CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 20
Ian liked Kari’s home long before he arrived. Her residence anchored the end of a long valley road. The builders had either modeled a new house after a local farm or had actually held on to the old place and built around it. When he rose from Amelia’s car, Kari was there, standing in the doorway. Despite the screen door separating them, he could see something was wrong. As he climbed the four steps, her tension became clearer, the tight way she wrapped her arms around her waist, the rigid stance.
He halted on the top step. “I can wait out here if you’d like . . .”
“No.” She shoved the screen door open with a jerky motion. As if she fought against her own will. “You can come in if you want.”
“Kari, no, really, I’ll just stay and enjoy the evening until you’re . . .”
His words were cut off by a plaintive yowl from inside the house. Before Kari could swing the door shut, a cream-and-cinnamon kitten shot between her legs and scrambled across the porch. She halted by Ian’s feet, looked up, and mewed a constant sorrowful note. Crying with almost humanlike clarity. Demanding to know why ever it had taken him such a long while to arrive. Finally. At long last.
There was nothing to it. One moment he was standing there, wishing he had not climbed that first step. The next, Ian was down on his knees.
The kitten responded by flopping on her side and just lying there. Two paws in the air. Belly exposed. Crying.
Ian lowered himself farther still, until his face was just inches from the mewing kitten. Stroking the soft coat. Marveling at the artistry of her fur. A creamy near-white everywhere except for her cinnamon socks, the tips of her ears, and the little nose. Like she had played in a bowl of the spice. And those eyes. Crystal blue, watching him as she purred.
He felt as much as saw Kari step closer and lower herself. But the kitten held him. That and the memories. “I always wanted a cat,” he said, talking mostly to the little beast. “My grandparents hated the idea of a pet. For them, it was just another awful part of being forced to take me in.”
Early memories rushed to the fore. The utter loneliness. The nausea of having no place and no people who wanted him. His grandparents’ silent rages over any wrong step. The shadows in that miserable home, ready to reach out and capture him. Being shipped off to the boarding school. Becoming marooned with other too-young, too-lonely boys. The school’s principal had had a cat, a mangy tabby who growled at Ian’s approach and seemed to resent his petting.
Ian watched the kitten roll back over and rise to her feet, but only so she could climb into his lap. The purr was intoxicating. Then he realized he was crying.
“I don’t understand.” Kari reached over and stroked between the kitten’s ears. “Sienna runs from everyone.”
“Sienna.” Ian wiped his face with the hand not stroking the kitten. “It’s the perfect name.”
Kari rose to her feet. Stood there beside him. Then said, “Come inside.”
Ian lifted the kitten, intending to set her back on the porch. But she responded to his hands by going utterly limp. Like she’d been waiting all her brief life for this very moment. Ian rose to his feet and carried the purring, limp bundle into Kari’s home. At least, he made it six steps. “Oh. Kari. Wow.”
“I wanted to take my time . . . I’ve already told you that.”
Reluctantly, Ian set down the kitten. Sienna mewed a soft protest, then began undulating around his feet. “Kari . . .”
“What?”
The westering light bathed the living room’s polished floor in soft honeyed strokes. “It’s like the room is breathing.”
Suddenly, she was excited. Kari gripped his hand and pulled him toward the living room’s only article. “My first real furniture. It’s from Indrid.”
“Beautiful. Kari . . .”
“Yes?”
“Can I do that, too? Give you a new-home gift?”
She was silent a moment, still holding his hand. Then she tugged on, pointing down a stubby hallway as she aimed for the back rooms. “Through there is my bedroom. Here’s the kitchen.”
She gave him a moment to appreciate the Shaker-style cabinetry, then guided him through the rear door. Kari used her foot to firmly nudge the kitten back. Sienna planted her forepaws on the screen and cried in protest.
“I spend a lot of time out here on the porch.”
“I would, too.” Ian pointed to the mewing kitten. “Can I bring Sienna?”
Her smile held a piercing brilliance. “I’ll get her.” She opened the door, scooped up the kitten, then retook her hold on Ian’s hand. “This is crazy. She’s hidden herself away from everyone.”
“I’m honored.” He pointed. “That must be your garage.”
“And that’s the guest cottage.”
He pointed to the third structure, the largest of all. “And your studio?”
“I call it my atelier.”
“Atelier,” he repeated. “The word suits the building, and it suits you.” But as he started forward, he realized Kari remained planted on the top step. “What is it?”
“My new painting.”
“You said it’s about me.”
She nodded. “Ian . . .”
“Kari, if you don’t want to show me, I understand. Really.”
“No. It’s not . . .”
“Tell me.”
She replied with little-girl softness, “I want you to like it.”
This time, he was the one to reach out and take her hand. “Show me.”
As he entered the barnlike structure, a final golden thread shimmered through one of the skylights.
Then he saw it.
“Let me turn on some lights.”
“No. Not yet. Please.” He scarcely heard what he was saying. The painting drew him forward until his nose almost touched the canvas.
The oil colors were still damp in places. They glistened, adding a surreal effect to her work. Ian stepped back far enough to study the swirling gray cloud. The flecks of black stood out so sharply, he could almost feel them pelting his neck and shoulders. And those spectral images caught within the gray mist. He felt as if Kari had reached inside him and drawn out the childhood terrors. In the room’s murky depths, the wraiths danced, mocking him, pouring scorn on the heart’s flame, the music, the sheer intensity captured by the central image. They were just waiting, Ian knew, ready to attack and pluck away what remained of his flickering passion.
Kari stepped up close to him. “Ian, do you . . .”
He swung about and gripped her with a fierceness that shocked them both. As did his kiss.
He knew it was probably wrong. But words simply did not fit into this space. Then she sighed, or softly moaned, and relaxed in his embrace.
She reached around and held him with just one arm, since the kitten was still cradled in the other. So they stood like that, the three of them entwined, two kissing, the kitten purring happily there between them.