Chapter 19

It was difficult to explain my current state. Last night, it was like some invisible weight had lifted. It had returned, all too quickly, but somehow it didn't seem the same. As if by letting the memories come willingly, some of their painfulness and its gut-wrenching hold on me had dwindled. I felt lighter and just a little bit more hopeful. I wanted so badly to hold on to it.

"It was scary," I told the blue painting on the easel. "I felt more exposed than ever, like a candle in the wind that was just one gust away from being extinguished. But you would've been proud of me, Harry. I know you would have." With a sad smile, I let my fingers trail over the sea of indigo blues on the canvas. "I don't know what it means, you know. Or even if it means anything at all. But I thought I could try … that last bold stroke. Just this once. For you. And for myself, too."

I picked up the palette with the browns and reds on it. The brush touched the surface of the canvas hesitantly but, with each stroke, my hand got surer and surer, until the shape of a two-masted schooner slowly appeared on the water. Its sails were cream, rippling from the storm and in danger of being ripped away. Yet the ship held on, bracing itself against the breaker waves.

"You were right. It can't just all be about storms." I leaned back, pleased. This was how it had always been supposed to look.

I got up and cleaned the brushes and the palette. Frank was out, but he didn't much like when I left my stuff lying around everywhere. My phone rang just as I sat down on the porch to drink a cup of coffee.

"Yo, stranger. How's it hanging?" Vinnie asked.

"Hey, you. Long time, no hear. What can I do for the best car mechanic I know?"

"I'm the only car mechanic you know."

"Which doesn't mean you're not the best." I heard voices in the background and the beep, beep of a machine, and realised he must be in his workshop.

"You remember that tyre I changed for you at the ass-crack of dawn the other day?"

"How could I forget?"

He chuckled. "Well, I think I'm ready to collect on my debt."

"Okay, tell me what you need. But just to be clear, I will not climb into the garden of one of your cousins in the middle of the night again and spray-paint pink flamingos onto the lawn."

The car mechanic dissolved into fits of laughter. "Oh, god, I'd forgotten about that. James almost had an ulcer."

I grunted. "I mean it, Vinnie."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise, it's nothing like that. I just need you to pick something up for me. I promised an older couple to fix their car by the end of shift today, but I ran out of air filters. I thought I still had some in storage, but my fool of a nephew used the last one on his girl's car and forgot to order new ones." He sighed. "Could you help me out?"

"I think this is the tamest request you've ever made. Are you feeling okay?"

"Funny. Reaaal funny."

"Always. Where would I find that air filter?"

"I'll text you the address."

I got up from the chair and reached for the coffee cup, drinking the rest in one large swallow. "Consider me on the way."

"Thanks. Appreciate it."

We hung up, and I went to put on my jacket. Slipping into the sleeves, I couldn't help thinking of the last person who'd worn it. I wondered what Emmanuelle was up to after the grand opening.

Maybe she's in a spa, sipping champagne and celebrating the success of last night. Or already off for a holiday somewhere.

The thought of Emmanuelle leaving made me swallow. I grudgingly shook my head.

She said you shouldn't stereotype.

Half an hour later, I parked on the wide lot in front of Vinnie's workshop, my boot full of air filters. The old factory building lay close to the harbour, and while I walked past rusty cars, piles of tyres, and even an old fridge or two, shrieking seagulls were sweeping down from the clear blue sky. Inside, the smell of petrol and grease cloyed the air.

I gently put the large cardboard box onto a shelf before bending down under the old-timer that Vinnie's legs were peeking out from. He rolled out from under the car with an appreciative whistle, gave me a fist bump, and went to grab one of the air filters. When I went to settle the bill with his receptionist, he was already making a beeline for a grey sedan in the corner.

"So, I think that makes us even," I told him when I stepped back into the workshop.

"Till the next emergency tyre change," he pointed out smugly. "If the artsy stuff doesn't ever work out, you can always try your hand at being a UPS girl."

I stuck out my tongue. He had no idea how well the artsy stuff was going with me daring to perfect the blue painting Harry had so moaned about.

With affection, Vinnie bumped my shoulder. "I jest, but thanks again for coming by. I appreciate it." We both heard a car drive onto the carpark outside, the underside of its blue bumper appearing under the half-raised gate of the shop. "Oh, wow, that was fast. I think everyone is trying to be the Flash today." He stepped toward the wall and pressed a button on a rectangular case. The gate lumbered upwards.

A man and a woman got out of the car. I didn't know the man, but the woman was more than a little familiar. Today she wore a white skirt and a cardigan, and her dark eyes widened when they fell on me. "Oh, hey, Sam!"

"Hey, McKenzie." I smiled.

Vinnie looked from one of us to the other. "You two know each other?"

"We met yesterday at Emmanuelle's…" I cleared my throat. "I mean, Ms Renaud's exhibit."

"I see. Well, the world is a small place, as they say." He addressed his clients, "The car is ready."

"That's great." The older gentleman nodded. "Can I pay in cash?"

"Of course. If you'll follow me." And he led the man toward the office.

McKenzie stepped closer, eyeing me curiously. "Are you a car mechanic, too?"

I blinked before I had to laugh. "No, no. I was just dropping something off for Vinnie. He's an old friend of mine—high school and all that."

"Ah, the glorious days. For a second, I was worried you were one of those people who can just do anything."

"Hardly."

McKenzie gave me a shy smile. "Well, Emmanuelle might have let slip that you're brilliant at sketching."

"Did she now?"

"Are you mad?" she asked because my face must have looked a bit pinched.

"No, it's alright. It's not a secret or anything." I managed to smile. It was still hard to shake off my urge for privacy sometimes. "So, was that your dad who came in with you?"

"What gave it away?"

"He has the same dark locks, so I just assumed."

"Yeah, I get that from him. I would have rather gotten some of his height, though, you know? My parents are both tall, so living at home again? You have no idea how difficult it is to get ready if you only ever spy your hairline in the mirror."

I chuckled. "But they're probably thrilled to have you back with them."

She seemed a little sad when she said, "Yes, I'm sure they are. We had a little trouble staying in contact the last few years. I find it comforting to be back home again. I should have done it sooner."

Vinnie returned with her father, interrupting our conversation.

"All done," he announced cheerfully, then handed McKenzie the keys. "These are for you, I think."

McKenzie's father squeezed his daughter's elbow gently. "I'll go on ahead. Park the sedan behind the barn, will you?"

The blue car pulled out of the lot shortly after, and McKenzie eyed the narrow pathway critically. "Would you mind backing out for me?" she asked Vinnie. "I'm not used to driving it yet, and I'm a little worried I'll bump something."

He nodded and slid behind the wheel. I walked out with McKenzie, and we talked about the beauty of the area and Providence's rising popularity as a tourist spot while Vinnie parked the car in front of the gate and vanished back into his workshop again with a friendly wave.

McKenzie was nice, and I found myself enjoying the conversation, despite not really knowing her. When had it become easier for me to interact with strangers? At the exhibit, it had been like the Armani suit was a protective armour, and being at Emmanuelle's side had helped a lot, too. But right now, I was just plain old Sam Hale, and I still managed to stop myself freezing. Was I so relaxed because McKenzie was Emmanuelle's friend and I had the strange feeling that, in some way, I already knew her? Or had I really just got more comfortable talking to people?

I was telling McKenzie about living with my grandfather when a dented, mud-brown truck pulled onto the lot. I didn't think anything of it until the door on the driver's side was slammed much more forcefully than necessary. We both looked over at the sound, and the soft-spoken woman next to me turned white as a sheet before taking two steps back as if she wanted to turn and run.

A man came toward us with an unsteady gait, unshaven and with greasy hair, his bomber jacket worn open over a pair of work trousers. That in itself wouldn't have alarmed me—I knew how I looked after a long day of working in the dirt—but his brows were furrowed in anger, and even from half a dozen feet away you could smell the cloud of alcohol around him.

"You know him?" I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

"Paul. My ex." McKenzie's voice was trembling, and I realised how scared the woman was. I peeked in the direction of the gate, hoping to spy Vinnie, but he wasn't there.

Shit.

I nervously glanced around, hoping to find someone else close by, but there was no one in the carpark. My gaze hit McKenzie. I wanted to grab her arm and run, but the woman resembled a frozen statue … and my car was parked too far away. Before I could even ask her for the sedan's keys, Paul was upon us.

"I told you," he sneered and breathed out the odour of cheap whiskey, "that you can't hide from me, bitch!"

McKenzie started shaking like a leaf. I could feel the adrenaline shoot through my body. Paul was a big guy, a really big guy.

"If you need your car repaired, you can talk to my friend Vinnie inside. Otherwise, you should leave. This isn't a public parking place," I stated with a calm I didn't feel. Maybe being reasonable would work.

"I don't need my truck fixed, you stupid whore," he hissed and stepped even closer. "This is my wife, and she's not free to just go and do what she wants, meeting other men or fucking her new consultant friend in my bed!"

"It's not your bed anymore," McKenzie pressed out, and despite the fact that the whole situation was teetering on a knife's edge, I cheered her backbone. "How many months have to pass before you get that? And you're breaking the restraining order, by the way. You're not supposed to be here."

"I don't care about a stupid restraining order!" he roared, making us both jerk back.

"If you don't leave, I'll call the police," I said firmly, even if there was a churning ball of nerves in my belly. Paul could lash out and kick, or throw me to the ground, and, if he got his large paws around me, I was very likely screwed. But I still carefully edged between him and the petite woman. McKenzie was so slim I was sure she'd break like a twig if he hit her.

"So, call them." He laughed. "You think they'll get here before I beat the dyke out of you two?"

The adrenalin spiked when he dragged his eyes over my body with malice. His gaze made me feel naked, and a very real sense of fear gripped my insides. Paul wasn't a man who was used to being told no. I drew my phone out of my pocket and held it up. I couldn't back down now. Paul would smell weakness from a mile away; he was exactly like my late father in that regard.

"Last chance. You go, or I call them."

The only thing I thought before his fist connected with the side of my head was how stupid I'd been. I should have been smart enough to at least get out of his striking distance.

I turned with the blow, trying to take some force out of it, but it grazed my jaw. I tasted blood. My phone slid out of my flailing hand, crashing to the ground. Paul whipped up his left fist.

My head was reeling now, a sharp pain pulsing at the left side of my face. Barely, I managed to duck the next blow. When I tried to stumble back, Paul's closed fist smashed against my temple. Stars exploded behind my eyelids. I doubled over. The metal taste in my mouth made me want to throw up.

I was fucked. So very fucked.

Then the howling registered. I forced my bleary eyes upward, both hands holding my throbbing head. I wasn't the only one hurting. McKenzie's husband was sprawled on the ground.

Vinnie stood over him holding a wrench.