Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill

Author:Joey W. Hill [Hill, Joey W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance, Fiction, Erotica
ISBN: 9781419912498
Google: vyyzUFzGzgMC
Amazon: B002AJGPRG
Barnesnoble: B002AJGPRG
Goodreads: 5709572
Publisher: Ellora's Cave
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Marcus knew Thomas had been surprised to see him actually smoking the cigarette he’d bummed out of a pack Walter left on a barrel outside the side door. It was something he hadn’t done in awhile, but the acrid burn had suited his mood. Marcus also knew that his foul mood was spawned more by watching Thomas with Cathy than watching him with Walter.

It mattered to Thomas. His mother’s love, her approval. The sense she was behind him. Do my parents love me? The Achilles heel that every child was infected with at birth like a virus, and spent adulthood trying to overcome in order to be who they were meant to be.

They stayed at the rental house for the next couple days, with no plans for

excursions. Marcus encouraged Thomas to spend the time roaming the property

acreage for inspiration. Apparently today Thomas had enough crowding into his head, for he’d never got further than the outside deck. He’d sketched most of the morning and part of the afternoon, sometimes standing at the rail, sometimes sprawled over the lounger.

Now he was sitting on the deck, letting his feet hang down off the side of the deck, using the middle railing to prop his sketchbook. As he tore off sheets, he used several empty coffee mugs he’d taken out there to guard against them being blown away by the breeze.

Marcus stayed inside, working in the living room on phone calls and paperwork,

but positioning himself where he could watch Thomas through the glass doors.

Thomas was listening to a track by Staind. While the insulated glass blocked out all but the reverberation, Marcus felt the poignant, hopeless, visceral anger to it. Totally fucked up except when you got to be with the person who made it all unfucked up. But you could spend a life functioning while being fucked up. Until it killed you.

Thomas would be going home in a day or two, and maybe that was good. The

shadows kept rising. Marcus didn’t have time to get trapped in a morbid fog. He had gallery showings…things to do. Plenty of opportunities for…something. He sat there, staring out the glass at Thomas until the cell rang, breaking his concentration.

“Julie, how are you?”

“I’m stalking your fine ass, of course. Heard you’re in the Berkshires, and guess what? Girlfriend crisis, so I am too. What do you think of…”

* * * * *

135

Joey W. Hill

Julie Ramirez ran a theater near Marcus’ gallery. He’d been her first patron, now one of many. He’d come to his gallery on a Saturday, dressed casually to pull some receipts, and seen the short, voluptuous brunette hauling out a load of dusty boxes too heavy for her to lift and too bulky for a hand truck. With the same powers of persuasion she’d apparently used to get the landlord to sign a five year, dollar-a-year tax write-off lease on the building she intended to turn into a community theater for the arts, she got Marcus to volunteer his whole afternoon to her.

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