Brush of Shade (4 page)

“I’d prefer an
expert opinion.”

“My doctor in
D.C. was an expert,” I replied. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her orange
juice. Aunt Claire seemed bristly today. I hoped it was just the new job.
That’s when I reluctantly decided it would be better to see the local doctor
than tangle with her this morning. “I’ve got to get ready. Trent will be here
any minute.”

I was waiting on
the walk next to the garage when he pulled in two minutes ahead of schedule.
“Hi!” I said brightly through the open passenger window. I shoved my backpack
through the window to make it easier to climb into the red F-250 pick-up truck.
“You should’ve warned me,” I said, glad that I’d decided not to wear a skirt.

“Huh?”

“Your truck is
kind of tall.”

“You don’t like
it jacked up?”

I lifted my
crutch. “I’m skipping P.E. for a reason.”

“Sorry. Tomorrow
we’ll use my car.”

So this wasn’t
going to be a onetime thing. The flutter in my stomach caught me off guard.
Ignore it. No getting attached to this place. He was staring, so I said the
first thing that came to mind, “You mean your parent’s car, right?”

 
“No, my car.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Please, like
you don’t have a car.”

“I wish.”

“Now that you’re
out here in the country, away from the big city traffic and public transportation,
I’m sure your aunt will get you a car. I’d be happy to help you pick one out.
We could run over to Gunnison on Saturday, drop your cash down, and race home.”

“Sure, in some
alternate universe maybe,” I said laughing.

He pulled out of
my drive and onto the dusty street. “I could take you to the same dealer that
sold me my new Mustang.”

“That would be
way out of my price range.
If I had one.”

“Right, cause
European boarding schools are so cheap.”

“They don’t
necessarily equate with having tons of money. Necessity required my placement
when my parents were concerned with the political instability in certain
regions of the world where my dad was stationed.” Plus they were a convenient
holding pen for unwanted kids. I took a deep breath and fiddled with my purse
strap. But things had gotten better. I knew they had.

 He shook
his head and smiled. “Remind me never to play poker with you. Who knew such an
angelic face could lie so sweetly. I bet you’re into Porsches.”

Before I could
respond, he popped a CD in and cranked up the volume, leaving me to wonder what
his parents did for a living. By the time we arrived at school, I’d decided to
let the matter drop. I’d met plenty of people with more money than they knew
what to do with. They seemed to live on another plane of reality that the rest
of us couldn’t comprehend.

Unfortunately,
the matter didn’t drop me. The lunch table topic between Trent and Bradley
centered on which car I should purchase. Their ideas were outrageously
expensive. I let it go, chalking it up to guys and their love affair with their
wheels. When I walked into the yearbook staff meeting, three girls turned away
and began making fun of my European accent. Over their giggles, I heard them
chatting about buying fancy cars. Why was I putting myself through this? Oh
yeah, my aunt had insisted I get involved. I’d suffered through new girl
syndrome too many times to be bothered. But it did bother me. More so than it
had at any boarding school or even starting off state side fall semester junior
year at my first regular school since my brother’s death.

A girl working
at a computer looked up and asked, “Can we do something for you?”

“She’s not
staying,” one of the girls from the welcoming committee announced rudely.

My hand squeezed
my crutch. Head held high, I strode towards the table and the girl, who I
thought I recognized from one of my classes. “At my old school, I was assistant
yearbook editor. But I’m willing to pitch in wherever you need a hand.” I
looked down at the screen as she clicked past poorly composed photos that had
truncated heads. “I’m a pretty good photographer.”

“No, way.
That’s my job,” a girl from the group whined.

 “
Ashley,
weren’t you just complaining that you’re too busy.”
The girl at the computer opened another file and shook her head. “We can use
more hands.”

“Just because
her aunt is a famous artist and she’s the next Pepperdine—”

A girl next to
Ashley poked her arm. “That’s okay, let her have it. She’ll probably crash the
sports car she’s going to buy right into the side of a canyon and end up
breaking her arm.”

After the girls
stopped laughing, Ashley said in an exaggerated whisper that was guaranteed to
carry, “I heard Trent gave her a ride this morning.”

“Isn’t she so
special,” one of the girls replied sarcastically.

“It looks like
she’s the new flavor. Maggie is going to be crushed. She had a plan to get
Trent to ask her to prom.”

Why had Aunt
Claire forced me to live here? This wasn’t how my senior year was supposed to
go, with me on the outside, again.
JoAnna
and I had
planned out the whole year. Giggles rang in my ears, beating me into my place.
The girl at the computer watched me with a pitying expression. Oh, God, any
second now I was going to burst into stupid, useless tears.

The girl stood
and pointed at the screen. “See if any of these can be salvaged.” Under her
breath she whispered, “Feel free to be brutal. I’ve got to run down to the
office. I’ll be back.”

By the time the
yearbook meeting ended, I’d endured a string of catty digs and wanted to be
left alone. I walked right past Trent lounging against the passenger side door
of his truck.

“Hey, Olivia,
where are you going?”

I weaved my way
through the student parking lot, lost in my thoughts. A horn blared. Tires
squealed. A sudden gust shoved me forward between two parked cars. Geez, I was
crazy. I continued towards the street, cutting through the city park bordering
the school. I’d just passed the bandstand when a red truck roared down the
street. I frowned when it stopped, blocking the crosswalk. I made no attempt to
hurry. Let Trent stew. A few cars honked. He waved at the irate drivers who got
the message and swung around his truck.

“Trent,” I said
in a cool tone when he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door.
His smile faltered. I kept walking towards the back of his truck. A door
slammed behind me.

“Wait up. What
about your ride?” he shouted.

“Ask Maggie,
maybe she’d like a ride.”

“Huh?”                                               

A large hand
grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. A line of cars had formed behind the
now driverless truck. I recognized several of the gawking faces as students
from school, some were in my classes. I felt my face turn beet red. “What is
it? I’ve got things to do.”

“What are you so
mad about? Maggie and I had fun, but we were never serious.”

 “I’ve
lived a public life, so I prefer details of my private life to be kept private.
Just because you’ve money to burn, that doesn’t mean I do. Stop telling
everyone I’m getting a car.” His incredulous expression made no sense. He was
taking this morning’s conversation too far.

He lowered his
voice. “You’re the wealthiest senior high student in the state, probably in
several states. You could have a fleet of cars, one for every day of the week.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Plus holidays,”
he said, sounding quite sure of himself.

 “You’re
delusional. If I had money, I’d know it.”

“Legal age is
eighteen. There are some things that your family hasn’t told you. Ask your
aunt, see that I’m right. Now get in the truck.”

“Hey, Trent, why
don’t you kiss and make up?” a girl’s voice called out. Laughter peeled out of
the car full of girls behind us.

Trent grinned
and leaned over me with his palms resting on the tailgate. I wasn’t sure if he
was only playing along, or if he really intended to kiss me. I had a feeling
the girls in the car would shove me out of the way to have a chance like this
with the star football player. Well, I wasn’t about to be fodder for the
gossips, or feed Trent Cassidy’s ego. I tried to step back and banged my crutch
against the bumper.

“Come on,
Olivia. One kiss,” he coaxed, pushing me gently against the tailgate.

“No, move out of the way.”
The pressure of the bumper
against the back of my knees eased off. Anger flashed in Trent’s eyes; abruptly
his grip on my shoulder was gone. I stumbled backwards expecting to grab a hold
of his truck to steady myself. Muscles screamed as my crutch skidded then
lodged between two brick pavers.

“Hey, Trent,
your truck drives better without you behind the wheel,” a guy shouted from
across the street.

Open-mouthed I
turned and watched Trent swing up into the driver’s seat. He grabbed the wheel
and turned sharply, narrowly missing clipping the rear end of a parked
Mercedes. I hobbled across the crosswalk, favoring my left leg more than usual.
Maybe crazy was contagious, I thought, as Trent’s truck made a sharp left onto
a side street. It sure had looked like he was yelling out the window of his
truck at thin air.

The first shop
on Aunt Claire’s list was located two doors down from the crosswalk. Trent
hadn’t looked like he’d be turning around, so it seemed as good a time as any
to humor my aunt and scope out jobs. I paused in front of the display window to
check out the store. An eclectic collection of metal wind chimes and wire
spirals with intertwined gems hung from hooks in the ceiling. Poking out of
vases were shapes cut out of copper surrounded by tiny metal blades. Sculpted
wire penguins, giraffes, and elephants sat on the floor or peeked out of flower
pots. Not your typical tourist shop full of postcards. Drawn to the whimsical
creations, I stepped inside.

“Hello, dear,
can I help you?”

My head bobbed
back and forth, like one of those dashboard decorations as I scanned the store
in search of the owner of the high, clear-pitched voice. Through a gap in a
shelf, I got a glimpse of a bright, orange tunic and untamed gray curls held
back with a long barrette made out of coils of colored wires and dangling
beads.

 “Yes,
ma’am, my name is Olivia Pepperdine. I’ve just moved into town. My Aunt Claire
suggested I stop by your store to see if you might need any help.” Now that I’d
said it, I wondered, why the woman would give a stranger to the area a job when
the high school across the street had plenty of able bodies, some of whom were
bound to be her relations. I fiddled with the hem of my lace peasant top and
tried to smile. My arms felt prickly. Maybe I was allergic to something. Great,
the last thing I wanted was more tests and more doctor visits.

“A Pepperdine,”
she answered, making it sound like an event. “Bless you, dear. When you get
home, you tell Claire to stop in and see me. That girl still owes me three
hours of work.”

“Excuse me?” Was
she senile? “Are we talking about the same person?”

“There’s been
only one Claire Pepperdine that I’ve ever heard of in these parts.”

“You know my
aunt?”

“I ought to. She
worked here every summer before she took off. Come closer, so I can get a look
at you. There’s no reason to be shy.”

I squeezed
through a narrow gap between two wooden cases that was almost too tight even
for skinny me. The back of the store resembled a cross between a hardware store
and a craft shop. Racks filled with spools of wire were stuffed next to bins
filled with copper tubing and PVC pipe. Baskets of colored glass, beads, and
stones littered the surface of the plywood table. Creations in various stages
of completion dangled over the work surface from hooks set roughly two feet
apart. At the moment, the woman was hunched over a three foot copper man.
Several feet of red wire had been unwounded from the spool case and draped
across the table. I waited patiently while she finished soldering wire to a
copper hand.

“Hand me those
garnet beads in the chipped saucer.” Despite gnarled fingers that seemed to be
permanently bent, she deftly wound the wire tight around each bead. “I could
use help keeping things tidy after school for a couple of hours. If I haven’t
driven you away come spring, we’ll see about increasing your hours when the
tourist come flocking back into town.”

She set down her
tools to look me over. Glasses that had been in danger of falling off her nose
were shoved back into place. Apparently the prescription needed to be corrected
because she squinted at me until her eyes were tiny, white slits. With her elbows
on the table, she slowly leaned closer.

“I don’t know
what all the fuss is about. A body would have to be insensitive to miss the
Pepperdine aura. Don’t think that crutch will earn you any sympathy. You work
for me; I expect you to earn every coin,” she announced, giving a tug on a
spool of copper wire.

“Yes, ma’am,” I
said, eyeing the crumpled paper in my hand. Maybe I should’ve started at the
bottom of the list. Normal and I had just gotten reintroduced.

“Ma’am is a bit
formal for these parts, call me Hattie. Can you start today? I need to
reorganize the front window displays for the fall
seasonals
.”

Before I could
answer, the back door banged open. Between gaps in the shelves behind Hattie’s
work table, I caught a glimpse of jeans and two large cartons weaving their way
with ease through the maze of strange and delightful creations.

“Shade
Grisland
, you’re late,” Hattie called out.

“Only two
minutes,” a deep, baritone voice answered.

“They could’ve
been important minutes,” she complained.

“Traffic was
tied up out front.”