Chapter 4
Brittany
I finished up the last of my online work, and glancing over at the gorgeous painting I had found at the open-air festival that weekend, decided it was time for a much-deserved break. I picked up the vibrant oil painting and turned it to the light to allow the colors to play off each other. Looking over the open clean walls of the apartment, I decided that the space over the fireplace would be spectacular way to showcase the piece.
I found a few hooks I had purchased at the same festival this weekend. Then I grabbed a chair from the dining room table to start in on my mini project. Unpacking the apartment myself had been a first for me, and was a “frivolous activity” in my father’s opinion. He had wanted to hire someone to come in to unpack and decorate for me, but where was the fun in that? Beige and neutrals ruled my parents’ house and thus would have been the instructed palette for anyone they hired. I preferred another direction.
My passion for art had oddly enough been sparked by my father and mother early in life. They attended gallery openings and such to raise money for a variety of the philanthropic endeavors they oversaw. It always appeared to me those efforts were just a publicity stunt on their behalf; they didn’t even believe in half the missions of said charities. The events had ignited my soul, though, and Talia had encouraged me with her own bohemian tastes. Unfortunately, unlike my sister, I had never gained enough momentum or belief in myself to stand my ground and demand art school over a business or medical education.
As I finished hanging the painting and stood back to admire it, I again thought of Talia. How much fun we would have had sharing an apartment, going to art shows in the city, and exploring new adventures. I would probably have dared to even attend a non-society party or two as her escort. Instead, I hadn’t done a wild thing in my life outside of My father’s control since the moment Talia had left us.
Swiping at the errant tear that traversed my cheek, I turned away from the painting when my phone announced a text message’s arrival. Setting the hammer on the accent table behind the couch, I dug in my purse for the phone.
When I saw the message, I had the most unladylike desire to fling the phone out of the window.
I know you have a big test this week. Please study your hardest!
“Really?” I asked no one in particular. “Not even a how was your week, do you like the apartment? Nothing.”
I felt the irritation climb my spine, heat my skin with anger and tighten all my muscles. My father had the uncanny knack of being able to wind me up even without being in the same room. I wasn’t going to allow him to win. Maybe fresh air would help settle me, I decided. Grabbing my keys and leaving the phone where I had flung it on the couch, I headed for the door.
As I exited to the rear of the building, I was enthralled with the huge open courtyard. Benches, three large trees, and a tiny man-made brook constructed of cool shimmery stones completed the restful spot. I glanced about and noticed Dalton was across the way, down on his hands and knees in the dirt. He was wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt. I was caught off guard by the tattooed arm that prominently featured intricate designs that had obviously taken quite a commitment to finish. As I watched, a few other residents walked by him, and he waved and called out to each by name.
There was an ease and confidence about him that I found appealing, and yet those tattoos and his attitude screamed at me to run the other direction. As the girl who always took the safest, easiest route to any objective, I was definitely not interested in a relationship with him. However, my mind told me maybe I needed to channel Talia a bit, and have a fling with the handyman. Everyone I knew at boarding school had been known to hook up with an “undesirable,” as they had called these forbidden flings. A parent’s disapproval made the forbidden flings even more desirable to my peers.
I let the thought wander around for a minute, before I finally realized that Dalton was staring back at me. “Like what you see?” he asked with a huge, dimpled grin.
“What? No! I was just admiring–” I was stuttering like a ridiculous school girl.
“I know what you were admiring.” He winked at me audaciously.
“Seriously, I have never seen such large trees in the city,” I said, mentally hitting myself for the stupidity of the comment.
“Been here longer than us,” he acknowledged, standing up and wiping his hands on his dirt-splattered shorts. I didn’t seem to mind the long mud streak it left behind. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“No, I just needed some air,” I said, wrapping my arms around my mid-section with a light squeeze. “Sometimes I’m just grateful to be out on my own, and then I realize my father is never going to stop interfering,” I said before I could filter the words.
“You can’t let him rile you up. You’re an adult, capable of making your own decisions, and he will just need to get on board with that sooner or later,” he said, staring at me with such earnest eyes I almost believed him.
“Yeah, well I don’t have a job or the ability to support myself so I need to play the game for now,” I said with sigh. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I was just thinking about my sister and how she would have thumbed her cute little nose at him and do whatever she wanted.”
“Are you and your sister close?” Dalton asked.
It had been such a long time since I had talked about Talia with anyone. The subject was completely off limits in our family. About a year after Talia’s death, I had offhandedly said something about a trip we had all taken together. Mother had stiffened and asked that I not bring up her name again. I never knew if it was grief, envy that Talia had refused to allow society to break her, or true uncaring that had prompted mother’s comments. I had never asked or uttered her name in the house again.
“She died,” I said softly. The words always took my breath away, and the pain ricocheted across my heart deep and painful as the first moment I had learned the truth. “Her boyfriend—he beat her to death.”
Dalton froze in place and his faced blanched whiter than a ghost. He gnashed his teeth together, and for a moment I was caught completely off-guard by the odd reaction. People always looked at me sadly or mumbled words of encouragement, but no one had ever looked mad.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Men that beat up on women deserve what they get,” he said harshly. “I have to go.” And without another word he spun on his heels and walked back to his original task, not looking my way again.
I stared at him for a moment, unable to explain what had just transpired. Turning, I started toward my apartment before pivoting one last time to find him staring at me. The expression in his eyes was deep pain, more than my sister’s story should have inspired in him. I wondered what secrets he held onto in the dark that made him live a life as a handyman, and yet feel such a level of pain at a simple story from a stranger.
Returning to my apartment, I tried to put the odd interaction with Dalton from my mind and concentrate on studying. I couldn’t risk my father checking in with me and not having done exactly as instructed. Besides, I required every minute possible to pass my business ethics class. The subject matter was so boring, twice I found myself nodding off in class. But like a good soldier I would study and pass.