For her, church would always remind her of her father. He’d been a fair man; gentle tempered while around her, but stern when he needed to be. He’d taught her the beauty of their faith and equipped her to handle whatever life would throw, because if what they believed was true, she had the most powerful being in all of creation backing her. There had been times after his death, when she’d clung to that to get by.
Parking her car, she approached the large white building with a majestic steeple and admired its beauty. Built in 1842, the church had once been the largest in the Ohio River Valley. Open twenty-four hours, it offered solace and comfort to any in need. She liked that. It wasn’t a practice common to many churches these days. She entered the church, instantly awed by the high ceilings, arches, and gilded gold paint.
Pews stretched out like a wooden sea in the massive space. She paused to dip two fingers into the granite holy water font located just inside the doors and genuflected, kneeling in the presence of God before she continued over to the statue of Mary that stood behind the rack which houses rows of votive candles. Right now, her best friend was hurting, and there was nothing she could do to help, but she could pray.
She lifted a stick, set fire to the end with a burning candle, and lit a new one, praying for guidance, strength, and Enzo. Sinking onto the kneeler, she bowed her head. In the silence of the building, she cleared out the anger, and hurt, to prepare to make her final stand. She had a few more weeks until the show. She would keep her distance until then. Soon, the time would come to let the chips fall where they may. It always hurt when you broke out of your comfort zone and left behind long-held dreams. But in the ruin of the old, a new and better vision was born.
Rip the earth in two with your mind
Seal the urge which ensues with brass wires
I never meant you any harm
But your tears feel warm as they fall on my forearms
“I Gave You All” Mumford & Sons
Chapter Four
Enzo
It’d been a long time since he pissed Aibhlinn off this much. It didn’t sit right with him. Two weeks and she’d been completely non-commutative. Today ... that would end. They would both be at the Clover Gallery to show their work. He ran a hand through his hair and studied the four paintings; they spoke of suffering, sorrow, and madness. Except for the last one. He stood back, trying to imagine the way he wanted them displayed.
He’d done a rendering of an eye in shades of black and white. Long, dark lashes reached out, bending under the weight of the two tears that had begun their descent. As he studied the image, his gut clenched. He’d drawn Aibhlinn. That was her iris, and the darkened silhouette he’d placed in the center was him. He knew the shape of her eye and the beginnings of the bridge of her nose as well as his own.
Wiping a hand over his face, he closed his eyes. There was no escape from her. She was buried inside of him too deeply and become a part of his heart. The best of who he was. I should’ve called and apologized. He knew he was wrong. It was the reason behind why he’d had an outburst that kept him silent. Somewhere along the way, he’d crossed a line he wasn’t sure he could come back from. He felt guilt and betrayal when she called. It was a first for him.
He never felt bad for the things he did with women. Tracee got what she wanted—attention and pleasure. A headache began to form in his temples. The situation was quicksand, and he was rapidly sinking deeper in. He looked to the next painting; another eye he’d painted facing in the opposite direction, as if it peered into the opposite eye. No tears adorned the masculine eyeball, but the glimmer of the iris and the wrinkle of the skin around the eye showed the mystery man’s agony.
In the center, he’d placed a delicate silhouette of a female with flowing manes. It was him and Aibhlinn, both longing for what they couldn’t have and hurting in the process. The last painting was a punch in the gut. The silhouette of a man in a long, dark coat walked away in the rain. The slump of his shoulders and the bowed head said everything about his emotions. He could feel that despair. Is this how Aibhlinn and I will end? No, I can change it. But at the cost of us? Or her? Would it be worth the risk?
The past two weeks he’d been irritable and unsettled. A life of that would be torture. Still, the thought of being romantic with Aibhlinn made him break out in sweats. He could do sex, but could he do the rest? She deserved candles, moonlight, rose petals, and all the other clichéd gestures he could think of. That wasn’t him. He didn’t know how to express love in a healthy manner. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The clock was running down and the time for hard decisions had come.
He took his paintings down and wrapped each of them in bubble wrap, and then with a thin layer of cardboard. Pleased, he began to carry them out to his car. As he pulled out of the driveway twenty-minutes later, his heart began to race.
Would she be there setting up, too? The perpetual clouds surrounding him parted and he swore he could see the hint of the sun. Flirting with the speed limit, he pulled up to the back of Clover Gallery in record time, and put his car into park. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Showtime.
He knocked on the back entrance and shoved his hands into his pocket. The door swung open, and he frowned at the man who answered the door.
“Can I help you?” he asked with a thick Irish brogue.
“I’m one of the artists being featured tonight. I was coming to set up.”
“Ahh, well then why don’t you start unloading, and we’ll get Colleen to tell you where your set will go?”
“Sounds good. I’ve never seen you before. You are?”
“Ack, I’ve heard that a lot today. I’m Keir Gallagher. I just started working a few weeks ago, so that’s why we haven’t met.”
“Nice to meet you, Keir. I’m Enzo.”
“Ahhh, I’ve heard a lot about
your work from Colleen. I’m her new assistant.”
“Do you know her from back home?”
“Me personally, vaguely. She and my mum were friends.”