Page 58 of Dark Notes

“What’s the plan, baby?”

A soft smile crosses her lips, as she recites what she has gone through with her therapist many times over the last six weeks.

“Breathe. Affirmation. Hold on to you. Breathe. And,” she grins for me, “Don’t run away. Face my problems.”

I nod. “Good girl.”

“What’s your affirmation?”

She takes a deep breath. “I am enough. My past does not define me. I am strong enough to face my fears.”

I take her face in my hands as we pull up to the restaurant. “I am so fucking proud of you, McKinley. You amaze me.”

She blushes a soft pink, and I kiss her just below her ear and whisper, “I love you, baby. Let’s go do this thing you call ‘peopling’.”

We step out of the vehicle and walk up to the restaurant. I keep my arm around her, because I like having her close to me, but also because she needs to feel safe.

I wanted to book a private dining room for our first time out, but she decided she wanted to eat like everybody else. I’m a little concerned that the constant requests for autographs might become too much, but McKinley needs to feel like she has control over her life.

She glances around once we make it in the door and she gasps, “Wow.”

This restaurant is owned by a buddy of mine, Beau Beadeux, a French artist, and nowrestaurateur. The restaurant is designed to be modern, with various paintings of Beau’s throughout. His style is eye-catching. McKinley is proof of that, as she stares at an image of a close up of a woman’s face with splashes of color throughout. Red is the dominant color, but it’s the woman’s green eyes that draw you into the piece.

The hostess asks me if we’re ready. I wrap my arm around McKinley. “Come on, baby. If you like art, I’ll bring you to his gallery.”

We walk through the dimly lit restaurant and she looks around her, clearly impressed with my choice for tonight. The tables are all square with a white linen tablecloth and a candle in the middle, with white plates and ornately designed silverware.

I pull her chair out and she takes a seat, but her eyes are on the dark gray walls, and now she looks at a painting of a small boy on his knees, with bright blue eyes.

Taking a seat across from her, I say, “I didn’t know you liked art.”

She nods, with a faraway look in her eyes. “I love to paint, but I haven’t in a long time.”

“Do you want to paint again, McKinley?”

Lifting her eyes to mine, she shrugs. “It’s stupid.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

The waitress comes to our table, interrupting our conversation, and I tell her, “A bottle of your finest white, and a few minutes please.”

Reaching across the table, I take McKinley’s hand in mine. “Now, talk to me.”

“When I met Erik, I worked in a gallery, but I just sold paintings. I didn’t have my own shows or anything. Anyway, I loved to paint. It’s what I thought I’d do with my life, but he didn’t like it. After we moved in together, I wasn’t allowed to paint because it was too messy.”

The simple thought of that dildo makes my blood boil. If he isn’t dead, and I ever see him again, I will kill him. I should have. My thought was that living in pain would be worse, but I’m still learning how terribly he treated her. It’s like a goddamn onion, and there’s always another layer.

“If you want to paint, baby, you will. Whatever you want in this life, it’s yours. So you know, it had nothing to do with it being messy. He wanted to crush your spirit. I don’t. It’s my job to lift you up, not bring you down, and that is a position I take very seriously.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MCKINLEY

“Am I going to meet your mom at some point? I want to tell her how wonderful her son is.”

He drops his head with a sigh, and I don’t know what I said to upset him.

“She died a year ago.”

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