Chapter 11

It was the crack of dawn, but you wouldn't have guessed it looking at Vinnie. His dishevelled dark hair and three o'clock shadow screamed bedroom look, but his dark eyes were fresh and alert, and it was me who had trouble suppressing a yawn when I handed him the wrench.

"Would've pegged you for one who knew how to change a tyre." He smirked as he fit the tool onto the first nut and applied his weight to the left bar. "You getting soft on me, Hale? The piles of dirt you lug around not enough to keep you in shape?"

With a smile, I shook my head. He could be a log, and as a part of Abigail McIntosh's bully entourage, we'd butted heads a lot in high school. But after he'd started dating Casey in senior year, we'd put that behind us. Their relationship hadn't lasted, as most high school romances didn't, but our friendship had, and it was handy to be on good terms with a car repair dude.

"Busted the shoulder a few days ago," I admitted. "Would have done it myself, otherwise." I deliberately didn't mention the magpie incident. I would never hear the end of it.

"Yeah, yeah." He chuckled and put the last nut onto the ground before grasping the flat tyre and pulling it straight toward him. "That's what I would say, too. But you can just admit you wanted to see me. No need to bust a tyre."

"It's not even my car. What am I supposed to do with such a tiny sports coupe? You know I prefer it large and ample."

"That's what she said."

I snorted a laugh.

Vinnie was a tease. Once upon a time, it would've made me blush, but those times were long over. Still, he enjoyed it too much to stop. I pushed the other thought away, the one whispering in my head that maybe Vinnie had always had an inkling of why he'd never seen me about town with a date, and thus knew I'd never take his teasing seriously. The only times I'd ever dated had been in secret and even then, I'd never done it seriously. Most women had taken the hint. After all, who would be satisfied being with someone if they never got all the pieces?

I wonder why it's so easy to deal with him and so hard to deal with someone like Lacie.

"I guess I'm busted." I let my shoulders slump in a hangdog way, but it must not have been compelling enough because he rolled his eyes.

"You're the worst actor I've ever seen. Can't you at least try to be convincing?" He wiped his hands onto his coverall before grasping the spare tyre and lifting it onto the lug bolts.

"Sorry to be such a disappointment."

"Ah, well, we can't all have my talent on stage."

I snorted. "You appeared in a play exactly once, in tenth grade, and, if I recall correctly, you only stood around for twenty minutes."

"You're just jealous," he declared airily.

"That they recruited you as the tree?"

"They did not!" He let the wrench sink with a scowl. "I was a deer! The most convincing deer, I'll have you know!"

I spluttered. "Of course, you were … probably a very large and ample one."

Vinnie stared at me incredulously before his shoulders started to tremble, and he dissolved into laughter. "Well, that almost makes it worth opening the shop one hour early."

"What, bad jokes?" I smirked at his titter. "I'm glad you didn't try becoming a comedian."

"Nah, fixing cars is much more up my alley."

I poked the large bicep peeking out under his army vest. "And the chicks dig a man who knows what to do with his hands, right? At least that's what you said at graduation."

"Alright, alright." Vinnie lightly hit my left arm in embarrassment. When I winced at the pressure against my shoulder, he drew up short. "So you are hurt. You get that checked out?"

"It's fine. Just a bit sore. No big deal, really."

"Why did I know you would say that? Bet you didn't even tell Frank it hurts."

Astonishment fluttered in my belly. He was right, but it was disconcerting how easily he had guessed.

"Are you surprised?" He bent down towards the jack to lower the vehicle and give the nuts their last tightening. By now, the sky had almost burned away the night, with deep purple replacing the ashes of indigo.

Vinnie leaned against his truck after finishing. "You know, Sam, when all that stuff went down with your folks, I felt real bad about it." He shuddered but didn't meet my gaze. "Maybe not your dick of a dad, but your mom? She was such a nice lady. Real pretty, too. Wasn't fair what happened to her, not fair at all, but I also think … she would want you to take care of yourself. Not just others, you know."

I wrung my hands, upset about the topic change that I should have spied coming by his body language. No one outside the family knew the whole story, apart from Harry. Even Casey had only learned the bare bones in bits and pieces over the years. What Vinnie said … what he knew was only what everyone else knew. It couldn't hurt me. Yet, the memories lurked just beneath the surface. Like a tiger stalking through the night, ready to pounce the second that I dropped my guard. It was enough to make my stomach squeeze into a tight ball of anxiety.

I forced myself to calm down. "I appreciate you saying that. I'll try to look after myself a little better, okay?"

"Right." The muscular man nodded and cleared his throat, then he made a show of looking at his watch. "How about we get that car back to its owner?"

"Good idea," I said, and rubbed my belly to settle it. "After all, Martha's got a Star Battles convention to get to."

"Star Battles?" he asked, scratching his head.

I walked past him to Martha's car. My leg throbbed, and the smell of wet asphalt and blood stung my nose. I got behind the wheel, but it felt like I was getting into a different car.

"Did you remember to bring your homework?" my mother asked from the passenger seat.

It was late, but the car was going fast, and I could hardly make out the dark shapes of the scenery flying past. I knew it would be another twenty minutes before we reached Grandpa's. We made this trek so many times.

"Yeah, I did," I said quietly.

My father's voice was scornful. "What is it? Speak up, Samantha. And you say yes, ma'am. Not yeah." His familiar sneer filtered into my thoughts—

"Stop it right now, Sam." I clenched my hands around the wheel, taking deep breaths. My neck was wet with sweat. Damn the memories. I hated how easily they came to haunt me, and how hard it was to shake them off again.

An hour later, we had the car delivered, and I dropped Vinnie off at his repair shop. He'd said nothing else about the past, and we had gone back to our easy banter, to my relief. It had been nice to see him, and I told him as much, but watching him walk away with a swagger did put my meeting with Emmanuelle in the coffee shop in stark perspective. I'd been so tongue-tied and awkward in the beginning. So different from how I was with Vinnie. What had she thought about that? My body language must have been all over the place, spearheaded by my unease about the crowd and flanked by my anxiety. An anxiety that flared up at the oddest moments—like when a friend mentioned my parents and then told me to take better care of myself.

I sighed. I was glad I had run into Emmanuelle, but I hated this feeling of not being able to get out of my own skin. And being put into the friend zone with such unambiguous words hurt, especially after sharing what you could almost deem a moment together. I guess I needed the reality check. I should just be happy to have a new friend, right? After all, this wasn't some romantic fairytale where all I had to do was win over the princess with some hard work. I'd do well not to let my imagination run too wild where Emmanuelle Renaud was concerned.

My head was still filled with thoughts about the artist when I stepped into the lecture hall. Sad faces watched me walk up to the lectern. Hands were gripping shoulders in comfort. Tears were being wiped away with tissues. My frown deepened when I looked around and realised the totality of desolate expressions in the room. After putting my bag down on the ground, I walked toward the first row of students with mounting dread.

"Did I miss anything?"

It was Mike who answered, and his reply made my blood run cold.

The drive to the hospital was a blur, with me almost missing a red light outside it, too upset by the sight of the building and the words I'd heard.

He just collapsed into a heap.

Inside, the lighting was glaring, the air-conditioning turned up too high for my liking, but I barely noticed when I stood in front of the thick glass of the ICU room. Harry lay in the hospital bed looking old and grey, and not at all like the youthful, jovial man I'd first met so many years ago. His heart attack had been sudden but severe, and his teary wife told me the doctors weren't optimistic about him surviving the night.

The coldness in my chest had nothing to do with the AC when I carefully opened the door and stepped up to his bed, noting his trademark glasses lying on the nightstand, wondering if he would ever again push them up on his nose.

I hated hospitals.

Oh, get over yourself.

My self-recrimination almost made me chuckle sardonically, a sound completely inappropriate in this room and at this time. The last time I'd stood at such a bed…

Enough, Hale.

The memories threatened to surge up to the surface, but determination pushed them back down again. This moment belonged to Harry, not me. Yet, the grip on my emotions was tenuous.

"Hey, Harry," I said, voice suspiciously scratchy, and sat down on the edge of his bed, carefully taking his big, hairy hand in mine. "You've always had a flair for the dramatic, but this is a bit much, don't you think?"

I couldn't help it. A single tear ran down my cheek, and my lower lip shivered. Both betrayed my tone as I struggled with the effort to hold back more. "I want you to know that there's not a single one of your students who hasn't grown to love you. Including me."

A part of me raged at the universe for taking him so brutally, so soon. Just yesterday I'd seen him rosy-cheeked and grinning, and now he seemed like a different person, his face gaunt and white, his breathing laboured, and it was as if I could see him slipping away bit by bit. Any last hope I'd still nursed about his recovery dissolved like smoke.

"I know wherever you go, you'll find a canvas and some paint tubes there," I told him, smiling through my tears. "Don't you worry about anything. I'll have an eye on Helen for you. She'll be pretty mad you just up and left like this, but you know she could never stay mad at you for very long."

"Knew I should've … made use of that … more often."

My breath caught, and my eyes lifted.

His own were closed, but a slight smile turned both corners of his mouth up, making my jaw drop when he spoke again. "Guess you just never know … how much time's left." His chest rose every time with a wheezing breath. "Don't waste any, Sam. I know the past hurt you, that your mother's death … haunts you. That you still think it's all your fault. But you need to learn to open up again and move on. The future is always … uncertain, but hardship is … a part of life. That cocoon of yours keeps everything out. All the pain. But all the good stuff, too. Remember…" Harry coughed with the effort to get the words out. "It's never too late … to take a little risk."

My body was raked by quiet sobs I couldn't hold back any longer. "How on earth should I do that? After the accident, you were the only one who understood my desperation to release all that grief and anger, and my guilt onto the canvas. That I needed … still need to cleanse myself of my emotions, if only for a little while. You're the only one who gets how intensely personal my art is. So, how on earth can I even try to open up without you?"

"Don't hide. Dare to do … that last bold stroke."

I tightened my grip, shaking my head while my lower lip trembled. "What if I'm not ready? How can I make myself vulnerable if the result is only pain? If the nightmares never go away, forever haunting me with pictures of her dying?"

Oh god, I can't do this again.

"Because it's worth it," Harry murmured, barely audible. "You have to believe … that it is worth it."

My shoulders shook, and I sank forward to rest my forehead on our joined hands, tears flowing freely. "But why does it have to hurt this much?" There was no answer but his laboured breathing, and I swallowed. "You're worth it," I stated hoarsely. "You've always been worth it."

Even if I can hardly breathe now.

Harry died in that hospital bed when the first rays of sunlight touched the dew on the grass outside, reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows into the air, proving that art, that beauty, existed in many forms that couldn't ever be captured.

I was sure he would have loved the sight.