Chapter 9
NINE
Fisher
There isn’t a world where I thought I’d be driving around rural Colorado in a truck.
But as Vivian is fully occupied in the studio or with her baby and husband, I have a lot of free time on my hands, and Byron’s truck means I can get off the grounds of the Colorado Club.
I guess I should rent something. I just didn’t expect to need to leave the Club.
Apart from to get some wings at Grizzly’s
But I’m not heading to Grizzly’s today. I’m headed back to Juniper’s place.
I’m still a little pissed she didn’t tell me about her daughter.
But I’m also pissed that I’m pissed. I know it’s slightly irrational.
She didn’t owe me anything. It’s just I thought I knew her.
It felt like I could see into her soul at times.
I’m not often wrong about people. Not anymore.
But now? Now it feels like I got Juniper wrong, and it fucking bites.
Since my parents divorced, I don’t let people in often, not really.
I don’t want to give more than I get. I don’t trust you unless I know you.
Properly know you. Until I’ve seen you weak and vulnerable.
I might have been a kid, but my parents spent years pretending they were happy and then turned around and upended my world by telling me it had all been a lie.
So, now I assume everyone’s a liar until they prove me otherwise.
Everyone sees the affable, happy Fisher, but they don’t get any deeper than that. But Juniper did. She scratched the surface, and getting her wrong stings.
I pull up outside her house. The light’s on inside, and I figure at eight thirty, her daughter is in bed.
I get out of the truck and look up, and Juniper is on the porch. She offers me a small smile, and it hurts in my gut. Her normal wide, warm smile is tamped down, and I don’t like it.
“Hey,” I say, arriving at the top of the steps to the porch.
“Hey, Fisher. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
She’s sitting on a bench, and she has a glass of wine in her hand.
There’s a book on the table beside her, the cover facing down, a bookmark poking out of the top.
Her hair is down, and she doesn’t have a scrap of makeup on.
She seems so completely herself, and it pulls me in like I’ve never experienced before. But why when I don’t know her?
“I said I’d put you in contact with someone in the art world in New York. I’m a man of my word. I didn’t have your number, because my phone ate it or something, I’m not sure what happened. Anyway, I wanted to drop off Grace’s details to you.”
She narrows her eyes slightly, like she wasn’t expecting me to say what I just said. “That’s very nice of you.”
“I said I’d do it. And so here we are.”
“Here we are,” she says in a mock British accent.
She smiles. “But seriously, I know you’re…
” She takes in a breath. “Pissed off. Angry. I’m sorry…
” Juniper doesn’t meet my eye. “I didn’t lie to you,” she says.
“But I’m heartbroken about the fact that Riley wasn’t the first thing you knew about me.
She’s the most important thing in my life.
I feel like a horrible mother. I obviously got caught up in a silly fantasy for a second there.
But this is my real life.” She laughs. “She’s my whole life. And she’s great.”
All my anger and resentment are swept away, and I believe her completely. It’s like something unknots in my stomach, and I can breathe again. I truly believe she wasn’t lying.
“There was no reason to tell me. We’ve met each other twice, and… I get it.”
She laughs, and it’s a deep belly laugh, and it warms something in me.
“Well, I’m not sure you get it, Fisher. But I appreciate it.”
She pats the bench next to her, and I gladly take a seat. Being mad at Juniper felt like swallowing sand when I was expecting caviar. Now, here with her, everything is back to how it should be. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel better when I’m with her than I have for years.
“You want some wine? Beer?”
I shake my head. “I’m driving. I’m not saying no because I’m mad. I’m not. It’s just… I’m… particularly sensitive when I’m caught by surprise by someone.”
“That’s an interesting way to describe yourself. Tell me more, Fisher from New York.”
I pull in a breath. I expected to drive down here, hand her Grace’s contact details, and then head out. I wasn’t expecting to get into this conversation. But I don’t want to leave.
“I suppose I pride myself on reading people. I don’t often get people wrong. And…”
“And you got me wrong,” she says.
It’s not a question, and I get a dull prod in my heart at the timbre of her voice.
I think about it. When I met her, I saw Juniper as a big-hearted country girl who never got out of the small town she had been born in, but if she had, she could have done anything she wanted. She’s talented and likeable, and listening to her talk about art is captivating.
The fact is, I don’t know if I got her wrong. But I didn’t expect her to have a kid.
“I don’t know anything anymore.” I sigh and sit back on the bench, pushing my hands through my hair.
“I’m not a monster,” she says.
“I know. And you’re no pool hustler, either.”
She laughs. It’s light and breezy, and I can’t help but smile at her.
“Can we start again?” she asks.
That’s an easy question to answer. I’d give her the same answer whether I believed she was a liar or not.
The thing is, I don’t think she is. I think she’s been living in a small town a long time, and she’s not used to speaking to people who don’t know her story.
Or at least the part of her story where she has a kid.
“We can definitely do that.”
“My name’s Juniper, and I’m a thirty-two-year-old single mom of an eight-year-old girl named Riley, who has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Her love for her daughter shines from her like the sun. And it warms me.
“Good to meet you, Juniper, mom of Riley with the big heart.”
She grins at me like I just hung the moon, and it tugs at my heart.
I pull out my phone from my pocket. “Let me give you Grace’s details. What’s your number? And I’ll send them over.”
“Are you coming to me with excuses about why you need my number?”
I chuckle. “Maybe I am.”
We exchange numbers, the old fashioned way, without a QR code, and I send Grace’s details to her.
“She owns Grace Astor Fine Art in New York, LA, and Miami. She’s very well known in art circles, and she’s got a big network of clients. I sent her the link to your website, and she seemed enthusiastic. She said she’d welcome a conversation.”
“Fisher!” Juniper says. “That’s so incredibly sweet of you, but you can’t be forcing ladies like this to take my calls.”
“Juniper, I’m not forcing anyone. Grace is part of the New York establishment. She doesn’t do things she doesn’t want to.”
“But you called in a favor,” she says. “And you didn’t need to.”
“No, I called a friend and said that I knew of an artist and asked if I could send her the website. She was excited. Grace isn’t about to pretend she’s excited about an artist when she isn’t. She’s not made that way.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t being ungrateful. I just… people like that usually like art from twenty-two-year-olds who went to some fancy college, not some hick from nowhere Colorado, who paints in an empty candy store, for goodness’ sake.”
“Juniper, your paintings are good. I don’t know much about art, but they’re fresh and atmospheric, and there’s something… big about them. I feel something when I look at them.”
I turn to her to see if I’ve offended her. Her cheeks are pink and her lips pouted. She’s fucking beautiful.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my art.”
“Really?” I ask. “You’re so talented. Grace isn’t doing me a favor. I’m doing her a favor. She’s lucky I introduced her.”
“Staap, I can’t take all these compliments. It’s too much.”
I’m not lavishing her with praise. I’m telling her the truth. She’s clearly not used to people appreciating her art.
“You need to call her,” I say. “You promise?”
She winces slightly. “Maybe.”
“I think you could be a big deal, Juniper.”
She sighs. “But really, I’m a mom. I can’t go chasing off to New York City to meet some fancy gallery owner.
And anyway, say she likes my work, she’s going to want more of it.
Byron bought a lot of the stuff I had. And it’s not like I have loads of time to make more.
I have a job. I get to paint once a week, if I’m lucky.
And I’ve usually got an eight-year-old tagging along who wants regular snack breaks, so those Saturdays are not particularly productive. ”
“You’re counting yourself out,” I say to her.
“I’m being realistic, is what I’m doing.”
“Or maybe you just don’t believe in yourself.”
She laughs. “Oh, well, that’s probably true. I can’t deny it. Why would I possibly do that? I’m a teaching assistant who likes to paint. I’m not the next Van Gogh.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe not, but all I’m saying is, make the call.
Maybe Grace says that unless you get on a flight to New York, she’s not going to speak to you.
But maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Grace comes to the Colorado Club.
For all I know, she and her husband are already members.
And maybe she does want more art from you.
Isn’t school vacation coming up? But maybe you’re inspired and you paint more.
I don’t know. I just think it’s a bloody shame if you give up when you don’t even know what’s possible. ”
“But there are so many reasons why it wouldn’t work. Why would I waste my time?”
“You don’t need to imagine the obstacles. There will be enough real ones—that’s just life. But you owe it to yourself. You owe it to Riley to do your best to fulfill your potential.”
“Fisher, are you using mom guilt to get me to call Grace Astor?”
I nudge her. “Whatever it takes.”
“You’re sweet, Fisher.”
I chuckle. “I’m not always, trust me.”
“Do you have a secret dark side?” she asks me, like she wants to know.
I smile. I don’t know about a dark side, but there’s part of my past I’d rather forget. “Doesn’t everyone?”
She raises an eyebrow, like she thinks I’m talking bollocks.
“I have my moments.” I shift, and our legs brush together. She’s beautiful, and I need to get out of here before I get myself in the kind of trouble I don’t want to get out of. “Call Grace,” I say, before standing and head the hell off Juniper’s porch.