worried that the bright blue ones might reflect some color onto her canvas and throw her perception off.
She laid one of the plastic sheets down in the corner where she planned to work. It was so big she doubled it and still had a lot of coverage. Then she brought over two of the snack trays from the bar area and set them up as a table for her supplies, covering them with another of the plastic sheets.
Now all she had to do was bring her paints and such down here, set up her easel with a canvas, and she could get to work.
She took the stairs back to the second floor and collected her bags from the office. She’d need one more trip for her laptop and tablet. And maybe those noise-cancelling headphones. If she was going to work on the first floor, she might as well takeeverything down there. Then she could check emails or whatever if she needed a break.
In about half an hour, she was ready to go. All of her supplies were organized on the two snack tables she’d put together. She had the easel set up, a canvas on it, and she’d brought a barstool over for a seat. She covered it with one of the older beach towels, just in case.
She wouldn’t be sitting just yet, however. First, she had to prep the canvas.
She covered the edges of the canvas with artist tape so when she was done with the portrait, she could peel it off and have nice, clean sides. Once that was done, she wiped the canvas down with alcohol, just to be sure it was clean.
When that was dry, which only took a few seconds, she applied a thin coat of gesso to the entire surface in long, even strokes. She closed the container and went to wash out the brush. It would take a while for that to dry. At least two hours, she estimated. Maybe more with the humidity. Then she’d add another coat. If the canvas still felt rough, she’d do a third.
She settled onto the couch with her laptop and checked emails. She realized now would be a great time to chat with Allan about his science-fiction book covers. She shot him a quick email, telling him she was available and giving him her phone number.
