Chapter 14

The weekend passed in a whirl, and I suddenly found it was Monday again. I'd tried to keep busy to help hold the sadness at bay and that included stopping by Casey's to drop off some soup. She'd attacked it with gusto, thankfully on the mend now. That was good too, because I was pretty sure that neither Frank nor Martha would have liked it if I brought the flu home with me.

My lovely next-door neighbour had managed to coax the old man back into the kitchen after his now infamous gumbo accident. I suspected it was just an excuse to spend more time with him, but I was glad Frank didn't use the kitchen unsupervised. As to their budding relationship? I'd almost got used to the fact that her coat was so often hanging next to Frank's when I got home in the evenings.

After I finished complaining to Casey about Ms Jackson, she wanted to know about Harry's wake. She was surprised when I told her that Emmanuelle had accompanied me there. I managed to evade most of her questions, but it was clear my best friend was more than a little curious about it.

The house was quiet when I got home, and the coal and the half-finished sketch of Emmanuelle on my desk attracted me like a bee. If I couldn't catch a glimpse of her in real life, I'd just have to be satisfied with drawing her.

I stared at the lines on the paper. The face was almost done, sharp lines giving definition to the aristocratic features, while the ears were still missing because they were one of my weak points and well … because I hadn't dared to get too close.

Rolling up my sleeves, I picked up a piece of coal. I sketched her sitting in front of her canvas, the image still fresh in my mind from when I had looked back inside from the porch. The canvas itself was easy, as was the room, the tubes of paint, the brushes, but not the way she held herself or the flow of her lush, dark hair. It took me a long time to get both right, and when I finally stepped back, a part of me was appalled at how late it was.

It was a very good thing that no lecture was scheduled for tomorrow and the to-dos on Casey's list were crossed off. I was dead tired when I fell into bed, but my dreams, for the first time in several days, were not filled with angst and chest-constricting anxiety but deep and dreamless peace.

***

Ring.

Ring. Ring.

I ignored the sound until it eventually stopped. But just a few seconds later, it started again. And again.

I finally swore, clumsily grabbing for the phone on my nightstand, wishing I could stuff the person on the other end into my Aunt Rosalin's dark, spider-filled attic.

"What?" I grunted into the receiver. Blearily, my eyes focused on the alarm clock. While trying to make out the digits, I nearly missed Frank's words. "She's what?" His answer made me scramble, turning my blanket from nice and cosy into a death trap, and I fell face-first onto the carpet in my attempt to get out of bed. "No, no I'll be right there! No! Don't let her out of your sight!"

There'd been many instances in my life where I'd run a little late, making me very adept at getting ready in record time. But even my best record broke today when I took the shortest shower in the history of humankind and sprinted out of the house.

Emmanuelle's face was turned to the wind when my car pulled into the small carpark at the landscaping company. The noise made her swivel, and a smirk drew the corners of her mouth upwards when she saw me get out. I couldn't help it. My heart skipped a beat and then started racing. Talk about surprises.

"Aren't artists supposed to be of the work-into-the-night-then-sleep-long variety?" I asked as I approached.

Emmanuelle chuckled. "You really shouldn't stereotype. Although talking of stereotypes, your hair never seems to change."

"I didn't know I had a morning appointment!" I defended light-heartedly, before pulling back some of the wet strands that had escaped from my bun. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to return the jacket." A flash of hesitancy swept over her face as she offered me the coat she'd slung over her arm. "And maybe see where you work?"

A sundress and a light cardigan shouldn't look so devastating, but they did. I forced my eyes away before accepting the coat.

"I'd expected to have a slow day, but this is much better. Do you want me to show you around?"

"Do you have time?"

"I always have time for friends," I declared.

Her face changed at my words, growing more serious, and she eyed me for a moment before curling one corner of her mouth up. "I appreciate that."

Returning the look, albeit more shyly, I gestured for her to follow, and she fell into step with me.

"We replanted most of the flowers you see here last year," I explained. "The major blooming season is already over, but you should see this place in the spring. And you're in luck. There are some daisies still blooming, and the carnations are the most arresting colour of burgundy you've ever seen."

I led her along the cobbled pathways, stopping to point out the various decorations, explaining my favourite flowers and sometimes what they meant. She was attentive the whole time and even looked like she was enjoying herself. That, in turn, made me relax further, and I started to have a good time, any self-consciousness forgotten. At the eastern side of the garden, we stopped next to a row of tall statues. Emmanuelle looked up, giving the carved lines careful consideration.

"These are very well done," she stated after a while. "Yours?"

"God, no. My grandmother's. She was the sculptor. The only thing I can make are vases, and I guarantee no one wants to display those."

"We all have our weaknesses."

Emmanuelle's wink was disarming, but it also made me cock my head. "Mhm, and what are yours? Artistically, I mean … if you have any."

"Believe it or not, there are things I'm not good at capturing either. But you can always improve." The resolute words made me raise an eyebrow, and she shrugged sheepishly. "I, ah … hate being found lacking regarding my art."

My jaw almost dropped open in shock. "You and lacking? What you can do with a paintbrush is amazing, Emmanuelle."

She coloured slightly at the words. "Thank you, not just for saying that but for meaning it, too. But I still have a lot to learn. I just really hope that one day…" She paused before loudly inhaling a breath. "I just hope that one day my art will be good enough to be displayed in Laurent Lambert's Gallery."

"The man who leads the famous French art gallery?"

"The very same." She nodded, but it was clear she didn't want to get into the topic. "Did your grandmother do all the statues?"

"Yes. She's always had a knack for creative arrangements."

"Does she work here, too?"

"She passed a few years ago," I replied, holding up a hand when I saw her wince. "It's fine. My grandma would've been pleased to know you like her work."

I continued with the tour around the premises, pointing out the grey-painted hall next to the office that towered over the other buildings. The four windows that covered its front rose almost all the way to the curved roof. The way the light shone through the windows from outside created a perfect spot on the far right where one of my old easels stood to maximize its potential. This time it was her giving me an envious look.

"Is this a family business?" she finally asked.

"Yes. I think the old man would be happy to leave all this to me once he retires, if he ever does. He's not good at sitting around. And when he gets restless"—I blew out my cheeks—"you better go into hiding."

My derisive tone made her smirk. "From what you said at the café, I kind of got the feeling that he's an interesting character. But I guess family just has a way of driving you crazy."

"You have no idea."

"Well, my family are a bunch of eccentric artists, with a history reaching back to the Middle Ages. Not to mention half of them are French. Think stubborn, uptight, and more ambitious than is healthy."

I lifted both hands into the air at her challenging gaze. "Okay, you win."

"I should hope so. All the boyfriends I brought home in high school had the heebie-jeebies at meeting my family, and my dear relatives never disappointed— especially my grandmother."

I congratulated myself for not twitching at the word boyfriends. Life just sucked sometimes. It was no one's fault that Emmanuelle batted for the straight team.

"Your grandmother is Marguerite Renaud, right?"

"Yes, and she isn't exactly easy to deal with. Always had very high expectations of me. Especially now." There was a distinct pause before she wearily sighed. "It is her opinion that I only have so much time left of my precious youth to make my mark. But all this pressure, it's not the best way to induce artistic development. The centrepiece isn't finished yet. My star piece, and I just can't seem to get it right."

We stood in front of the office now, and she ran a hand through her wavy hair in agitation. This rare display of nerves pulled at me. For all the world, Emmanuelle Renaud had it together, a rising star in the artistic community, but no one knew how much pressure she was really under not to disappoint. And her grandmother was something of a legend.

I cast her a sympathetic glance. "Having that much expectation cast upon you must be difficult, but you're not a machine. Creating is a process you can't rush."

I badly wanted to make her feel better and realised with relief that it was a completely natural thing to want. Real friends always tried to make you feel better. This was one urge I allowed myself to give in to.

"You're great at what you do, Emmanuelle. I've been to your last exhibit, and I loved every single one of your pieces. Try not to overthink it. And you're always welcome to come here if you need to clear your head. Just call me if you feel the urge."

"You mean even early in the morning before you've showered?" A playful twinkle replaced the tense expression in her eyes. "I wonder what would happen if I called you in the middle of the night. Would your hair stick up on all sides?"

"How about we don't ever test that theory?"

She failed to smother a wicked chuckle. "I won't promise anything. It might be … fun."

I could only rub the back of my head while shaking it at her.

We followed the cobbled pathway back toward the carpark.

"I'm surprised Frank hasn't shown up and badgered you with questions," I said. "The man can be a handful."

"What, the sweet, harmless gentleman who greeted me? And I was sure those cornflower blues could do no wrong."

Sweet? Maybe. Harmless? Hah.

When I told her about the incident with the gumbo and the garden hose, she laughed so hard that we had to stop. I was secretly delighted. I also told her about his new romance with the neighbour, which she found very sweet.

"I hope he doesn't muck it up with Martha." And with surprise, it dawned on me that I really meant it. In the last few weeks, Frank had been happier than he'd been in a long time, and my doubts about this new development were slowly but surely decreasing.

"Maybe you should give him some pointers," Emmanuelle suggested and nudged me with one shoulder.

"I'm pretty much married to my work, and I've always liked it that way. I'm not in a position to offer relationship advice."

"Relationships are overrated anyway. I'm not very good at them either."

She gave me that look, her green eyes carrying that special glint. My stomach flipped, and I inwardly cursed. I was doing everything I could to stay on the platonic level. Hopefully, once I got used to being around her a bit more, my stupid hormones would settle down on their own.

"I'm glad I phoned Casey and asked where you worked," Emmanuelle said when we got back to her car. She drew her cardigan tighter around herself as a gust of wind blew over the carpark. "Goodness, it's breezy today. I keep on forgetting to close the windows because the sight of the blue skies and shining sun is so misleading."

"Yeah, it's always a bit colder here on the coast. Better not forget."

She nodded before reaching out and squeezing my arm. "I really appreciate you taking the time today. I know I didn't give you any warning."

"I'm glad you showed up. Thank you for bringing my jacket back." I glanced over my shoulder as if to make sure no one was around and whispered, "It got me out of doing paperwork."

She snickered. "This was such a lovely distraction. Thank you for keeping me company. And thank you for listening to my complaints."

Afterward, she drove away without even realizing how thoroughly she'd mixed up my day or my composure. I was watching her car accelerate down the road when the old man appeared next to me.

"I had no idea she was so…" His voice trailed off. We both watched the car vanish behind the long curve.

"Dazzling?"

He nodded with a grunt. "Did she tell you she would drop by?"

"No, but I'm not going to complain about it."

"I've never seen you get to the office so quickly."

I huffed. "Shut up, Frank."