Page 33 of Tru Blue
Eleven shades of black, including his favorites, raven, spider, obsidian, grease, and soot. Seven shades of gray. Gauntlet and meteor shower were his go-to grays. Images of Gemma suddenly burst into his mind—Gemma admiring his drawings, holding Lincoln, looking up at him after he stumbled into her in the bedroom, and finally, with tears in her eyes as she pushed past him, fleeing from his apartment. He trudged up to the shop, monitor in hand, and retrieved another box of paints. Truman didn’t plan his artwork. He didn’t think about style or design or much of anything. His art was an extension of him, born of wars, old and new. As the familiar sound of aerosol soothed his ravaged soul, he disappeared into the zone.
When Lincoln whimpered, he was surprised to see three hours had passed. He gathered his things and headed up to the apartment—never once looking back. He never looked back. It was the only way to leave the demons behind—and still they slithered after him, sneaking under the crevice of doorways, through cracks in his armor, and sticking to him like glue.
Chapter Eleven
SUNDAY EVENING GEMMA threw open her apartment door, set her hand on her hip, and glared at Crystal. “How many times do you need to hear ‘I’m fine’ before you believe me?”
Crystal rolled her eyes and clomped into the house.
“I’m sure my downstairs neighbors appreciate your combat boots.”
“You think so?” Crystal stomped her foot three times. “I hope they like my torn jeans and skull shirt, too. If not, I’ll send my boot right up their ass.” She stalked into the living room and looked around, lifting the couch cushions, checking behind the curtains and under the table.
“What are you looking for?” She was not in the mood to play games. She’d spent the day trying to get lost in one of her women’s fiction novels to escape thoughts of Truman and ended up re-creating the characters of every story in her head, imagining how the story would change if the hero was an ex-con who had killed a man.
“My bestie, Gemma Wright. Maybe you know her? She’s your doppelgänger, but she calls me when shit goes down in her life. She doesn’t hole up in her apartment and give me some line of crap about being fine.” Crystal plowed forward, invading Gemma’s personal space. “Gemma doesn’t say she’s fine when she is fine. She says girly words like ‘fantabulous’ or ‘peachy.’ And she doesn’t say ‘fine’ when she’s not. She says she’s ‘pissed’ or ‘angry’ or wishes she could smash something.”
Gemma rolled her eyes. “I was graced with a call from Mommy Dearest earlier. I hit my limit and couldn’t fathom another discussion.” Her mother would probably have a heart attack on the spot if she knew Gemma was dating a man who had been in prison. Why does that give me a slight ripple of joy?
“What happened? Did her servants forget to serve her tea and she wanted you to run your ass two hours to her place to fetch it?”
“I didn’t answer it. Her message said”—she drew her shoulders back and used a high-pitched proper tone—“Gemaline, darling. Don’t forget the fundraiser is only two months away. Be sure to wear your pearls. All proper girls wear pearls, blah, blah, blah.”
“Oh, Mommy Wright, you are a little minx, aren’t you?” Crystal waggled her brows. “A pearl necklace is a killer idea, but it might get a little sticky.” She motioned with her hand like she was jerking off a guy.
They both cracked up, and boy did Gemma need that laugh.
“Why does she bother calling you? She knows you’ll show up for your annual daughterly commitment, and she knows you’ll do all the right things. Wear your pretty pearls. The shiny kind, not sticky heat-of-passion cumdrops. Don a new fabulous gown, and you’ll leave right after dinner.”
“I’ve got a better one for you,” Gemma said flatly. “Why did she bother having me at all?” Gemma trudged over to the couch and flopped down.
Crystal followed her to the couch but remained standing. “Because everyone knows rich people need children to fit in with the Joneses. God forbid anyone should have something they don’t. After all, money can buy anything, right? Even nannies to fill in for absent parents.” She set her hand on her hip and stared at Gemma. “I just came from the shop.”
