Chapter 43
43
C arlisle's eyes opened to a particular shade of blue that she loved. She had painted the bedroom in a sky color, even the ceiling. She’d done it hoping for a morning like today, that she would wake and imagine she was simply sleeping under the open air. That the perfect temperature of day surrounded her and kept her warm on her fluffy bed.
Light came in through the window. The sheers were drawn, at least they’d turned off the light before moving their sex fest in here. The neighbors couldn't see in but without the blackout shades drawn, she was awake with the sunrise.
Carlisle was grateful she'd already eaten dinner before Simon showed up on her doorstep. She’d not expected to need the fuel, but he’d made her come apart more times than she could count. He’d been a man on a mission, and she was more than happy to be that mission.
Now she was starving. He was asleep beside her, and she needed to get up without waking him. He was as asleep as the dead though. It chilled her for a heartbeat, and she watched to be sure he was breathing .
He was still radiating heat, too. She reminded herself that she was fine. And so was he.
Stepping into her cotton shorts she pulled a tank top from the drawer, trying to be quiet as she headed into her living room. She’d been aiming for a bowl of cereal, or maybe even something heartier. She was going to walk right through into the dining room and start opening cabinets in the kitchen.
She pulled up short as she spotted Darcy’s painting. She’d removed the wrapper last night and set it on the sideboard, propped against the wall. It would have to wait for a proper frame, but she wanted to see it in the meantime.
Carlisle stared at it now. He’d told her his sister was talented. Carlisle had assumed that painting was simply a hobby that Darcy liked to employ when she was up. Not everyone was as talented as their family said.
Clearly their mother indulged Darcy. Carlisle had seen the receipt for how much money they’d blown at the art supplies store. The whole time she’d been having these reasonable—if a bit uncharitable—thoughts, she’d missed that the amazing pieces in Simon’s house were all Darcy’s. They were a handful of different styles. One three-panel piece was all black line. The lines were flowers or dancers depending on how you interpreted it, and it reminded Carlisle a bit of a Degas.
Looking at this painting now, Carlisle realized no money had been blown.
Tucking one heel up against her calf, she rested on one leg as she examined the piece. She had to rethink what she’d assumed about Darcy. And what she’d assumed about his mother.
It was entirely possible that Simon's mom was milking his feelings. That she was taking her days off work, because she knew her son would cover it. Not all mothers were good ones. She could easily claim that she had to watch after Darcy. Carlisle didn't know, she hadn't met the woman.
It was also entirely possible that the woman was exactly as much of a saint as Simon believed. Dealing with a man who was abusing her child, and then her second child developing mental illnesses . . . Maybe she’d just been dealt a shit hand.
Mothers with disabled children were often called “Forever mothers.” Their children didn't go through the normal processes of growing up and moving out of the house. Maybe Darcy could live on her own, another thing Carlisle didn't know. Everything she did know was filtered through Simon.
In Simon's world, his sister was everything and his mother could do no wrong. Carlisle understood that. Any child who remembered their early years in foster care and the woman who found them on a park bench would worship that mother. She didn't fault him at all.
But this painting made her see that the talk of Darcy’s talent had actually been underselling her talent. Carlisle wished she'd paid more attention in art history class. She liked a good museum as much as anyone else, but she was also sure she did not have the understanding to fully appreciate what was in front of her either.
However, she might know someone who did.
Grabbing her phone from the coffee table where she’d left it, she snapped a picture. Sending it to her cousin, she wondered if Emma Kate was even awake. Hell, she was probably up earlier than Carlisle and was possibly filming. But Emma Kate was surely smart enough not to let popup messages interfere with caulking a sink or painting door trim or even teaching people how to make their own oven mitts.
Her phone rang and Carlisle quickly jabbed at the button. She hadn't closed the bedroom door behind her and she didn’t want to wake Simon.
“Hey!” She answered the phone with a smile. Emma Kate one of her favorite people.
“Morning. You're up early,” Em commented. “Are you feeling better? ”
Em was good. She understood what Carlisle was going through. That she often slept in lately out of depression or anxiety or even just inability to sleep during the night. She checked, but she didn’t push. Carlisle had enough of well-meaning relatives who pushed.
“Up with the sun this morning.” It felt good to be awake and rested and it felt good why she was, too.
“Is that maybe due to any particular male neighbors?” This part, Em would push on, because she knew all the details.
“Well, that particular male neighbor is in fact in my bed asleep right now.” Carlisle doled out the words carefully trying to tell Emma Kate what she needed and not become horribly embarrassed if maybe Simon was standing right behind her. She changed the subject.
“So what did you think of the artwork I sent?” Carlisle slowly turned around but discovered that, no, Simon was nowhere in the room. If he was awake, she couldn't tell.
She kept the phone to her ear, still hoping that if he was asleep, he could stay that way. Saturday should be for sleeping in. If he wasn’t up soon, she’d leave a note and go check on Kitten.
“I think you should buy it if you can.” Em was emphatic. “I mean, how much is it?”
“It's not for sale. And it's already in my dining room.”
“You own that?” Em sounded stunned. Maybe it was as good as Carlisle thought.
“Simon’s sister did it.”
“She has more?” Hell, Em sounded interested in it for herself. Or maybe for her show?
“So I've heard. I don't know if they all look like this. No, they don’t.” Carlisle took it back. “The ones I had you match colors for his couch and living room paint? Those are hers, too! They're all amazing.”
“Damn. What's her name? ”
“Darcy Lancaster. Let me check.” Sure enough, she’d signed the painting that way.
A few quick moments later Em said, “I’m not finding it on any searches. Wait, wait. I did find it on one. A painting on display at a gallery eight years ago.”
Damn.
“Let me know if you can hook me up, though.” Em said. “This gallery piece is fantastic, too.”
Had she just sold a Darcy ?
Emma Kate interrupted her. “The owner is waving at me. They’re ready. They opened the store early for me to get in.”
“Of course. What are you doing?”
“I'm at the resale store and I'm teaching people how to figure out which second hand sewing machine they should buy or not.”
“Oh, that sounds cool. I'll watch that.”
“I’ve got to get it made first. Gotta go!”
“Love you, Cuz!” Carlisle hung up and turned around again to stare at the painting. She loved it. Damn, but Simon had chosen well for her. She loved the ones at his place too, but this one was the best.
She stared at it until her stomach grumbled, then she bit her lip. She had an idea. And she wasn’t sure Simon would like it.