Page 69 of Sinful as They Come
A tired sigh left my mouth as I leaned back against the headrest of my truck. Work had been exhausting as usual. At least it paid the bills.
I had picked up some dinner for me and Brodie after my shift. Just some wings and fries – nothing special – but it was more than enough for me and my cousin. Dad could get his own dinner.
I placed the bag of food in the passenger’s seat, just about to turn the engine on when I heard my phone ring. Pulling it out of my pocket, my eyebrows furrowed at the number I didn’t recognize.
“Yeah?” I answered, running a hand through my hair. It was getting longer and longer.
“Hello!” Whoever it was sounded like some old guy. “Is this, uh… Sawyer Westbrook?”
“Who’s this?” I asked bluntly.
“You don’t know me. My name is Eric Anderson. I was flicking through your school’s paper, The Chronicle. I saw an article in here about some of your art. Miss Sutton wrote it. I’m not sure if you know her well.”
I held back a laugh. “I might. Why?”
“Well, she wrote a rather interesting article about you regarding your art. And I quite like the photo she included of a piece you painted. Is it for sale?”
“For sale?” I repeated. I had almost forgotten about the whole article thing, only because Holly showing up at my place the other day had beenon my mind more than anything else lately. It wasn’t easy to forget her sometimes. Especially that afternoon. It was the way she had taken care of me and listened to me that had me thinking of her. We had yet another heart-to-heart conversation where I probably said too much to her.
“Yes. I love it. It’s a fantastic piece. Do you have anything else for sale? Or maybe you take commissions?”
It sounded like a joke. A cruel, shitty joke. The man’s words had me rubbing at the back of my neck and scanning outside my window like I was gonna see him standing out there with a grin on his face.
“You wanna buy my shit?” I asked cautiously.
“Well, that’s not the word I would use. But yes. I want to buy your painting. Just name your price.”
No one had ever bought my art before. It still felt like a joke, though. It was such a simple painting too. All I had done was paint Alden Lake: the water, the bright sun, the comforting blue sky. That night lingered in my mind. It was another Holly related thing that was hard to forget.
“Six hundred,” I said confidently. “And you gotta pay in cash.”
“Amazing. Do you know where Highland Park is? I live there. If you could maybe drop it off, I’ll be happy to pay you tonight.”
Unfortunately, I was familiar with the place thanks to Holly. I still wasn’t sure if the guy was being serious or if it was some shitty prank, but there was only one way to find out. If he was willing to fork over six hundred bucks for one of my stupid paintings, then I was willing to take the risk.
“Yeah, I know it.” I huffed. “Text me your address. I’ll be there in thirty.”
I left Marve’s behind, wondering what the hell I was getting myself in to. All I wanted was that cash. I made a quick pit stop at my place, leaving the food for Brodie to chow down on. He promised me he’d leave me some wings for when I got back. Dad was nowhere to be seen thankfully.
I told Brodie I had some errands to run before I grabbed the painting and made the drive up to Highland Park. Once I got there I instantly noticed how quiet it was. It was always fucking quiet. There was no way any of them could have handled one night at the trailer park.
I turned a few corners, rolling my eyes at the obnoxiously large housesbefore I finally found the one that I was after. It was, of course, a mansion. Just like Holly’s. Just like all the other ones that surrounded me. I pulled the canvas out of my backseat and jogged up the rest of the driveway. It was either gonna be some rich guy with too much money to spend or Carter fucking with me or something.
Again, the money had me taking the risk.
Knocking on the door, I only had to wait a few seconds before some old guy opened up. He wore glasses, his white hair styled neatly. He was dressed up in a suit, looking like he had just come back from the office or something.
“This what you wanted?” I greeted him, holding up the canvas lazily.
“Oh, Sawyer. Come in, come in.” The man gestured for me to enter. “Let me see that.”
I loosely handed him the canvas, watching as his eyes seemed to scan every inch of it. He held it tight, shaking his head slowly before he looked at me.
“It’s wonderful. And to think you’re just in high school.” Eric smiled. “I take it you’ll be studying art in college, then?”
“No,” I said flatly.
“Oh. Right. Well, artists don’t always need school, right? I enjoyed your article in The Chronicle a lot. You and Holly are friends then?” Eric wondered.
