A smile spread over his face, clearly there were some really great memories fueling it. “Yeah.”
“Didn't you do a whole series on that festival?”
“Yeah, proving that some people in the art world are just pretentious asses. They went on and on about how I was inspired, a higher power giving me direction or some such shit. My only inspiration and higher power is Saffron.”
I smiled, not just at his obvious affection and love for his wife, but because I understood it completely. “Where are those sculptures?”
“A museum in Paris. I wish I had a camera on the exhibit so I could be a fly on the wall, because really if I saw them I'd be scratching my head thinking what the...”
“Well, regardless of what they portray, I'm sure they're exquisitely done.”
“Coming from an artist of talent, that means a lot.”
***
Walking home for my supplies, I decided to call Bastian to make sure Broderick didn't have a problem with me just showing up. I dug out my phone and dialed his number.
“Hey beautiful.”
“Hi. I need to paint the lighthouse from memory, so I was thinking about coming out to Broderick’s. That way I can see his house too. Do you think he'd be okay with that?”
“He's right here, hold on a second.” After a beat or two, Bastian was back on the line. “Yeah, Broderick is totally cool with that.”
“I'm heading to the house now for my supplies, so I should be there in about twenty minutes.”
“I'll be waiting.”
***
Following the directions Bastian had texted me, I realized that Broderick's place was on the opposite side of town where it wasn't developed. Rugged beauty yawned out before me. I pulled over along a rocky peninsula. In the distance the green conifers hugged the waterline. I wanted to paint this spot, because it was so isolated, with no signs at all that humans ever passed through it. It was nature in the truest sense of the word.
I wished everyone from home was here with us to see this paradise. Thinking about them had me missing them, so I reached for my phone. When Poppy's voice came over the line, my throat got tight hearing that small piece of home.
“Hey Lark, I was just thinking about you.”
“Poppy, it's so good to hear your voice.”
“Are you okay, is something wrong?”
“No, I was just feeling homesick.”
“Oh, well we're missing you too. So how's Harrington?”
“Quirky and quaint and I love it. You know how your mom is always trying to fill rooms because she wants all of us close? You should all move to Harrington. Poppy, I really love it here and I know you would too.”
“Sounds like a visit is in order.”
“Agreed, but there’s more. I have to tell you something, but you have to keep it to yourself for the time being.”
“It sounds serious.”
“It is but, until I know more, I don't want your parents worrying. I know them well enough to know they'll be in the car and driving up here before you even finish telling them the tale.”
“Fine, I’ll keep it quiet. Are you in trouble?”
“No, it's nothing like that. Logan is David Cambre.”
“Wait. What? The sculptor? I thought you said he died.”
“He faked his death, but there's more, Poppy. I think he might be my dad.” The loud clanking that almost deafened me seemed to be the sound of her phone dropping.
Once she retrieved it, she didn't hesitate in her reply. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. Do you remember your comment at my birthday dinner about how much David and I looked alike?”
“Yeah.”
“We do, but it's more than that. His reaction to some things I've said, his wife's behavior, even that their son Hunter looks like a little boy version of me.”
“Jesus. What does Bastian think?”
“He agrees.”
“Have you called Logan on it? Maybe knocked him upside the head for taking so long to make himself known?”
“Not yet. I'm waiting him out. He went to an awful lot of trouble to get me here so I can only assume he's got something planned and I'm contrary enough to make him work for it.”
Hearing her ready agreement began to loosen the knot that had taken root in my stomach the moment I began entertaining this crazy notion.
“I really miss you, Poppy.”
“Likewise. Keep me posted, Lark.”
“I will. So how's Caden?”
And that was all it took to get Poppy to gush over her guy.
***
Broderick's place came into view and I just stopped the car and stared. His homestead was situated on the banks of the Harrington River. The sapphire blue water silently swept along its banks and surrounding the homestead were a variety of trees that I imagined were heart-stopping in the fall.
I pulled up along the dirt drive before shutting down and climbing out. I saw Bastian coming toward me and as much as I liked the view, it didn't hold a candle to him.
“Hey beautiful.” He pulled me to him and kissed me hard on the mouth.
“What a view.”
He was looking at me when he replied, “It sure is. Where do you want to set up?”
With all we'd been through, my damn knees still went weak. “I guess over there near the river, so I'm out of the way.”
“Broderick's in with the building inspector, but when he's done, he'll give you the tour.”
“It's much bigger than I was expecting.”
Bastian looked back at the house. “It's an amazing house.”
He had the same look of awe I always had when working on my art—he was coming into his own in his field and I loved it. The next words sort of tumbled out of my mouth. “I could live in this crazy little town.”
“It's funny you should say that, because I was thinking the same very thing.”
Bastian gave me another mind-numbing, body-tingling kiss, leaving me quite flustered as he walked back to the site. Maybe I wasn't so very different from my mom after all, at least in respect to Bastian, because I was definitely an addict and he was my drug.
When he disappeared around the back of the house I got to work. I wasn't at it long when I heard a cry and peered up to see an eagle fly overhead. The sight pulled my attention for a good while because I had never seen an eagle in person. It was magnificent. When it circled the top of a tree before landing, I knew there must be a nest up there.
I worked for a good two hours before I heard my name and turned to see Broderick approach. He stopped just beside me but his attention was on my painting. After a minute, his focus turned to me. “Would you consider painting a mural for me?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, for the house, I've been toying with an idea for the dining room.”
“I've never done one, but, yeah, I'd love to.”
“Excellent, I was thinking maybe you and my brother could work on it together.”
I blanched at the thought of painting a mural with Logan.
“What's wrong?”
“Painting a mural with your brother doesn't seem very fair to him. I’m still only learning.”
He moved suddenly, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. I had the sense he had more to say, but thought better of it. Was he about to confirm my suspicion?
“So, would you like that tour now?”
I guess not. “Please.”
In the house tour, I understood Bastian's love for his craft because art and science came together in perfect harmony. After the tour, I spent another two hours on my painting, then packed it up for the day.
Everyone was meeting at Logan's for dinner, but beforehand Logan and I wanted to compare our paintings. We set up on the beach so everyone else could study them too, but before we did so Logan cleaned our brushes. He was so focused on his task that my fingers itched to sketch him. I reached for a pad of paper and a pencil and while he worked, I did too.
He wore a T-shirt, faded jeans and his feet were bare. There was a tattoo wrapped around his left bicep, some kind of scroll work, probably Celtic in origin. He was built very much like Bastian, tall, and thickly muscled. His long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, some of the strands pulling free from their confines as the wind gusted around us. Sketching his face sealed it for me—despite the facial hair—the lines and contours were familiar, because I saw them every morning in the mirror. I couldn't deny I was bitter because I had missed out on a lot, but then would either of us be where we were had things gone differently? Would I have met Bastian? Probably not, and so despite the bitterness, I couldn't be too angry. Everything happened for a reason.