Brush of Shade Read Free Page B

my
progress. Scratch that; this was home, for now.
    The static,
sixteen by twenty inch glossy photos of my parents arranged on easels next to
the pulpit reminded me of the posed pictures of strangers in store bought
frames. Only in this case, I knew the story of us behind the smiles and the
worry lines. Since their deaths, I’d cried over so many things without knowing
why the tears were flowing. But here in this setting, the division between then
and now had never been so undeniably clear. I remembered how we’d marched
valiantly forward when my brother Daniel had died in high school. Now I was
supposed to do it again. Only I couldn’t find the way this time. My chest
tightened. I wanted to rip the pictures aside and discover flesh and blood. I
wanted to be touched and held until the pain rolling over me, gouging and
ripping away at my heart, subsided. A tear trickled down my cheek. Behind it,
several more pooled in my blue-gray eyes, smudging the faces I needed to burn
into my memory. Shoulders quaked. A sob choked off my next breath. My hands
gripped the polished rail, holding on for dear life while my crutch clunked
onto the bare, plank floor.
    My subconscious
had chosen this place, a town that held no meaning to me or ties that I cared
about, to finally let loose. It was too much; I couldn’t face this heartache
alone. “Aunt Claire, come back,” I said, my voice thick with tears.
     “That’s
it, let it out,” a kindly male voice said from the aisle.
    Hands gently
gripped my shoulders and lowered me onto the pew. “I can’t do this. It hurts so
much.”
    “Of course you
can. You’re a Pepperdine.”
    “What’s that got
to do with anything?” I turned and drew a quick breath. Glints of ice
highlighted mesmerizing crystal-blue eyes. Comfort permeated my being,
loosening my constricted chest. I forgot what we were saying or even that I was
crying. A hot hand gently cradled my cheek. An electric shock blazed a trail
through every nerve in my body, lifting me off the pew. I gasped. The hand
quivered, and the man uttered a startled cry.
     “Forgive
me,” he said in a deeply, sorrowful voice. “Close your eyes. Take a moment.”
    Emptiness washed
over me. My eyes popped open. I spun about in the pew towards the sound of
retreating footsteps. My brows knitted together. The sanctuary was empty. I took
a shuddering breath. A woodsy scent hung in the air where the man had been
standing. I couldn’t resist; I sucked in, filling my lungs.
    ***
    A plate with two
pieces of fried chicken and a scoop of coleslaw materialized under my nose. I
pushed it to the edge of my desk and continued pretending to read.
    “Eat something,
a bite at least,” Aunt Claire said, taking up a position alongside my dresser.
She rubbed the back of her neck and with her eyes half open, rested her head
against the wall. “It took some maneuvering, but I finally squeezed all the
casseroles into the fridge. At least we won’t have to worry about cooking this
week, now that we’re giving up our life of leisure.”
    “The truck is
here?” I asked, heading over to flop onto my bed. Maybe tomorrow I’d have the
energy to unpack. 
    “What? No, I was
talking about you starting school on Monday, and I’ve got—”
    “Monday!” I groaned. Small town, smaller school, I was
destined to be the new oddity.
    “Principal Long
and I discussed your situation at great length. It’s time we established normal
day-to-day activities, school being one of them.”
     “Does it
matter? It’s not like they’re going to offer AP courses here,” I said with what
she called my snooty, big-city attitude. She was frowning at me, but I didn’t
care. I hadn’t been consulted when she made the decision to come to this
civilization deprived valley.
    The furnace
kicked on, whooshing air through the vent that rattled behind her feet. She
gave it a swift kick with her heel. The grate clattered onto the floor. She
tipped her head back and stared up at the