CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Another two weeks passed, and Skye’s painting skills were increasingly improving. She wasn’t hurting as much by the end of a job, she was quicker and more efficient, and she liked seeing hard-core results instead of sales numbers at the end of the day that either praised or punished her. She was also beginning to understand the calming effect painting had on Harvey. If she got into a groove with the roller or the brush, her mind could easily take a break from worrying about paying credit card bills and saving enough to move back to Rhode Island and recovering from a lacerated heart, and she could let herself glide right along.
She liked the groove she and Harvey were in too. They had settled into a roommate dynamic in which she took over almost all the cleaning chores and he kept the cooking chores, and they carpooled to and from a job together. She was grateful to give up the expenses of the rental car and hotel, and she split living expenses fifty-fifty with Harvey right down to gas. She liked their banter while they painted—she doubted whether either of them could recall any conversation at the end of the day, but it was light and easy and passed the time. After dinner, she and Harvey usually retreated to their own spaces, where she’d keep looking for jobs and lurking on social media and resisting the urge to Google-stalk Vance.
She also finally called Summer, knowing the longer she put it off, the harder it would be.
“Hey, stranger,” said her sister. “How’s life in Big Sky Country?”
She instantly flashed to Vance saying, I want to explore Big Skye Country too . . .
“Not bad,” she replied. “Weather’s nice. Cool scenery. The sunsets are incredible.”
“How’s everything working out with you and Vance?”
Her muscles seized on her, and she sucked in a breath. “That, it turns out, is not so good.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say it’s not going to work out and keep it at that. And I’d rather you not tell anyone about it either.”
“Well, that was predictable,” said Summer. “We all thought it was a little weird that you ran off with this guy after knowing him for a weekend.”
Skye’s ears smoldered and her fists clenched. “Who is we?” she asked, hoping Summer heard the tension.
“Mom, Dad, Brent . . . we tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You never do.”
“Hey, Summer?”
“Yes?”
“Get bent,” said Skye, and she ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed.
Skye finally painted the guest room because she couldn’t stand sleeping another night with those blah white walls, and because she wanted to do something nice for Harvey and the home he’d so generously opened to her. She also wanted to test herself, see how well and fast she could work on her own. Took her less than three hours, including three five-minute breaks. Skye stood in the doorway when she finished, taking in the results and smiling in satisfaction. The hue looked radiant. Invigorating. Inviting. She had chosen well. Had she additional money to spend, she’d select a bedding set of royal blue or plum to replace the pastel green that was already there. She wasn’t sure about curtains, however. Maybe a deep red? The pink dresser was going to have to go as well. Maybe the following weekend she could repaint it herself with Harvey’s permission, and maybe even his daughter’s too. Maybe it could be something the three of them could undertake when his kids returned from Seattle. Or was that too much of a family project? The last thing Skye wanted to do was further insert herself in Harvey’s personal life. Despite no change in their demeanor or interaction since the intense conversation she’d initiated regarding his marriage, he’d since clammed up when it came to any mention of his kids. Not that he didn’t talk about them at all; but when Skye asked a follow-up question, he’d answer curtly and either change the subject or stop talking altogether. She knew it wasn’t because he didn’t love them—the anguish on his face from missing them was obvious, as was the pride in his voice when he spoke of them. She figured he simply didn’t want to share his feelings with her. But she also worried that maybe she’d struck a nerve by being so nosy, although she didn’t mean to be.
Harvey returned from the grocery store and inspected Skye’s handiwork. “Looks good,” he said. “You have so much more control now. No smudges.”
Skye beamed. “What do you think of the color?”
He paused for a second survey. “I don’t know how you’ll sleep in here, it’s so bright,” he said, and her face dimmed with disappointment. “It’s a great color—just not something I ever envisioned for a bedroom.”
“Well, it’s not always going to be a bedroom,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You can turn this into your showroom. Display all your action figures and store your comic-book archives. Move in a sofa bed. A rich red one. Not candy apple. More like brick red.”
Harvey looked at her, taken aback, as if he’d never thought of this idea himself. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe when you were a parent, you didn’t put yourself and your desires first.
“You said your daughter is outgrowing the pink, yes?” asked Skye.
“Yes,” said Harvey.
“And they’re getting older, right? I mean, they’ll be going to college soon, and they don’t seem to spend that much time here anyway.”
Harvey became crestfallen. “Yeah.”
She hadn’t meant to stir up any sadness, and attempted to compensate for it. “Well, this will be a nice room for your kids to come to. All around them, they’ll see things that make their dad happy. I think that’s what this room wants to be.”
He scowled as if she’d just said something offensive rather than encouraging. “And what about them?” he asked. “Kids need their own space. It’s especially important when their parents are divorced.”
She looked around the condo, in search of a solution that would benefit everyone, but saw no little nook to carve out, no wall to remove or put up, no compromise on furniture or art or fabrics that would honor Harvey’s kids’ needs, as well as his own.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe you can just get a bigger place. Or ask them outright what kind of space they want here, if they even want it. Make them part of the process.”
Again with the eye daggers. “Just make sure you clean everything up and didn’t spill paint anywhere,” he barked and left the room to put the groceries away.
Stung, she followed him into the kitchen. “Harvey,” she started. He didn’t answer her. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” he said, stacking cans on the pantry shelves and opening and closing cabinet doors with additional force.
“I was just trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do. So butt out.”
She stood and stared at him for a moment while the pain of the emotional door-slam moved through her. “No, I don’t think you do,” she said, and returned to the painted room, collected brushes and rollers and trays, and took them to the bathtub, where she washed them according to Harvey’s instructions and took extra care not to make a mess. She stored the paint cans on a shelf in the basement of the condo building, where they awaited proper disposal once a week. Next, she folded the drop cloth and put it away, refastened the light switch and electrical outlet plates, and removed the tape from the baseboards, window frames, and ceiling. She cracked the windows open to let fresh air in and allow the fumes to fade so she could sleep comfortably that night.
Harvey had helped her move the mattress and furniture pieces out of the room before she painted, and now she needed his help to move it all back in. She tried to do it herself, but the pieces were just too heavy. Harvey had taken Bucky Barnes to the park for some exercise and, she presumed, to get away from her. He returned just before dinnertime. She was sitting in the living room, watching House Hunters on HGTV, Chip perched on the armrest of the couch and letting his legs hang over the edge. She hated how picky the couples were and had read that the show was completely staged—the houses featured on the show weren’t actually for sale, and the couple was “choosing” a house they’d already bought. But she loved seeing the rooms and envisioning how she would paint and decorate each one. She loved the potential of each.
“Hey,” he said, as if nothing had happened.
“Hey,” she replied, completely devoid of emotion. Bucky, who had never known anger a day in his life, it seemed, trotted to her, licked her hands, and stuck his head in her lap, and she smiled and pet his head and greeted him warmly, temporarily forgetting that she was hurt and had spent the last couple of hours stewing in it. She had never been a dog person, but it was impossible not to adore Bucky Barnes. He moved on to Chip, who jutted out his head, seemingly for a kiss, which Bucky granted. Talk about a bromance.
Bucky’s unconditional love was contagious. She decided to extend an olive branch. “Need help prepping dinner?” she asked.
“Nah,” he replied.
The spacious condo suddenly felt the size of a closet.
“What are you watching?” he asked.
“House Hunters.”
He sat on the chair to the right of the couch and watched as a woman complained about all the ceiling fans she would have to remove were she and her husband to buy this ranch-style home somewhere in New Mexico.
“I hate these couples,” he said. Skye whipped her head in his direction, asking telepathically, You watch this show?
“I know,” she said. “I’ll bet half of them are divorced now.”
“Or should be.”
They both chuckled.
Bucky sat on the floor perfectly equidistant between the two of them and panted, almost smiling, as if to say, Isn’t it so much better when everyone gets along?
When the show neared the end, Harvey predicted the couple were going to choose the ceiling-fan house. Skye, having already seen the episode, abstained from confirming or denying his guess.
They went with a split-level that was under budget and needed work in almost every room. When they showed the follow-up two months later, the couple bragged about how they removed the fireplace.
“Are you shitting me?” yelled Harvey. You’d think he’d just seen a bad referee call in a football game. “That fireplace was the best feature in the house.” He then muttered, “Assholes,” under his breath, which prompted Skye to laugh outright. He was delighted by her reaction.
They turned to each other, eyes locked, and Skye knew the moment was there.
“I’m sorry about before,” he said, almost sounding childlike.
“It’s OK,” said Skye. “I’m sorry too.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I—I just miss my kids, I guess. It was Deb’s idea to send them to Seattle. Said she needed uninterrupted time to ‘grow’ with fuckface.”
How could anyone just ship off their kids like that? Skye wondered. Then again, she knew Vance had a way of persuading women to do things they never thought themselves capable of doing and making it seem like the most normal, logical decision in the world.
“You couldn’t take them?” Skye asked, hoping she wasn’t being too invasive.
“I begged to take them,” he said. “She said they didn’t want to stay with me. Scott pretty much confirmed it. Told me he hates both of us and fuckface.”
“Even knowing how much you wanted them?”
“He blames me for letting this all happen. He’s justified.”
Before Skye could say another word or offer a gesture of comfort, Harvey rose from his seat and went to the kitchen to start dinner. Pork tenderloin rubbed with fresh herbs, roasted asparagus, and cranberry-apple sauce.
If this was his contrition, then he was forgiven ten times over.
Harvey helped Skye move the furniture back into the bedroom. However, she asked him to return the bed to a new position, one where the headboard would be opposite the doorway as opposed to next to it. Harvey obliged, and together they set it up. Afterward, she placed the computer desk against the window, and they moved the chest of drawers against the wall at the foot of the bed. Yes, she thought. Yes, this feels better. Harvey appraised the new layout and nodded in approval. His gaze lingered, however, and Skye was certain he was visualizing the memorabilia room she had proposed. Seeing what would go where. Watching people sit on the couch, talking Spider-Man or whatever comic-book collectors talked about.
He quietly left the room, and she didn’t follow him this time. She thought he might be missing his kids again, missing tucking them into their beds in his former house, now Deb’s. Or had Deb moved in with Vance? Given that he was at his house when she showed up that first full day in Billings, he obviously hadn’t gone anywhere.
So what did become of the Wright family house? What would become of it? Was that maybe also on Harvey’s mind? Did he miss it? Did he miss his old life?
Which got her thinking about Warwick, Rhode Island. What would she be doing were she there right now? Not in her old life at Top Drawer, but in the present moment?
She wouldn’t take it for granted, that’s for sure. She would savor every sip of coffee milk and try more restaurants in Providence and attend WaterFire nights with her friends. Maybe she would take a day trip out to Cape Cod or up to New Hampshire in the fall, and carve pumpkins and make cider donuts. Maybe she would live not in Warwick but rather in a town like Newport or Narragansett, closer to the water. Maybe she could afford a studio apartment or post an ad for a roommate. Maybe she could get a job at the paint department at a Home Depot or a Sherwin-Williams store. In a year’s time, she’d have enough experience.
Will I ever miss Billings? she wondered.
No. Never. Sure, she was making a life here to prove that she could, but three weeks in, she still felt no attachment, no sense of pride or connection other than the jobs she completed with Harvey. She could paint in any town or city she wanted. It didn’t mean she was home. She couldn’t foresee a time when she wouldn’t be on guard against Vance appearing at a café or bookstore, as if he may jump out from behind a door and scare the shit out of her as he clutched her throat and rammed his fist into her chest, ripping out her heart and tossing it into a trash can. No matter how successful she was here, the facts were still the same: She willingly overturned her entire life to be with a man who dumped her before her plane touched ground. Billings would always remind her of that.
Then again, what little of Montana she had seen had lived up to its nickname. She had yet to see a Billings skyscape that wasn’t postcard-perfect, a newly painted mural every hour. Even from the guest-room window of the condo, she could see past the streetlights and the downtown buildings to a horizon that stretched as far back as the edge of the world.
She would miss Harvey, though. A shiver shot up her spine, more like a striking match, actually, upon that realization.
She would miss Harvey more than she missed what she thought she’d wanted with Vance.
Despite Harvey’s concern that the room would be too bright, and the lingering new-paint smell, Skye had no trouble sleeping that night. In fact, it was one of the best night’s sleep she’d had since coming to Billings. Moving the bed and the furniture around had to be the difference. Or maybe it was the color.
Something else had changed. She woke up feeling as bright and sunny as the walls. Energized, even. It wasn’t just the room that felt different. She did. The world did. As if a seismic shift had taken place.
Could it really be all because of the lemon zest–colored walls and a new positioning for the bed? She took an invigorating shower, and when she emerged, she found a voice mail on her phone.
A request for a job interview.