Chapter 2 #2
“We spent about ten hours in the ER while they took X-rays and CT scans. Finally, he was sent to ICU and it was very late, so I went home, something I will always regret. Anyway, the next morning when I arrived, the doctor was waiting. He said between the CT scan the previous night and the one just three weeks prior, the lung cancer had spread to fill his lung and he now had cancer in his bones, his spine and his lymph nodes. On top of that, he had several broken ribs and his kidneys were shutting down. The doctor flat-out said he was dying, and there was nothing they could do but make him comfortable. He was in incredible pain. Jim said to the doctor, ‘Suicide. Where do I sign?’ I placed him into hospice there at the hospital. They didn’t even transfer him to another room.
He stayed in the ICU. For a day and a half, he was mostly asleep, as that was the only time he was pain free.
At 2:15 AM, on July 1st, he passed away.
I was devastated. Jim was my everything. ”
She didn’t realize silent tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t know how I was going to survive without him.”
His lips were in a straight line and his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“When Jim passed, I was lucky. I had wonderful neighbors, who were friends, actually. They took care of me. They worked on my sprinklers, helped me change the batteries in the smoke detectors, all the things that Jim used to do. One of them, a wonderful woman named Kara, came and sat with me every night for months. We’d sit on the front porch and just talk for hours. ”
“Another of my friends came and helped me shovel out the house because we were this close,” she placed her index finger over her thumb with just a hair’s breadth between them.
to becoming hoarders. After she and I were done, I could live in my house and not be afraid of having people over to see what a mess it was.
“Anyway, after Jim died, my father let me mourn for about six weeks before he began pushing me to join him in his firm. He’s a CPA.
So, I threw myself into all the classes he and Mom wanted me to and I took art classes on the side, unbeknownst to them.
When it came time for me to join him, I just couldn’t.
Doing that would have killed everything good inside me.
I would have hated it, and it wouldn’t have taken long for the rest of the world to know how much I hated my job and, by extension, myself.
” She added softly. “Then, not even a year later, I escaped what would have been a bad second marriage. He was the son of my father’s partner, so my dad was all for the marriage.
” Her shoulders slumped. “I ran rather than marry a man I didn’t love. ”
“Do you want to talk about that?”
She sighed and rubbed her hands down her face.
“Well, we are getting to know each other, so why not? Jim died about six years ago. A year later, I was out with some friends when a man approached me and asked for a dance. I’d promised myself when Jim died I would say yes to at least one thing a week. This was my yes for that week.”
“I take it you began dating?”
She nodded. “At first, it was just lunches, or maybe coffee in the morning. Then it was dinners and sleepovers. He wanted to move in with me but for some reason I didn’t let him and I’m so glad I listened to my gut.”
Peter reached over and took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently. “How did you find out that he was cheating and stealing from you?”
“The cheating I discovered by accident…mostly. I was searching his phone for a text he’d sent me and that I accidently erased, with the address of a shop I needed to go to.
In addition to the text I wanted, I found the texts to and from his girlfriend.
He’d been carrying on with her the entire time he was dating me.
The stealing was harder to find and I didn’t figure it out until after we’d broken up.
I got a bill from a credit card company.
I knew I hadn’t been using the card, so couldn’t figure out how I could have a bill.
Apparently, he got my number and was using it to buy things online.
” She stopped and breathed through the anger that was building inside her.
“He was just using me. I think he thought he could get me to move in and I would pay all the bills. He’s a gallery owner, too, and art galleries up here don’t do that well without an angle.
” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Like a new, unknown painting by Peter Kincaid. I’m not too proud to ask you for what I need to survive. ”
Peter was quiet for a moment. “So you took art classes and you must paint or draw, right?”
Okay. She’d let him change the topic. She’d revealed enough of her past anyway. But she was just so comfortable with Peter. She felt like she’d known him for a long time, probably because she’d followed his career for years. “Just a little. Nothing appropriate for my gallery.”
“Can I see them?”
She shook her head. “They are not nearly good enough for you to see either. They’re just some puttering I do when I’m alone.”
He smiled.
Her stomach twittered and tied itself into knots.
“Come on. Let me see.” He winked. “I’m sure they’re good. You don’t strike me as a person who does anything halfway.”
She sighed. “Okay, but don’t be too hard on me.” Alexis stood and went to her bedroom. She returned in a few minutes with three canvases. Showing them one at a time to Peter, she held her breath, waiting for his criticism.
Her work was raw, emotional, and haunting—filled with the kind of vulnerability Peter hadn’t seen in years. He recognized the kind of talent that couldn’t be taught, only survived. After a few minutes, he looked up. “They’re good. Very good.”
“Really?” She narrowed her eyes. “I hear a but coming.”
“Your brush strokes are too tentative. You need to be more forceful and surer of your strokes. These could be great, not just good.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“Do you have a blank canvas?”
She nodded. “Several.”
“Good. I’ll need the biggest canvas you have and then tomorrow, I’ll show you what I mean. For now, I’m too tired. I feel like I went ten rounds in an MMA ring.”
Suddenly, she smiled. “I look forward to the lesson, Maestro.”
Peter shook his head. “I’m not a maestro, just a simple teacher.”
Alexis lifted a brow. “Except you’re not. Your paintings sell for millions of dollars, and with your stake in your brothers’ gaming empire, you’re a billionaire. You’re anything but a simple teacher.”
He turned and looked out the window. “Thanks…I think.”
Alexis chuckled as she placed her paintings against the wall. She walked over to the fireplace and placed another log on the fire. It caught almost immediately.
“Now that you know about me, tell me about Peter Kincaid.”
Peter sat at the table, placed his hands around his mug of tea and looked down at them.
“There is not much to tell…really.” He looked up.
“People pay so much for my paintings because of my siblings. I am what I am because of my siblings. But I teach for me. All I ever wanted to do was paint and teach. Now, the only way I can teach is to show up at another teacher’s classroom and talk to their class. ”
He shifted his gaze from her face to the fire behind her.
“I’m not someone to be admired, Alexis. Someone to be admired is the art teacher who puts in fifty hours a week, teaching students, most of whom don’t want to learn anything about art but are there so they can get out of taking of something else that they loathe even more.
Then, that same teacher tries to teach another group of students at night school.
These people, at least, want to learn about art.
But that leaves very little time for the teacher’s own projects, so they languish, unfinished, in some remote part of their house or apartment, or even a cabin in the woods.
” He looked pointedly at her canvases against the wall.
She huffed out a breath. “My gallery takes all of my time. I’ll get back to my paintings someday, but for now, the gallery comes first.”
“If I donate a painting to your gallery would you then have time to work on your projects?” He waved a hand toward the wall where her paintings were. “You wouldn’t have to worry about money or about being at the gallery constantly.”
“I…I…I don’t know what to say.” Her knees started to buckle, and she sat in the chair next to him. “That would be wonderful. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
He crossed his arms over his muscled chest. “It is.” He leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “I want you to finish what you have started. I see a lot of promise in your paintings, and I want to see them complete.”
“You know, the snow will eventually melt or the road will be plowed and you’ll be able to leave. You wouldn’t have to give me the painting. You could leave and never look back.”
Peter shook his head. “I’m not that kind of person.
I know you don’t know me.” He made figure eights with his thumb on the top of her hand.
Then he moved to the inside of her wrist. “But I give you my word that I’ll donate a painting.
A new painting. Maybe like the one you suggested, of Ranger’s Walk video game characters.
It would be unique to your gallery and I believe would bring people to Aspen just to see your gallery and the painting.
I’ll post it in my Facebook groups and my profile.
I’ll get my brothers and my sister to post it in theirs, too. ”
He knitted his eyebrows together and searched her face for something but he didn’t know what.
Peter continued to hold her hand. “Well? What do you say? Are you ready to take a chance on your future?”
She took a deep breath and released it before answering.
Then she nodded. “I’m ready. And I’m excited to see what you come up with.
I’ll post it in my Facebook groups, in the Aspen Times and the Aspen Daily News.
” She stopped then and looked over at him.
“What about you missing muse? Will you be able to paint without her?”
“Maybe you’re my new muse because I feel better now than I’ve felt in a long time. Get your blank canvas, mine are probably ruined from the walk in the snow, but I have my paints. Let’s see what I can do in the time we have left in the cabin.”
Alexis widened her eyes and her mouth dropped open. “I thought you were too tired.”
He grinned. “I seem to have recharged while sitting here talking to you. There’s no time like the present. Now, let me get started.”