Page 4
She glanced down the block, in the direction the shirtless man had gone. “Don’t tempt me. I might stay.”
The three of us grabbed bags and headed into the house. Inside, the brownstone was even more beautiful than in the pictures Calder had sent me. High ceilings, thick moldings, and a kaleidoscope of colorful sunlight pouring in through a giant stained-glass window halfway up the staircase. Calder stopped at the open door on the first floor. Just beyond the archway, a petite woman sat in a wheelchair. Her silver hair was neatly pinned, and one leg rested elevated in a cast.
“Mrs. R,” he said. “This is Talia. Talia, this is my buddy Rafe’s aunt, Rosemary Rivers.”
“Hi.” I stepped forward and extended my hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to Brooklyn, dear. Is it the first time you’ve been to Park Slope?”
“It’s the first time I’ve been east of Illinois.”
She smiled. “I hear you’re a writer.”
“No. Well, not yet anyway.” I looked over at Calder and smiled. “I hope to be someday. But for now, I’m going to be an associate editor at a publishing house. I start my new job in a few weeks.”
“Everyone starts somewhere. Will you be working in the City?”
“In Manhattan, yes.”
“Well then,” she said. “Let me give you a piece of advice I should’ve given my cousin Anita when she visited a few years ago. Don’t stand there looking up at the tall buildings in awe with your mouth open. That’s when the pigeons give you their welcome.”
I laughed, and Calder introduced Nat.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said when he finished, my eye catching on a piece of art behind her. It stretched almost from floor to ceiling and was unlike anything I’d ever seen. The portrait wasn’t so much painted as it was fractured into existence. A man’s face emerged from the glass mounted on black canvas, formed entirely by splintered white lines. The cracks radiated outward in delicate spiderweb patterns, yet somehow, within the chaos, the man’s features were unmistakable. “And wow. Is that portrait of a real person?”
Mrs. R. smiled—sadly, but with pride. “That’s my late husband, Frederick.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago now.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did the artist create that? Form such a detailed portrait by cracking glass?”
“It’s a wonder,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the piece. “Just like the artist who made it—my nephew, Rafe.”
Calder had mentioned that his buddy was an artist, but I had no idea he was so talented. “It’s really amazing.”
“Thank you, dear.”
We said our goodbyes, and Calder, Nat, and I started up the stairs. The door at the top of the second-floor landing was wide open. I didn’t think much of it at first, but on our way back down to get more bags, I noticed a stack of canvases leaning against a wall just inside.
I slowed while Nat continued down the stairs. “Does someone live here, or is this apartment just used as an art studio?”
Calder gave me a sheepish half-smile. “So…small update on our living arrangements.”
My stomach dropped. “What’s wrong?”
He draped an arm around my shoulder. “Nothing, babe. Not really anyway. But Rafe moved in.”
I blinked. “Rafe, as in your best friend?”
He smiled. “Only Rafe I know.”
“Why…why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“It only happened two days ago. The tenant who lived here bailed on Mrs. R. with barely a week’s notice. Rafe’s been helping her more lately. She has osteogenesis imperfecta—also called brittle bone disease. It’s gotten worse as she’s gotten older. She could use the extra set of hands, and he was looking for a place to live since his lease was up at the end of the month. It just made sense. You were on the road already. I didn’t want to mention it and stress you out.”
I had just driven more than thirty hours to start a life with my boyfriend, not move into a frat house. I did my best to keep my voice even. “So…we’re living with your best friend?”
