The Color of Light by Shankman Helen Maryles

Author:Shankman, Helen Maryles [Shankman, Helen Maryles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stony Creek Press
Published: 2013-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

27

Tessa dreamed. She was flying, swooping up and down above the narrow twisting streets of lower Manhattan, above the fire escapes, the water towers, the chimney pots. Coming slowly back down to earth, she floated through the colonnaded portico of a townhouse on the corner of a pretty little square. Strong arms carried her up a flight of stairs. Ghostly figures passed back and forth, touching her and whispering. She had vague recollections of being undressed, a warm bath. A voice like a lullaby. The world’s softest bed, and then sinking down into deep, dreamless sleep.

She woke up in a strange bedroom. She had no idea where she was; what time it was, what day of the week, or for that matter, whether it was night or day. The walls were painted a glossy brown, the moldings a contrasting creamy white. The room contained a desk, a lamp, a bed, a bureau, all Mission, all very good. There were blush-colored roses in a green Depression-era urn, set in front of an antique mirror oxidizing with age. A door that might lead to a bathroom. Floor length velvet curtains suggested a terrace. Pillar candles splashed the surfaces all around with yellow light.

Raphael Sinclair was in the armchair next to the bed. He leaned forward, took her hand in both of his.

“My sweet girl.”

“Where am I?”

“My home,” he said. “My bedroom, actually. Your friends found you on the floor of your studio Monday morning. You passed out. ”

Oh, yes. Two C’s. Lost my scholarship. Kicked out of school. Lucian and April. Her whole body crumpled with the impact of the memory.

“Listen,” he said quickly. “Yesterday, a new scholarship was endowed. The Sofia Wizotsky Memorial Scholarship, to be awarded annually to a gifted student. You are the first recipient. I should have done it years ago.” She opened her mouth to protest. He put up his hand to stop her; not yet. “Secondly. Levon will be your new adviser. Josephine is a wonderful painter, but it sounds like she has a bit much on her palette right now. Third. I’ve spoken with a friend of mine. You can start working at Anastasia as soon as you’re ready.”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” he said. “Three in the afternoon.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I’ve been asleep for three days? What happened?”

“A virus, accompanied by high fever. A touch of whatever’s going around.” He leaned closer. “I’m so sorry,” he said earnestly. “Sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

For three days she’d laid in his bed, small and white and vulnerable. Outside of a few hours spent making arrangements, he’d hovered over her, holding her hand, watching her breathe, reliving the moments of his life that had brought him to this point, this girl.

He turned it over in his head a hundred different ways, but always, it came down to this: she has been returned to me. And also this. How could he. How dare he. And this. Run away. Run as fast as you can.

Still…Tessa’s bare skin by the light of the moon.

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