have a little bit of a crush on her?” Rita asked, jerking me from my thoughts. “I understand. She’s beautiful but—”
“N-N-No,” I said. “Nothing like that. I just want her to have a life. A happy one.”
“She does seem happy. Happier than I’ve seen her in months.”
“Doesn’t that mean something?”
She gave me a sly smile. “I think it means she likes you. But let the doctors worry about her, okay? They know what they’re doing.”
I didn’t argue, but it seemed what the doctors were doing was a whole lot of nothing.
Rita took Thea back upstairs. I cleaned up the pens and paper, and another of Thea’s word chains jumped out at me like a striking snake.
Wish miss kiss kill will fill fall fail faint paint wait wait wait
“Jesus.”
Stay the course. For how long? Another two years? How long did Thea have to wait to at least be allowed to do what she loved?
Fuck that. After work, I’d ride directly to the nearest art supply store.
Then hang a left at the unemployment office once Delia finds out. Doris sneered. And then how will you take care of your broken-down girl? Who will protect her then?
I had no reply, other than it was the right thing to do.
I found a small arts and crafts store in Boones Mill and bought a canvas, brushes, and a set of acrylic paints. They weren’t cheap but living like a miser for six years meant I had money to spare. It felt good to spend it on something that mattered.
The following morning, I went to work with the supplies tucked under my arm.
“Whatcha got there, honeypie?” Jules asked as I strode past the front desk.
“Nothing.”
“Hey, when are we going to go out after work? I’m ready when you are.”
I ignored her. After weeks of working at Blue Ridge, Jules rubbed me the wrong way. Nothing terrible I could put my finger on, just an itch I couldn’t scratch.
I put the new supplies on a high shelf in the rec room closet. The hours dragged until one o’clock when it was time for Thea’s FAE. I endured our usual script until finally, we were alone in the brilliant sun. Her hand nestled in the crook of my elbow and her face turned up to the light, a dream-like smile on her face. She looked so peaceful. What if Delia was right that painting was too much for Thea? What if it triggered something deep in her sleeping memory?
Through the doubt, Thea’s own words spoke up: I’d kill for a canvas, as big as a wall.
“Thea,” I said.
She grinned. “Jimmy.”
“Would you like to start a new painting?”
“Would I?” Her hand on my arm tightened. “I’d love to. I love to paint the pyramids. Ancient Egypt. You need a canvas as big as a wall to do Egypt justice. Have I told you I was an Egyptologist?”
Fifty-four times. Then I made myself stop counting.
“No. Tell me.”
Her smile widened. “I love everything about ancient Egypt. Especially the pyramids. The idea that Egyptians would take the time and manpower to create gigantic monuments to the dead is just amazing to me. That’s all a pyramid is. A place where a dead king or queen is given all they need for the afterlife. It’s packed with supplies and the things they loved. All down there in the dark…”
Thea’s expression darkened too, her brows furrowed, as if she were close to touching something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Redirect.
“I know where there might be a canvas and paint,” I said.
The shadows fled from her eyes. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Where? Can you show me now?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Her happiness invaded my cold brick wall. I knew by the time we reached the rec room and I got the supplies set up, her reset would hit. But she was happy now, at this moment, and I’d made it happen.
I fucking did something…
I guided her to her table. “Be right back.”
I hurried to the supply closet and grabbed the paints, brushes, and tucked the canvas under my arm. If Delia wanted to fight me on this, I’d stand up for the both of us. Because painting wouldn’t upset Thea. It would help set her free, at least for a little while.
A man’s booming laugh filled the rec room. I dropped the canvas and strode out to see Brett Dodson sitting across from Thea, his back to me. Thea’s face was closed down, her shoulders hunched up, her hand holding tightly to her pen.
“How long has it been?” she