Page 55 of Spindrift

“Isthere anything I can do?”

Angieshook her head and burrowed deeper—a five-foot, seven-inch-tall puppy lookingfor comfort. Morgan stroked her hair and met Lillian’s questioning gaze with amouthed, “I don’t know.”

She’dmet Angie through the clinic. Angie had been Stevie’s friend first and had kepther distance until Morgan realized her reserve stemmed from fear. Once she’dstarted treating Angie like a skittish filly, things changed. There had neverbeen anything besides platonic affection between the two of them. Morgan heldno threat for Angie, which she suspected had more to do with this currentembrace than anything else. She might not understand Angie’s love life, but sheunderstood wounded animals.

“We’vegot you,” she said into Angie’s hair.

“Iknow.”

Thesound of a truck door slamming roused Angie from her fetal position. She blinkedup at Morgan, mascara smudged under one eye, then unfolded herself and stood.Her mask was back in place by the time Stevie and Kraken waltzed through thedoor.

Chapter Nine

Emilia’shand shook. Primer dripped onto the drop cloth at her feet.

“AmI doing this?” she asked the house. Silence answered her. She didn’t know whather father would have wanted. No. That wasn’t true. He would have wanted her tobe happy. He didn’t care about the color of the walls or what she did with thehouse. Still trembling, she set the paint roller against the dark wood and broughtit down in a broad stroke. White shone back at her. White, bright, beautifulpaint.

Sheburst into tears.

Nell,whom she had once again relegated to the porch, whined at the sound of herperson’s distress. Emilia recharged the brush, still sobbing, and made anotherpass. She’d decided to start in the living room. It was the room she mostassociated with her father, which made it the hardest, but it was also the roomshe wanted to see transformed first. The dark whorls of the knots in the woodshowed through the first coat of primer. They watched her like the eyes she’d imaginedthem to be as a child.

Hersobs faded as the morning wore on. The primer brought sunlight into the roomwith it, ameliorating her doubts. No longer would shadows dominate the livingarea. She refused to consider the analogy between her desire to paint the houseand her desire to rid her own life of its shadows. Her therapist could have funwith that. She’d content herself with the work.

Shealmost managed to go most of the morning without thinking about Morgan. Hermind periodically offered up images of perfectly sculpted abs, but she bit herlip until the pain drove them out of her head. Her body had enjoyed thechallenge of her run with Lillian, and she listened to her father’s music asshe painted. Leonard Cohen’s voice reminded her of his, and she remembered,too, his hands on the guitar.

Comelunchtime, however, the paint fumes drove her out of the house far moresuccessfully than her attempts to banish her thoughts. She gathered Nell andwalked the two miles into town for lunch. It wasn’t as if she was in a hurry.Walking, unfortunately, freed up her mind for more thoughts of Morgan, as didher destination: Stormy’s.

Runningout on Morgan had been rude. After her conversation with Anna Maria and thepalpable chemistry the night of Angie’s birthday, however, her body’s visceralreaction to seeing Morgan half-dressed had triggered her fight-or-flightresponse. And by fight, she meant fuck.

Sodo it, her bodysuggested.You’re only here for a few months. You like her friends. Youclearly like her. It doesn’t matter that you’re barely managing to function,and isn’t human contact—the desire for human contact—a sign of progress?

Shekicked at a dandelion, earning herself a quizzical look from Nell.What if Iget attached?Her mind remained obstinately silent on this front, and soshe answered for it.I have too much to figure out without adding someoneelse’s needs and wants into the equation. Especially a vet.Hannah had beena vet, and far from making her more understanding of Emilia’s situation, it hadshortened her already short fuse. She’d never had much patience for Emilia’sdoubts.

“Toughit out.” That had been her advice.

Thenshe’d left.

“Fine,”she said out loud. She would not get involved with Morgan. Nor, however, wouldshe attempt to deny the electric potential.I’ll talk to her like the adultI’m supposed to be.

Hermood lifted when she entered the café. The first tourists of the season filledmost of the tables, but the corner in the back where she’d shared a beer withMorgan remained empty.

“Hey,lady,” Stormy said from behind the register. Emilia blinked at the polka-dotteddress and vibrant red headscarf over Stormy’s thick curls, which somehow suitedher but would have looked garish on anyone else.

“Doyou have anything strong enough to wash the taste of paint out of my mouth?”

“Outof your mouth? Yes. Your hair . . .” She smiled and reached across the counterto tap the side of Emilia’s head. The familiarity unsettled her, but notunpleasantly so.

“Idon’t see much point in trying to get rid of it until I’m done. You should seemy legs.”

“Arewe talking coffee or something stronger?”

“Justcoffee.”

“Latte?Black? Americano?”

“Espresso?”

Stormywinked. “Very Italian. Whipped cream on top?”

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