“That’s why I’ve built this barrier around myself,” he said. “A deep moat and a wall too high for anyone to scale. Except you, apparently.”
Me? What did he mean? I searched his face looking for clues, but found none.
Before I could respond, he stood and said, “I almost forgot.” His voice returned to its usual timbre. “I brought something for you. Let me run out to my truck.”
He left and came back with a large plastic bag from which he pulled three stretched canvases about the size of the one I found at my parents’ and a dozen tubes of paint, then spread them out on the table like a picnic.
“I can’t accept these,” I said, picking up one of the tubes and reading ivory black.
“Of course you can. I’ve got paint coming out my ears, and I can certainly spare a few canvases. I don’t use this size much anyway.”
“But I may not have any more paintings in me.” I set down the tube and turned over a larger one to read titanium white. “Really, it was thoughtful, but I won’t put them to good use.”
“I think you will. Go ahead and start something else.”
“But—”
He cut me off. “No more excuses, young lady. Just dive in. And go easy on yourself. Give yourself permission to paint badly. If you don’t like what you’ve done, you can always cover it with gesso and start again. Just dare to paint.”
He looked around the room. “You need a more permanent spot though. A kitchen will do, but if you have a room where you can leave your supplies and easel set up all the time, it will make a big difference.”
I led him up the stairs, guided him into Rob’s room, and opened the curtains.
“Great lighting,” he said, his eyes perusing the room without seeming to notice its need of new paint. “This will be perfect. Do you still have an easel? If not, I could lend you one.”
“I can’t remember what I did with mine.” That felt ridiculous to admit, but it was true. I hadn’t seen the easel at my folks’ house. For all I knew, it had been used as kindling. “I’ll let you know.”
As we descended the stairs, he said, “Say, I forgot to tell you, someone named Tim called while you were in the shower. He said he’d call back.”
In the front hall I opened the door. “Thank you, for everything.” I was touched by his willingness to help me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than my mother had dropped everything to come to my aid. Even though I doubted I’d use the paints, I might write him a thank-you note.
“It was my pleasure. I’m glad Charlie made it home in one piece.”
“Thanks. I notice he’s too tired to come say good-bye. That’s a first. I’ll bet he sleeps through till tomorrow.”
Henry stepped toward the door, but as he passed me he slowed. Before I knew what was happening, he cupped my face in his hands. We stood staring into each other’s eyes for several moments. I felt like one of Phil’s statues: frozen, suspended in time.
His face moved closer to mine. Was he going to kiss me? I knew it was a bad idea. I should turn my head, tell him not to. But here he was—so handsome, so caring. I felt myself being drawn toward him like a shaving of steel to a magnet.
Suddenly, he straightened up and leaned away. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said, and a barren wasteland opened up between us. His arms dropped to his sides like useless appendages. “Please, forgive me.” He walked out the door and got in his truck. Without buckling his seatbelt, he gunned the engine and sped away.
“That’s it,” I said. “I can’t take it anymore.” Finally I got the message: Men caused nothing but disappointment. My definition of insanity was repeating the same thing again and again and expecting different results. So why did this Cinderella keep expecting a Prince Charming to rescue her? From now on, if I needed someone to talk to, I would call one of my girlfriends or my mother. If I wanted to go to a show, I would venture out by myself. No more sitting by the phone like a ninny, no more jittery stomachs, no more broken hearts. I longed for serenity, and I was going to concentrate on getting my life straightened out. If that meant being a spinster for the rest of my life, so be it.
As I finished my vow, the rain stopped, which I took as a sign I was doing the right thing. I sat down on the front steps, my elbows resting on my knees. I heard a car approaching, and a few seconds later, Tim’s BMW sped around the corner and skidded to a stop. I closed my eyes for a moment. I’d just sworn off the male half of the human race, and here I was, already being confronted with one of them. What should I do? How should I react? My mind was spinning like a penny flipping through the air, not knowing whether it was landing heads or tails.
Tim bopped out of his car. “Hi, there, pretty lady. I know I’m a little early, but I couldn’t wait. Hey, who answered the phone when I called?”
“A friend.” I gave him the abridged version of my traumatic morning.
Tim took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Poor baby, come here.” His hands grasped my waist, and his lips puckered for a kiss.
I drew back. “Tim, this isn’t working.”
“What do you mean?”
I hated conflict, hated having people mad at me, hated hurting others’ feelings. “I don’t think we should date anymore.” The words slid out before I could think them through, which was just as well.
His cheery expression wilted. “But we’re so good together.” When I didn’t agree, he said, “Why are you doing this?”
“You’re a wonderful guy, but I’m going through a crazy time right
